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diff --git a/old/68790-h/68790-h.htm b/old/68790-h/68790-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 6ff05b1..0000000 --- a/old/68790-h/68790-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10643 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.1//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml11/DTD/xhtml11.dtd"> - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en"> - -<head> - -<link rel="icon" href="images/img-cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - -<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> - -<title> -The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Haunted Life, by James Grant -</title> - -<style type="text/css"> -body { color: black; - background: white; - margin-right: 10%; - margin-left: 10%; - font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; - text-align: justify } - -p {text-indent: 4% } - -p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } - -p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 200%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - text-align: center } - -p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 150%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - text-align: center } - -p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 100%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - text-align: center } - -p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - font-weight: bold; - text-align: center } - -p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 60%; - text-align: center } - -h1 { text-align: center } -h2 { text-align: center } -h3 { text-align: center } -h4 { text-align: center } -h5 { text-align: center } - -p.poem {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10%; } - -p.thought {text-indent: 0% ; - letter-spacing: 4em ; - text-align: center } - -p.letter {text-indent: 0%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ; - font-size: 80%; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -.smcap { font-variant: small-caps } - -p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 10% ; - margin-right: 10% } - -p.intro {font-size: 90% ; - text-indent: -5% ; - margin-left: 5% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.quote {text-indent: 4% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -p.finis { font-size: larger ; - text-align: center ; - text-indent: 0% ; - margin-left: 0% ; - margin-right: 0% } - -</style> - -</head> - -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of A haunted life, by James Grant</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: A haunted life</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: James Grant</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 19, 2022 [eBook #68790]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Al Haines</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAUNTED LIFE ***</div> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - A HAUNTED LIFE<br /> -</h1> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - JAMES GRANT<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t4"> - AUTHOR OF 'THE ROMANCE OF WAR'<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON<br /> - GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS<br /> - BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL<br /> - NEW YORK: 9, LAFAYETTE PLACE<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - 1883<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - JAMES GRANT'S NOVELS,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - <i>Price 2s. each, Fancy Boards.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - The Romance of War<br /> - The Aide-de-Camp<br /> - The Scottish Cavalier<br /> - Bothwell<br /> - Jane Seton: or, the Queen's Advocate<br /> - Philip Rollo<br /> - The Black Watch<br /> - Mary of Lorraine<br /> - Oliver Ellis: or, the Fusileers<br /> - Lucy Arden: or, Hollywood Hall<br /> - Frank Hilton: or, the Queen's Own<br /> - The Yellow Frigate<br /> - Harry Ogilvie: or, the Black Dragoons<br /> - Arthur Blane<br /> - Laura Everingham: or, the Highlanders of Glenora<br /> - The Captain of the Guard<br /> - Letty Hyde's Lovers<br /> - Cavaliers of Fortune<br /> - Second to None<br /> - The Constable of France<br /> - The Phantom Regiment<br /> - The King's Own Borderers<br /> - The White Cockade<br /> - First Love and Last Love<br /> - Dick Rooney<br /> - The Girl he Married<br /> - Lady Wedderburn's Wish<br /> - Jack Manly<br /> - Only an Ensign<br /> - Adventures of Rob Roy<br /> - Under the Red Dragon<br /> - The Queen's Cadet<br /> - Shall I Win Her?<br /> - Fairer than a Fairy<br /> - One of the Six Hundred<br /> - Morley Ashton<br /> - Did She Love Him?<br /> - The Ross-shire Buffs<br /> - Six Years Ago<br /> - Vere of Ours<br /> - The Lord Hermitage<br /> - The Royal Regiment<br /> - Duke of Albany's Own Highlanders<br /> - The Cameronians<br /> - The Scots Brigade<br /> - Violet Jermyn<br /> - Jack Chaloner<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3b"> - CONTENTS.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CHAPTER<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - I. <a href="#chap01">THE MEET OF THE COACHING CLUB</a><br /> - II. <a href="#chap02">TREVOR CHUTE'S REVERIE</a><br /> - III. <a href="#chap03">HIS VISIT TO CLARE</a><br /> - IV. <a href="#chap04">IDA</a><br /> - V. <a href="#chap05">HOW WILL IT END?</a><br /> - VI. <a href="#chap06">SIR CARNABY COLLINGWOOD</a><br /> - VII. <a href="#chap07">A PROPOSAL</a><br /> - VIII. <a href="#chap08">'THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH FOR THE STARS'</a><br /> - IX. <a href="#chap09">DOUBTS DISPELLED</a><br /> - X. <a href="#chap10">FOR WHOM THE JEWELS WERE INTENDED</a><br /> - XI. <a href="#chap11">A ROMANCE OF THE DRAWING-ROOM</a><br /> - XII. <a href="#chap12">IN THE KONGENS NYTORV</a><br /> - XIII. <a href="#chap13">BY THE EXPRESS FOR LUBECK</a><br /> - XIV. <a href="#chap14">AN IMBROGLIO</a><br /> - XV. <a href="#chap15">'LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH'</a><br /> - XVI. <a href="#chap16">'JEALOUSY CRUEL AS THE GRAVE'</a><br /> - XVII. <a href="#chap17">A QUARREL</a><br /> - XVIII. <a href="#chap18">THE EMEUTE AT LUBECK</a><br /> - XIX. <a href="#chap19">SIR CARNABY'S GRATITUDE</a><br /> - XX. <a href="#chap20">CARNABY COURT</a><br /> - XXI. <a href="#chap21">CHRISTMAS EVE</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap01"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> -A HAUNTED LIFE. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER I. -<br /><br /> -THE MEET OF THE COACHING CLUB. -</h3> - -<p> -'Be patient, Trevor Chute; they are sure to be here -to-day, old fellow, for Ida told me so.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ida?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, Mrs. Beverley; does that surprise you?' asked the -other, with a singular smile—one that was rather -sardonic. -</p> - -<p> -'No, Jerry, I have long ceased to be surprised at anything. -As I have told you, my special mission in town is a -visit to her; but—so you and she are good friends still?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, though she has been six months a widow, we are -on the same strange terms in which you left us last—friends -pure and simple.' -</p> - -<p> -'And nothing more?' -</p> - -<p> -'As yet,' replied Jerry Vane, lowering his voice, with -something of despondency perceptible in his tone, and to a -close observer it might have been apparent that he, though -by nature frank, jovial, and good-humoured, had, by force -of habit, or by circumstances, a somewhat cynical mode of -expression and gravity of manner. -</p> - -<p> -The time was the noon of a bright and lovely day in May, -when the newly-opened London season is at its height; and -it was the first meet of the Coaching Club in Hyde Park, -where the expectant crowd, filling all the seats under the -pleasant trees, or in occupation of handsome carriages, snug -barouches, dashing phaetons and victorias—in everything -save hackney cabs—covered all the wide plateau which -stretches from the Marble Arch to the somewhat prosaic -powder magazine beside the Serpentine, and waited with -the characteristic patience and good-humour of Londoners -for the assembling of the coaches, though some were seeking -to while away the time with a morning paper or the last -periodical. -</p> - -<p> -The speakers, though young men, were old friends, who -had known each other since boyhood in the playing-fields of -Rugby. -</p> - -<p> -Jervoise, or, as he was familiarly called, Jerry Vane, was -a curly-pated, good-looking young fellow of the genuine -Saxon type, with expressive, but rather thoughtful eyes of -bluish grey, long fair whiskers, and somewhat the bearing of -a 'man about town;' while the other, perhaps in aspect the -manlier of the two, Trevor Chute, in figure compact and -well set-up, was dark-haired, hazel-eyed, and had a smart -moustache, imparting much decision of expression to a -handsome and regular face, which had been scorched and -embrowned by a tropical sun; and where the white flap of -the puggaree had failed to protect his neck and ears, they -had deepened to a blister hue. -</p> - -<p> -He had but the day before come to town, on leave from -his regiment (which had just returned from India), on a -special errand, to be detailed in its place. -</p> - -<p> -In front was the great bend of the blue Serpentine rippling -and sparkling in the sunshine, with its tiny fleet of -toy-ships; beyond it was the leafy background of trees, and -the far stretch of emerald lawn, chequered with clumps of -rhododendron in full flower, and almost covered with -sight-seers, some of whom gave an occasional cheer as a -stately drag passed to the meeting-place, especially if its -driver was recognized as a personage of note or a public -favourite. -</p> - -<p> -'I don't know what you may have seen in India, Trevor,' -said Jerry Vane, 'but I am assured that the gayest meetings -on the continent of Europe can present nothing like this. -I have been in the Prater at Vienna on the brightest -mornings of summer, and on gala days at the Bois de Boulogne, -and seen there all the <i>élite</i> of Paris wending its way in -equipages, on horse or on foot, but no scene in either place -equals this of to-day by the Serpentine!' -</p> - -<p> -To this his friend, who had so recently returned from -military exile, in the East, warmly assented, adding: -</p> - -<p> -'The day is as hot as my last Christmas was in the -Punjaub.' -</p> - -<p> -'Christmas in the Paunjaub, by Jove!' exclaimed Jerry -Vane, with a laugh. 'Eating ices and fanning oneself -under a punkah, with the thermometer at 90 in the shade, -eh?' -</p> - -<p> -Captain Chute laughed in turn at this idea; but as he -stood at that time by the inner railings in Hyde Park, -waiting anxiously to see the fair occupants of a certain drag, -he could foresee, as little as his friend, where they were to -spend their coming Christmas, or on its eve to hear, through -the stillness thereof, the sweet evensong coming over a -waste of snow from an old chapel, amid a group of -crystal-shrouded trees, where many soft voices, with <i>hers</i> among -them, told again of the angels' message, given more than -eighteen hundred years ago to the shepherds of Chaldea, as -they watched their fleecy flock by night. -</p> - -<p> -'It seems but yesterday that I last stood here, Jerry,' said -Trevor Chute, thoughtfully, almost sadly; 'and how much -has come and gone to us both since then!' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; and here, as of old, Trevor, are the last new -beauties who have come out, and the overblown belles of -seasons that are past, and, of course, all those great folks -whom everybody knows, and others of whom no one knows -anything, save that they have swell equipages, and are "like -magnificent red and purple orchids, which grow out of -nothing, yet do so much credit to their origin."' -</p> - -<p> -'You grow cynical, Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps; but there was a time when I was not wont to -be so. And you, Trevor, are not without good reason for -being so too. Why, man alive! when in the Guards, how -popular you were with all the mammas of unmarried daughters; -a seat in the carriage, a box at the opera, a balcony at -the boat-race, whenever you felt disposed. By Jove! there -was no man in town I envied more than you in those days.' -</p> - -<p> -'And what has it all come to now, Jerry? I feel quite -like a fogey,' exclaimed Trevor Chute. -</p> - -<p> -'Yet this was but four years ago.' -</p> - -<p> -'Only four years, old fellow, and <i>she</i> is not married yet! -But here come the party, and on Desmond's drag; he has -the "lead," it seems.' -</p> - -<p> -It was now the hour of one; the procession had started, -and the eyes of all the onlookers were eagerly engaged in -critically examining the various drags, so magnificently -horsed and brilliantly appointed, as they passed in -succession, with all their silver harness shining in the -sun. -</p> - -<p> -About thirty drove from the well-known rendezvous of -the Coaching Club along the pretty drive which skirts the -Serpentine and ends with the bridge that divides the Park -from Kensington Gardens; and though some of the drivers -adhered to the Club uniform—blue, with gilt buttons—many -appeared in the perfection of morning costume; and -as team after team went by, chestnut, white, or grey, with -satin-like skins, murmurs of applause, rising at times to a -cheer, greeted the proprietors. -</p> - -<p> -The costumes of the ladies who occupied the lofty seats -were as perfect as, in many instances, was their beauty; -and no other capital in Europe could have presented such a -spectacle as Trevor Chute saw then, when the summer sun -was at its height in the heavens, gilding the trees with -brilliant light, and showing Hyde Park in all its glory. -</p> - -<p> -The leading drag was the one which fascinated him, -and all the other twenty-nine went clattering past like same -phantasmagoria, or a spectacle one might seem to behold -in a dream. -</p> - -<p> -Several ladies were on the drag, including the owner's -somewhat <i>passé</i> sister, the Hon. Evelyn Desmond; but -Chute saw only two—Clare and Violet Collingwood—or -one, rather, the elder, who riveted all his attention. -</p> - -<p> -Both girls were remarkable for their beauty even then, -when every second female face seemed fair to look upon; -but the contrast was strong in the opposite styles of their -loveliness, for Clare was a brilliant brunette, while Violet -was even more brilliant as a blonde; and as the drag swept -past, Trevor Chute had only time to remark the perfect -taste of Clare's costume or habit, that her back hair was a -marvel of curious plaiting, and that she was laughingly and -hastily thrusting into her silver-mounted Marguerite pouch -a note that Desmond had handed to her, almost surreptitiously -it seemed; and then, amid the crowd and haze, she -passed away from his sight, as completely as she had done -four years before, when, by the force of circumstances—a -fate over which he had no control—they had been rent -asunder, when their engagement was declared null, and they -were informed that thenceforward their paths in life must -be far apart. -</p> - -<p> -'Clare Collingwood is the same girl as ever, Trevor,' said -Jerry Vane, breaking a silence of some minutes. 'You saw -with what imperial indifference she was receiving the -admiration of all who passed, and the attention of those who -were about her.' -</p> - -<p> -'Is she much changed, Jerry, since—since I left -England?' Trevor asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, no,' replied the other, cynically; 'she and her -sisters—Violet, at least—have gone, and are still going, over the -difficult ways of life pleasantly, gracefully, and easily, as all -in their "set" usually do. In her fresh widow's weeds Ida -Beverley could not be here to-day, of course.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have an express and most melancholy mission to -her on the morrow,' said Captain Chute. 'But why -is Collingwood <i>père</i> not with his daughters on this -occasion?' -</p> - -<p> -'Though girls that any man might be proud of escorting -in any capacity, the old beau, with his dyed hair -and curled whispers, is never seen with them, nor has -been since their mother's death. Though sixty, if he is a -day, he prefers to act the <i>rôle</i> of a young fellow on his -preferment, and doesn't like to have these young women—one -of them a widow, too—calling him "papa." He knows -instinctively—nay, he has overheard—that he is called "old -Collingwood," and he doesn't like the title a bit,' added -Vane, laughing genuinely, for the first time that forenoon, as -they made their way towards the nearest gate of the Park, -which the glittering drags were all leaving by the Marble -Arch, and setting forth, <i>viâ</i> Portman Square, for luncheon at -Muswell Hill or elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -'And has Clare had no offers since my time?' asked -Trevor Chute, almost timidly. -</p> - -<p> -'Two; good ones, also.' -</p> - -<p> -'And she refused them?' -</p> - -<p> -'So Ida told me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ida again; you and Mrs. Beverley seem very good -friends.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, though she used me shockingly in throwing me -over for Beverley.' -</p> - -<p> -'And why did—Clare refuse?' -</p> - -<p> -'Can't say, for the life of me; women are such enigmas; -unless a certain Trevor Chute, then broiling in the -Punjaub, wherever that may be, had something to do with it.' -</p> - -<p> -'I can pardon much in you, Jerry Vane,' said Chute, -gravely; 'for we have been staunch friends ever since I -was a species of big brother to you at Rugby; but please -not to make a jest of Clare and me. And what of pretty -Violet?' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Violet is all right,' replied Vane, speaking very fast, -and reddening a little at his friend's reproach. 'She has -those graceful, taking, and pretty ways with her and about -her that will be sure to do well for her in the end; thus, -sooner or later, Violet's fortune is certain to be made in a -matrimonial point of view.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have heard of this fellow, Harvey Desmond, before,' -said Chute, musingly. 'I remember his name when I was -in the Household Brigade. He was lately, I think, -gazetted a C.B.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course.' -</p> - -<p> -'For what?' -</p> - -<p> -'In consideration of his great services at Wormwood -Scrubs and on Wimbledon Common.' -</p> - -<p> -To see Clare on <i>his</i> drag, even with his sister, the -Hon. Evelyn, to play propriety, stung Trevor Chute, and, as if -divining his very thoughts, Jerry Vane said, let us hope -unintentionally: -</p> - -<p> -'All the clubs have linked their names together for some -time past.' -</p> - -<p> -'Well,' replied Trevor, with something like a malediction, -as he proceeded in a vicious manner to manipulate a cigar, -and bite off the end of it. 'What the deuce does that -matter to me?' -</p> - -<p> -His expression of face, however, belied the indifference -he affected for the moment, and feeling that he had caused -pain by his remark, Jerry Vane said, as they walked arm -and arm along Piccadilly, by the side of the Green Park: -</p> - -<p> -'Neither of us have been very successful in our love -affairs with the Collingwoods; and with me even more than -you, Trevor, it was a case of "love's labours lost." Yet, -when I think of all that Ida Collingwood was in the past -time to me, I cannot help feeling maudlin over it. We had, -time to me, I cannot help feeling maudlin over it. We had, -as you know well, been engaged a year when, unluckily, -Beverley, of your corps, became a friend of the family. I -know not by what magic he swayed her mind, her heart, -and all her thoughts, but, from the first day she knew him, -I felt that I was thrown over and that she was lost to me -for ever! And on that day when she became Beverley's -wife——' -</p> - -<p> -In the bitterness of his heart Vane paused, for his voice -became tremulous. -</p> - -<p> -'The friend equally of you and of poor Jack Beverley, -whom I laid in his grave, far, far away, I felt all the -awkwardness of my position when that bitter rivalry arose -between him and you about Ida Collingwood,' said Trevor -Chute, and the usually lively Jerry, who seemed lost in -thoughts which the voice and presence of his friend had -summoned from the past, walked slowly forward in moody -silence. -</p> - -<p> -He was recalling, as he had too often done, the agony of -the time when he first began to learn—first became grimly -conscious—that the tender eyes of Ida sought to win -glances from other eyes than his, and ask smile for smile -from other lips too! And when desperately against hope -he had hoped the game would change, and oblivion would -follow forgiveness—but the time never came. -</p> - -<p> -Jerry could recall, too, the sickly attempts he had made -to arouse her pique and jealousy by flirting with Evelyn -Desmond and other girls, but all in vain, as the sequel -proved. -</p> - -<p> -She had become so absorbed in Beverley as to be -oblivious of every action of the discarded one, and almost -careless of what he thought or felt. -</p> - -<p> -But now, though Beverley was dead and had found his -grave on a distant and a deadly shore, it was scarcely in -human flesh and blood for Vane—even jolly Jerry Vane—to -forgive, and still less to regret him as Trevor Chute did, -though he affected to do so, on which the soldier shook -his hand, saying: -</p> - -<p> -'You are indeed a good-hearted fellow!' -</p> - -<p> -But Vane felt that the praise was perhaps undeserved, -and to change the subject, said— -</p> - -<p> -'She has been to a certain extent getting over Beverley's -death.' -</p> - -<p> -'Getting over it?' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course.' -</p> - -<p> -'How?' -</p> - -<p> -'By becoming more composed and settled; no grief -lasts for ever, you know,' replied Vane, a little tartly; -'but now your return, your special visit to her, and the -mementoes you bear, will bring the whole thing to the -surface again, and—and—even after six months of -widowhood—may——' -</p> - -<p> -'Will make matters more difficult for you?' interrupted -Trevor Chute, smiling. -</p> - -<p> -'Precisely. I am a great ass, I know; but I cannot -help loving Ida still.' -</p> - -<p> -'You will accompany me to the Collingwoods' to-morrow, -Jerry?' urged the soldier, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -'No, old fellow, decidedly not. Ida's grief would only -worry me and make me feel <i>de trop</i>. What the deuce do -you think I am made of, Trevor, to attempt to console the -woman I love when she is weeping for <i>another</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -'Dine with me at the club this evening, then—sharp -eight—and we'll talk it over.' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks; and then we shall have a long "jaw" together -about all that is and all that <i>might</i> have been; so, till then, -old man, good-bye.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap02"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER II. -<br /><br /> -TREVOR CHUTE'S REVERIE. -</h3> - -<p> -Protracted by various culinary devices, the late dinner -had encroached on the night, just as the final cigar in the -smoking-room had done on the early hours of morning; -and after a long conversation, full of many stirring and -tender reminiscences and many mutual confidences, Jerry -Vane had driven away to his rooms, and Trevor Chute -was left alone to ponder over them all again, and consider -the task—if task it really was—that lay before him on the -following morn. -</p> - -<p> -And now to tell the reader more precisely the relation in -which some of the <i>dramatis personæ</i> stand to each other. -</p> - -<p> -Four years before the time when our story opens, Trevor -Chute, then in the Foot Guards, had been engaged to Clare -Collingwood. She was in her second season, though not -yet in the zenith of her beauty, which was undeniably great, -even in London; and his friend, Jervoise Vane, was at the -same time the accepted of her second sister Ida, who had -just 'come out' under the best auspices; yet the loves of -all were fated to end unhappily. -</p> - -<p> -Monetary misfortune overtook the family of Trevor Chute; -expected settlements ended in smoke, and he had to begin -what he called 'the sliding scale,' by exchanging from the -Guards into a Line regiment then serving in India; and -then the father of Clare—Sir Carnaby Collingwood—issued -the stern fiat which broke off their engagement for -ever. -</p> - -<p> -'Of course,' thought he, as he looked dreamily upward -to the concentric rings and wreaths of smoke, the produce -of his mild havannah, 'we shall meet as mere friends, old -acquaintances, and that sort of thing. Doubtless she has -forgotten me, and all that I was to her once. Here, amid -the gaieties of three successive seasons since <i>those days</i>, she -must have found many greater attractions than poor Trevor -Chute—this fellow Desmond among them—while the poor -devil in the Line was broiling up country, with no solace -save the memory—if solace it was—of the days that -were no more!' -</p> - -<p> -Sir Carnaby Collingwood was by nature proud, cold, and -selfish. He had married for money, as his father had done -before him; and though he seemed to have a pleasure in -revenging himself, as some one has phrased it, by quenching -the love and sunshine in the life of others, because of -the lack of both in his own, Trevor Chute felt that he -could scarcely with justice be upbraided for breaking off the -marriage of a girl having such expectations as Clare with -an almost penniless subaltern officer. -</p> - -<p> -Ida's engagement terminated as related in the preceding -chapter. With a cruelty that was somewhat deliberate, she -fairly jilted Vane and married Jack Beverley, undeniably a -handsomer and more showy man, whose settlements were -unexceptionable, and came quite up to all that Sir Carnaby -could wish. -</p> - -<p> -Yet Beverley did not gain much by the transaction. Ida -fell into a chronic state of health so delicate that decline was -threatened; the family physicians interposed, and nearly -three years passed away without her being able to join her -husband in India, where he was then serving with Trevor -Chute's regiment, and where he met his death by a terrible -accident. -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane felt deeply and bitterly the loss of the girl he -had loved so well; and he would rather that she had gone -to India and passed out of his circle, as he was constantly -fated to hear of her, and not unfrequently to meet her; for -Jerry's heart did not break, and sooth to say, between balls -and dinners, croquet and Badminton parties, cricket matches, -whist and chess tournaments, rinking, and so forth, his time -was pretty well parcelled out, when in town or anywhere -else. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute and Beverley had been warm friends when -with the regiment. Loving Clare still, and treasuring all the -tender past, he felt that her brother-in-law was a species of -link between them, through whom he could always hear -of her welfare, while he half hoped that she might -wish to hear of his, and yet be led to take an interest -in him. -</p> - -<p> -With all this mutual regard, Chute's dearest friend of the -two was not the dead man, but Jerry Vane; yet there had -been a great community of sentiment between them. This -was born of the affection they fostered for the two sisters, -and sooth to say, Beverley, while in India, loved his absent -wife with a passion that bordered on something beyond -either enthusiasm or romance. It became eventually -spiritualised and refined, this love for the distant and the -ailing, beyond what he could describe or altogether conceive, -though times there were when in moments of confidence, -over their cheroots and brandy pawnee, he would gravely -observe to Trevor Chute that so strong, and yet so tender, -was the tie between him and Ida, that, though so many -thousand miles apart, they were <i>en rapport</i> with each other, -and thus that each thought, or talked, and dreamt of the -absent at the same moment. -</p> - -<p> -Be all this as it may, a time was to come when Trevor -was to recall these strange confidences and apparently wild -assertions with something more than terror and anxiety, -though now he only thought of the death-bed of his friend in -India, the details of all that befell him, and the messages and -mementoes which Jack Beverley had charged him to deliver -to Ida on his return to England. -</p> - -<p> -They had been stationed together, on detachment, at the -cantonment of Landour, which is situated on one of the -outer ridges of the Himalaya range, immediately above the -Valley of the Deyrah Dhoon, where they shared the same -bungalow. -</p> - -<p> -The dulness of the remote station at which the two friends -found themselves became varied by the sudden advent of a -tiger in an adjacent jungle: a regular man-eater, a brute of -unexampled strength and ferocity, which had carried off -more than one unfortunate native from the pettah or village -adjoining the cantonment; thus, as a point of honour, it -behoved Trevor Chute and Beverley, as European officers -and English sportsmen, to undertake its destruction. -Indeed, it was to them, and to their skill, prowess, and -hardihood, the poor natives looked entirely for security and -revenge. -</p> - -<p> -'I have sworn to kill that tiger, and send its skin as a -trophy to Ida,' said Beverley, when the subject was first -mooted at tiffin one day. 'She shall have it for the carriage -in the Park, and to show to her friends!' -</p> - -<p> -About two in the morning, the comrades, accompanied -by four native servants, took their guns, and set forth on -this perilous errand, and leaving the secluded cantonment, -proceeded some three or four miles in the direction of the -jungle in which the tiger was generally seen. -</p> - -<p> -As he sat in reverie now, how well Trevor Chute could -remember every petty detail of that eventful day; for an -eventful one it proved, in more ways than one. -</p> - -<p> -The aspect of Jack Beverley, his dark and handsome face, -set off by his white linen puggaree, his lips clearly cut, firm -and proud, his eyes keen as those of a falcon, filled with the -fire of youth and courage, and his splendid figure, with -every muscle developed by the alternate use of the saddle, -the oar, and the bat, his chest broad, and his head nobly -set on his shoulders, and looking what he was, the model of -an Englishman. -</p> - -<p> -'Now, Chute, old fellow, you will let me have the first -shot, for Ida's sake, when this brute breaks cover,' said he, -laughing, as he handed him a case worked by her hands, -adding, 'Have a cheroot—they are only chinsurrahs, but I'll -send a big box to your crib; they will be too dry for me ere -I get through them all, and we may find them serviceable -this evening.' -</p> - -<p> -Poor Beverley could little foresee the evening that was -before <i>him</i>! -</p> - -<p> -Though late in the season, the day and the scenery were -beautiful. Leaving behind a noble thicket, where the -fragrant and golden bells of the baubul trees mingled with the -branches of other enormous shrubs, from the stems and -branches of which the baboon ropes and other verdant -trailers hung in fantastic festoons, the friends began to step -short, look anxiously around them while advancing, a few -paces apart, with their rifles at half-cock; for now they were -close upon that spot called the jungle, and the morning sun -shone brightly. -</p> - -<p> -After six hours' examination of the jungle the friends saw -nothing, and the increasing heat of the morning made them -descend thankfully into a rugged nullah that intersected the -thicket, to procure some of the cool water that trickled and -filtered under the broad leaves and gnarled roots far down -below. -</p> - -<p> -Just as Chute was stooping to drink, Beverley said, in a low -but excited voice: -</p> - -<p> -'Look out, Trevor; by Jingo, there's the tiger!' -</p> - -<p> -Chute did so, and his heart gave a kind of leap within -him when, sure enough, he saw the dreaded tiger, one of -vast strength and bulk, passing quietly along the bottom of -the nullah, but with something stealthy in its action, with tail -and head depressed. -</p> - -<p> -In silence Beverley put his rifle to his shoulder, just as -the dreadful animal began to climb the bank towards him, -and at that moment a ray of sunlight glittering on the barrel -caused the tiger to pause and look up, when about twenty -yards off. -</p> - -<p> -It saw him: the fierce round face seemed to become -convulsed with rage; the little ears fell back close; the -carbuncular eyes filled with a dreadful glare; from its red -mouth a kind of steam was emitted, while its teeth and -whiskers seemed to bristle as it drew crouchingly back on -its haunches prior to making a tremendous spring. -</p> - -<p> -Ready to take it in flank, Chute here cocked his rifle, -when Beverley, not without some misgivings, sighted it -near the shoulder, and fired both barrels in quick -succession. -</p> - -<p> -Then a triumphant shout escaped him, for on the smoke -clearing away he saw the tiger lying motionless on its side, -with its back towards him. -</p> - -<p> -'You should have reserved the fire of one barrel,' said -Chute, 'for the animal may not be dead, and it may charge -us yet.' -</p> - -<p> -'I have knocked the brute fairly over,' replied Beverley; -'don't fire, Chute, please, as, for Ida's sake, I wish to have -all the glory of the day.' -</p> - -<p> -And without even reloading his rifle the heedless fellow -rushed towards the fallen animal, which was certainly lying -quietly enough among the jungle-grass that clothed the -rough sides of the water-course. -</p> - -<p> -The tiger suddenly rose with a frightful roar, that made -the jungle re-echo; and springing upon Beverley with teeth -and claws, they rolled together to the bottom of the -nullah! -</p> - -<p> -Two of the native attendants fled, and two clambered up -a tree. Left thus alone, with a heart full of horror, anxiety, -and trepidation, Trevor Chute went plunging down the -hollow into which his friend had vanished, and from whence -some indescribable, but yet terrible sounds, seemed to ascend. -</p> - -<p> -He could see nothing of Beverley; but suddenly the -crashing of branches, and the swaying of the tall feathery -grass, announced the whereabouts of the tiger, which became -visible a few yards off, apparently furious with rage and -pain, and tearing everything within its reach to pieces. -</p> - -<p> -On Trevor firing, his ball had the effect of making it -spring into the air with a tremendous bound; but the contents -of his second barrel took the savage right in the heart, -after which it rolled dead to the bottom of the nullah. -</p> - -<p> -On being assured that the tiger was surely killed, the -cowardly natives came slowly to the aid of Chute, who found -his friend Beverley in a shocking condition, with his face -fearfully lacerated, and his breast so torn and mutilated -by the dreadful claws, that the very action of the heart was -visible. -</p> - -<p> -He was breathing heavily, but quite speechless and insensible. -</p> - -<p> -Though many minutiæ of that day's dreadful occurrence -came vividly back to Chute's memory, he could scarcely -remember how he got his friend conveyed back to the -cantonment of Landour, and laid on a native charpoy in their -great and comfortless-looking bungalow, where the doctor, -after a brief examination, could afford not the slightest hope -of his recovery. -</p> - -<p> -'It's only an affair of time now,' said he; 'muscles, -nerves, and vessels are all so torn and injured that no human -system could survive the shock.' -</p> - -<p> -So, with kind-hearted Trevor Chute, the subsequent time -was passed in a species of nightmare, amid which some -catastrophe seemed to have happened, but the truth of -which his mind failed to grasp or realize; and mourning for -his friend as he would for a brother, they got through the -hot and dreary hours of the Indian night, he scarcely knew -how. -</p> - -<p> -About gunfire, and just when dawn was empurpling the -snowy summits of the vast hills that overshadow the -Deyrah Dhoon, the doctor came and said to him, with -professional coolness: -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Jack Beverley is going fast; I wish you would do -your best to amuse him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Amuse him?' repeated Chute, indignantly. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; but no doubt you will find it difficult to do so, -when you know the poor fellow is dying.' -</p> - -<p> -In the grey dawn his appearance was dreadful, yet he -was quite cool and collected, though weaker than a little -child—he who but yesterday had been in all the strength -and glory of manhood when in its prime! -</p> - -<p> -'The regiment is under orders for home,' said he, speaking -painfully, feebly, and at long intervals. 'Dear old friend, -you will see her—Ida—and give my darling all the mementoes -of me that you deem proper to take: my V.C. and all -that sort of thing; among others, <i>this gipsy ring</i>; it was her -first gift to me; and see, the tiger's cruel teeth have broken -it quite in two! I have had a little sleep, and I dreamt of -<i>her</i> (God bless her for ever!)—dreamt of her plainly and -distinctly as I see you now, old fellow, for I know that we -are <i>en rapport</i>—and we shall soon meet, moreover.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>En rapport</i> again!' thought Chute; 'what can he—what -does he mean?' -</p> - -<p> -'Promise me that you will do what I ask of you, and -break to my darling, as gently as possible, the mode in -which I died.' -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute promised all that his friend required of -him, especially that he should see Ida personally. -</p> - -<p> -This was insisted on, and after that the victim sank -rapidly. -</p> - -<p> -As he lay dying, he seemed in fancy, as his feeble mutterings -indicated, to float through the air as his thoughts -and aspirations fled homeward—homeward by Aden, the -Red Sea, and Cairo—homeward by Malta and the white -cliffs to the home of the Collingwoods; and he saw Ida -standing on the threshold to welcome him; and then, when -her fancied kiss fell on his lips, the soul of the poor fellow -passed away. -</p> - -<p> -The name of Ida was the last sound he uttered. -</p> - -<p> -All was silent then, till as Trevor Chute closed his eyes -he heard the merry drums beating the reveille through the -echoing cantonments. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap03"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER III. -<br /><br /> -HIS VISIT TO CLARE. -</h3> - -<p> -Though not yet thirty years of age, Trevor Chute was no -longer a young man with a wild and unguessed idea of -existence before him. Thought and experience of life had -tamed him down, and made him in many respects more a -man of the world than when last he stood upon the -threshold of Sir Carnaby Collingwood's stately mansion in -Piccadilly, and left it, as he thought, for ever behind him. -</p> - -<p> -Yet even now a thrill came over him as he rang the -visitors' bell. -</p> - -<p> -It would have been wiser, perhaps, and, circumstanced as -he was with the family, the most proper mode, to have -simply written to Sir Carnaby or to Ada Beverley instead of -calling; but he had promised his friend, when dying at -Landour, to see her personally; and it is not improbable -that in the kindness of his heart Jack Beverley, even in that -awful hour, was not without a hope that the visit might -eventually lead to something conducive to the future -happiness of his friend, to whom the chance of such a hope -had certainly never occurred. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute had urged Jerry Vane to accompany him, -hoping, by the aid of his presence and companionship, to -escape some of the awkwardness pertaining to his visit; but -the latter, though on terms of passable intimacy with the -family still, and more especially since the widowhood of Ida, -considering the peculiar mission of Chute to her, begged to -be excused on this occasion. -</p> - -<p> -And now, while a clamorous longing to see Clare once -again—to hear her voice, to feel the touch of her hand, -though all for the last time in life—rose in his heart, and -while conning over the terms in which he was to address -her, and how, in their now altered relations, he was to -comport himself with her from whom he had been so cruelly -separated by no fault of either, he actually hoped that, if -not from home, she might at least be engaged with -visitors. -</p> - -<p> -Full of such conflicting thoughts, he rang the bell a -second time. The lofty door of the huge house was slowly -unfolded by a tall powdered lackey of six feet and some -odd inches, the inevitable 'Jeames,' of the plush and -cauliflower head, who glanced suspiciously at a glazed -sword-case and small travelling-bag which Chute had taken -from his cab. -</p> - -<p> -'Is Sir Carnaby at home?' -</p> - -<p> -'No, sir—gone to his club,' was the reply, languidly -given. -</p> - -<p> -'Mrs. Beverley, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'She does not see anyone—to-day, at least.' -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Collingwood?' -</p> - -<p> -<i>She</i> was at home, and on receiving the card of Chute, the -valet, who knew that his name was not on the visitors' list, -again looked suspiciously at the bag and sword-case, and -while marvelling 'what line the "Captain" was in—barometers, -French jewellery, or fancy soaps,' passed the -card to a 'gentleman' in plain clothes, and after some delay -and formality our friend was ushered upstairs. -</p> - -<p> -Again he found himself in that familiar drawing-room—but -alone. -</p> - -<p> -It seemed as if not a day had elapsed since he had -last stood there, and that all the intervening time was a -dream, and that he and Clare were as they might have been. -</p> - -<p> -From the windows the view was all unchanged; he could -see the trees of the Green Park, and the arch surmounted -by the hideous statue of the 'Iron Duke,' and even the -drowsy hum of the streets was the same as of old. -</p> - -<p> -Chute had seen vast and airy halls in the City of Palaces -by the Hooghly; but, of late, much of his time had been -spent under canvas, or in shabby straw-roofed bungalows; -and now the double drawing-room of this splendid London -house, though familiar enough to him, as we have said, -appealed to his sense of costliness, with its rich furniture, its -lofty mirrors, lace curtains, gilded cornices, statues, and -jardinières, loading the atmosphere with the perfume of -heliotrope and tea-roses, and brought home to him, by its -details, the gulf that wealth on one hand, and unmerited -misfortune on the other, had opened between him and Clare -Collingwood. -</p> - -<p> -A rustle of silk was heard, and suddenly she stood before -him. -</p> - -<p> -She was very, very pale, and while striving to conceal her -emotion under the cool exterior enforced by good breeding, -it was evident that the hand in which she held his card was -trembling. -</p> - -<p> -But she presented the other frankly to Trevor Chute, and -hastily begging him to be seated, bade him welcome to -England, and skilfully threw herself into a sofa with her -back to the light. -</p> - -<p> -'We saw in the papers that your regiment was coming -home, and then that it had landed at Portsmouth,' she -remarked, after a brief pause, and Chute's heart beat all the -more lightly that she seemed still to have some interest in -his movements. 'Poor Ida,' she resumed, 'is confined to -her room; Violet is at home,—you remember Violet? but I -am so sorry that papa is out.' -</p> - -<p> -'My visit was to him, or rather to Mrs. Beverley,' said -Chute, with the slightest tinge of bitterness in his tone; -'and believe me that I should not have intruded at all on -Sir Carnaby Collingwood but for the dying wish of my poor -friend your brother-in-law.' -</p> - -<p> -'Intruded! Oh, how can you speak thus, Captain Chute—and -to <i>me</i>?' she asked in almost breathless voice, while -her respiration became quicker, and a little flush crossed her -pale face for a second. -</p> - -<p> -Then Chute began to feel more than ever the miserable -awkwardness of the situation, and of the task which had been -set him; for when a man and woman have ever been more -to each other than mere friends, they can never meet in the -world simply as acquaintances again. -</p> - -<p> -For a minute he looked earnestly at Clare, and thought -that never before, even in the buried past that seemed so -distant now—yet only four years ago—had she seemed more -lovely than now. -</p> - -<p> -The blood of a long line of fair and highly bred ancestresses -had given to her features that, though perfectly -regular and beautifully cut, were full of expression and -vivacity, though times there were when a certain fixity or -statue-like repose that pervaded them seemed to enhance -their beauty. -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes and hair were wonderfully dark when contrasted -with the pale purity of her complexion, and the colour and -form of her lips, though full and pouting, were expressive of -softness, of sweetness, and even of passionate tenderness, -but without giving the slightest suggestion of aught that was -sensuous; for if the heart of Clare Collingwood was -passionate and affectionate, its outlet was rather in her eyes -than in the form of her mouth. -</p> - -<p> -And now, while gazing upon her and striving hard to -utter the merest commonplaces with an unfaltering tongue, -Trevor Chute could but ponder how often he had kissed -those lips, those thick dark tresses, and her charming hands, -on which his eyes had to turn as on a picture now. -</p> - -<p> -His eyes, however, were speaking eyes; they were full of -tenderness and truth, and showed, though proper pride and -the delicacy of their mutual position forbade the subject, -how his tongue longed to take up the dear old story he had -told her in the past years, ere cold worldliness parted them -so roughly, and, as it seemed, for ever. -</p> - -<p> -On the other hand, Clare Collingwood—perfectly high-bred, -past girlhood, a woman of the world, and fully accustomed -to society, if she received him now without any too -apparent emotion, by the delicate flush that flitted across -her beautiful face, and the almost imperceptible constraint -in her graceful yet—shall we say it?—startled manner, -imparted the flattering conviction to her visitor that he was -far from indifferent to her still, and her eyes filled alternately -with keen interest, with alarm, affection, and sorrow, as she -heard, for the first time, all the details of Beverley's death -in that distant hill cantonment, a place of which she had -not the slightest conception. -</p> - -<p> -'Will Mrs. Beverley see me?' he concluded. -</p> - -<p> -'Though much of an invalid now, poor Ida undoubtedly -will; but you must not tell her all that you have told to -me,' said Clare, in her earnestness almost unconsciously -laying her hand on his arm, which thrilled beneath her -touch. 'Dearest mamma is, of course you know, no more. -We lost her since—since you left England.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, I heard of the sorrowful event when we were up -country on the march to Benares, and it seemed to—to -bring my heart back to its starting-place.' -</p> - -<p> -'Since then I have been quite a matron to Violet, and -even to Ida, though married; thus I feel myself, when in -society, equal to half a dozen of chaperones.' -</p> - -<p> -A little laugh followed this remark, and to Chute's ear it -had, he thought, a hollow sound, and Vane's report of -'what the clubs said' concerning Desmond and the 'linked -names,' and the recollection of the note placed so hastily in -the Marguerite pouch which she wore at that very time, -rankled in Chute's mind, and began to steel him somewhat -against her, in spite of himself, but only for a time, for the -charm of her presence was fast bewildering him. -</p> - -<p> -Her heart, like his own, perhaps, was full to bursting—beating -with love and yearning, yet stifled under the exterior -that good breeding and the conventionality of 'society' -inculcated. -</p> - -<p> -'I hope you find the climate of England pleasant after—after -India,' she remarked, when there was a pause in the -conversation. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, yes—of course—Miss Collingwood—my native air.' -</p> - -<p> -'Our climate is so very variable.' -</p> - -<p> -<i>Captain</i> Chute agreed with her cordially that it was so. -</p> - -<p> -Though subjects not to be approached by either, each -was doubtful how the heart of the other stood in the matters -of love and affection. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute had, all things considered, though their -engagement had been brought to a calamitous end, good -reason, he thought, to be jealous of Harvey Desmond; -while Clare had equal reason to doubt whether, in the -years that were gone, and in his wanderings in that land of -the sun from whence he had just returned so bronzed and -scorched, he might have loved, and become, even now, -engaged to another. -</p> - -<p> -She was only certain of one fact: that he was yet -unmarried. -</p> - -<p> -These very ideas and mutual suspicions made their -conversation disjointed; hollow, and unprofitable; but -now, luckily, an awkward pause was interrupted by the -entrance of a fair and handsome, dashing yet delicate-looking -girl, attired for a ride in the Row, with her whip -and gloves in one hand, her gathered skirt in the other. -</p> - -<p> -Though neither bashful nor shy, her bright blue eyes -glanced inquiringly at their military-looking visitor, to -whom she merely bowed, and was, perhaps, about to -withdraw, when Clare said: -</p> - -<p> -'Don't you remember who this is, Captain Chute?' -</p> - -<p> -Turning more fully towards the young girl, whose beauty -and charming grace in her riding-habit were undeniable, he -said: -</p> - -<p> -'I think I do; you are——' -</p> - -<p> -'Violet; you can't have forgotten Violet, Trevor? Oh, -how well I remember you, though you are as brown as a -berry now!' exclaimed Violet Collingwood, as she threw -aside her gloves and whip, and took each of his hands in -hers. 'I was thirteen when you saw me last; I am -seventeen, quite a woman, now.' -</p> - -<p> -Kindly he pressed the fairy fingers of Violet, whose merry -blue eyes gazed with loving kindness into his, for the girl -had suddenly struck a chord of great tenderness in his -heart by so frankly calling him 'Trevor,' while another, -who was wont to do so once, was now styling him -ceremoniously 'Captain Chute.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare seemed sensible of the situation in which her -somewhat girlish sister placed them; for a moment her -face looked haughty and aristocratic, but the next its -normal sweet expression of character, all that is womanly, -beautiful, and tender, stole into it, and she fairly laughed -when Violet twitched off her hat and veil, and, seating -herself beside Trevor Chute, declared that the Row should -not be honoured with her presence that day. -</p> - -<p> -Though naturally playful, frank, and almost hoydenish—if -such an expression could be applied to a girl of Violet's -appearance, and one so highly bred, too—she gazed with -something of wonder, curiosity, and undeniable interest on -the handsome face, the tender eyes, and well-knit figure of -this once lover of her elder sister, whose story, with all the -romance of a young girl's nature, she so genuinely pitied, -whom she remembered so well as being her particular -friend when she was permitted to come home for the -holidays, who had petted and toyed with her so often, as -with a little sister, and of whom she had only heard a little -from time to time as being absent with Beverley in a -distant, and to her unknown, land; and now, girl-like, she -began to blunder, to the confusion and annoyance of her -more stately sister. -</p> - -<p> -'Trevor Chute here <i>after all</i>!' she exclaimed, with a -merry burst of laughter. 'Why! it seems all like a story in -one of Mudie's novels!' -</p> - -<p> -'What does?' asked Clare, with a little asperity of tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Can you ask?' persisted Violet. -</p> - -<p> -'His visit is a very melancholy one; and if Captain -Chute will excuse me, I shall go and prepare poor Ida for -it,' said Clare, rising. -</p> - -<p> -'What does it all mean?' asked Violet, again capturing -the willing hands of their visitor, as Clare hastily, and not -without some confusion, swept away through the outer -drawing-room. 'Why doesn't she call you Trevor, as I -do? <i>Captain</i> Chute sounds so formal! I am sure I have -often heard her talk to Ida of you as "Trevor" when they -thought I was asleep, yet was very much awake indeed. -So you are Clare's first love, are you?' -</p> - -<p> -'I am glad to find that I am not quite forgotten,' replied -Chute, smiling in earnest now; 'you were quite a child -when I—I——' -</p> - -<p> -'Left this for India.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Why</i> did you go?' -</p> - -<p> -'To join my regiment.' -</p> - -<p> -'Leaving Clare behind you? I must have a long, long -talk with you about this, and you shall be my escort in the -Park the next time I ride with Evelyn Desmond, for her -brother is perpetually dangling after Clare, eyeing her with -his stupid china-blue eyes, and doing his dreary best to be -pleasing, like a great booby as he is.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap04"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IV. -<br /><br /> -IDA. -</h3> - -<p> -Preceded by Clare, and accompanied by Violet, Trevor -Chute entered the apartment of Ida Beverley, a species of -little drawing-room, appropriated to her own use, and where, -when not driving in the Park, she spent most of the day, -apart from everyone. -</p> - -<p> -Ere they entered, Clare again touched his arm lightly, and -whispered, -</p> - -<p> -'Be careful in all you say.' -</p> - -<p> -'Be assured that I shall.' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, for poor Ida looks as though she would never -smile again.' -</p> - -<p> -Though warned by these words to expect some marked -change in the beautiful coquette who had been the sun of -Beverley's life, and who had taken nearly all the life out of -the less luckless Jerry Vane, the visitor was greatly shocked -by the appearance of Ida, who rose from her easy-chair to -receive him with the saddest of smiles on one of the -sweetest of faces—Ida, who had the richest and brightest -auburn hair in London, and the 'most divine complexion -in the same big village by the Thames,' as Beverley used to -boast many a time and oft, when he and Trevor were far, -far away from home and her. -</p> - -<p> -Her beauty had become strangely ethereal; her -complexion purer, even, and more waxen than ever; her eyes -seemed larger, but clearer, more lustrous, and filled at times -with a far-seeing expression, and they were long-lashed and -heavily lidded. -</p> - -<p> -Her hands seemed very thin and white, yet so pink in the -palms. -</p> - -<p> -To Trevor Chute she had the appearance of one in -consumption; but strange to say, poor Jerry Vane, who still -loved her so well, saw nothing of all this, even when meeting -her at intervals. -</p> - -<p> -She received Trevor Chute with outstretched hands, and -with an <i>empressement</i> which, perhaps, her elder sister envied; -she invited him to sit close by her side, and to tell her all -he knew, all he could remember, and every detail of -Beverley's last hours; but to do this, after the warning he -had received from Clare, required all the tact, ingenuity, and -delicacy that Chute was master of. -</p> - -<p> -She had become composed and calm during the past -months; but now the proffered relics brought so vividly and -painfully before her the individuality of the dead, the -handsome young husband she had lost, that a heavy outburst of -anguish was the result, as all expected. -</p> - -<p> -There were rings, each of which had its own story; a -miniature of herself, with a lock of her auburn hair behind -it; there were his medals and his Victoria cross, gained by -an act of bravery among the hills, his sword and sash: all -were kissed with quivering lips, commented on, and wept -over again and again, not noisily or obstreperously, but with -a quiet, gentle, subdued, and ladylike grief that proved very -touching, especially in one so young and so beautiful in her -deep crape dress; and Trevor Chute, as he observed all this, -began to think that even yet his friend Vane's chances -of regaining the widow's heart were of the slightest kind. -</p> - -<p> -'I knew, Trevor Chute,' said she, after a pause, 'that I -should never, never see him again!' -</p> - -<p> -'How?' he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Because in the dawn of that morning when—when he -died, I dreamt of him, and he showed me the ring you have -brought—the gipsy ring I gave him, broken in two, as it -now is.' -</p> - -<p> -'The tiger's teeth did that.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is true,' said Clare. 'She was sleeping with me, and -started up in tears and agitation to tell me of her dream and -of the ring.' -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute's mind went back to that time when the -pale face of the dead man looked so sad in the half-darkened -bungalow, while the drums beat merrily in the square without; -the last words of Beverley came back to him, and could -it be, as he had often said, that he and Ida were indeed -<i>en rapport</i>, and had a spiritual and unseen link between -them? -</p> - -<p> -It began to seem so now. -</p> - -<p> -Then, fearing that his visit was somewhat protracted, he -rose, yet lingeringly, to go. -</p> - -<p> -'Dear Captain Chute—Trevor we all called you once,' -said Ida, taking his hand in both of hers, while Clare drew -a little way back, 'you will call again and see us?' -</p> - -<p> -'It is better that I should not,' replied Chute, in a voice -that became agitated in spite of himself; 'you know all the -circumstances, Ida, under which we parted,' he added, in a -lower voice. -</p> - -<p> -'You will surely come again and see <i>me</i>?' she urged. -</p> - -<p> -'If the family were out of town,' Chute was beginning. -</p> - -<p> -'Trevor,' said the widow, passionately, 'love me as if—as -if I were your sister; for you were more than a -friend—yes, a very brother—to my poor Beverley, and I must be as -your sister.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare's eyes met those of Chute for an instant, and then -were dropped on the carpet; but she did not blush, as -another might have done, at all this speech implied or -suggested, for her face grew very pale, and then, feeling the -dire necessity of saying something, she muttered, -falteringly: -</p> - -<p> -'You will surely call and see papa, after—after——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, Miss Collingwood?' -</p> - -<p> -'Your long absence from this country.' -</p> - -<p> -'It has seemed somewhat of an eternity to me.' -</p> - -<p> -She trembled as he added, in a gentle, yet cold manner: -</p> - -<p> -'Excuse me, but it were better to pay my first visit to -him at his club.' -</p> - -<p> -Chute, who had been all tenderness to Ida, could not -help this manner to Clare, for Violet's remarks about -Desmond seemed to corroborate those of Vane. -</p> - -<p> -Unstable of purpose, he held Clare's hand, and she -permitted him to do so, with a slow, regretful clasp. Why -should he not do so, and why should she withdraw her -slender fingers? -</p> - -<p> -As he descended the staircase, he heard the name -of the Honourable Harvey Desmond announced with his -card, and the rivals passed each other in the marble -vestibule, the former with the easy air of a daily, at least a -frequent, visitor; the other with that of one whose mission -was over. -</p> - -<p> -'On what terms are he and Clare if the clubs link their -names together?' thought Trevor, bitterly and sadly, as he -came forth. -</p> - -<p> -Did she, after all, love himself still? -</p> - -<p> -He was almost inclined to flatter himself that she did -so. -</p> - -<p> -Worldly or monetary matters were unchanged between -them, as at that cruel time when he lost her; so perhaps -he had only returned to London to stand idly by and see -her become the wife of Desmond! -</p> - -<p> -After all that had passed between them, after all that -seemed gone for ever, after the bitterness and mortification -he had endured, the years of hopeless separation in a -distant land, he could scarcely realize, while walking along -the sunny and crowded pavement of Piccadilly, the assured -fact that he had again seen and spoken with Clare Collingwood; -and that the whole interview had not been one of -those day-dreams in which, when in Beverley's society, he -had been so often wont to indulge when quartered far up -country in the burning East. -</p> - -<p> -Then he recalled the cold terms of that letter in which -her father—a hard and heartless, frivolous and luxurious -man of the world, with much of aristocratic snobbery in his -composition—had bluntly informed him that the engagement -between him and Clare was ended for ever, and <i>why</i>; -and he resolved that neither at the baronet's club nor -anywhere else would he waste a calling card upon him; and in -this pleasant mood of mind he hailed a hansom and drove -to the rooms of his friend Jerry Vane. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap05"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER V. -<br /><br /> -HOW WILL IT END? -</h3> - -<p> -If Jerry Vane was not very contented in mind, his rooms, -the windows of which overlooked a fashionable square, -bore evidence that he was surrounded by every luxury, that -he was behind the young fellows of his set in nothing; -while the velvet and silk cases for cigars or vestas that littered -the table and mantelpiece, even the slippers and smoking-cap -he wore, all the work of feminine fingers, seemed to hint -of the many fair ones who were ready to console him. -</p> - -<p> -Possessed of means ample enough to indulge in every -whim and fancy, the mantelpiece and the tables about him -were littered by the 'hundred and one' objects with which -a young man like Jerry is apt to surround himself. -</p> - -<p> -There were pipes of all kinds, whips, spurs, fencing-foils, -revolvers, Derringer pistols, Bohemian glass, and gold-mounted -bottles full of essences, statuettes pell-mell with -soiled kid gloves, soda-water bottles, pink notes, faded -bouquets, and French novels in their yellow covers. -</p> - -<p> -The hangings and furniture were elegant and luxurious, -on the walls were some crayons of very fair girls in rather -<i>décolleté</i> dress, while on a marble console lay a gun-case, -hunting-flasks, and many other things that were quite out -of place in a drawing-room, and a Skye terrier and an -enormous St. Bernard mastiff were gambolling together on -a couple of great tiger-skins, the spoil of Trevor Chute's gun -in some far Indian jungle. -</p> - -<p> -The day was far advanced, yet Jerry had not long breakfasted, -and lay, not fully dressed, in a luxurious dressing-robe, -tasselled and braided, on the softest of sofas, enjoying -the inevitable cigar, when Chute was ushered in, and he -sprang up to receive him. -</p> - -<p> -It may easily be supposed that Vane was most impatient -to hear all the details of his friend's remarkable visit to the -Collingwoods—remarkable, at least, under all circumstances—but -he could not fail to listen with emotions of a -somewhat mingled cast to the account of Ida's undoubted grief -for his supplanter—an account which he certainly, with -that love of self-torment peculiar to some men, wrung from -Trevor Chute by dint of much industrious cross-questioning. -</p> - -<p> -Could he blame her for it? -</p> - -<p> -'This sadness, of which all are cognizant,' said Chute, -'is not unaccountable, you know, Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'I suppose so.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is natural grief for Jack Beverley.' -</p> - -<p> -'Pleasant fact to thrust on me!' said Vane, grimly. -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me, old fellow, I did not thrust it on you. But -take heart; a girl with such capacity for love and -tenderness is worth the winning.' -</p> - -<p> -'I won her, man alive!' said Jerry, savagely. -</p> - -<p> -'Well, such a fortune is worth winning again.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is barrack slang, Trevor.' -</p> - -<p> -'Not at all,' said Chute, laughing at his friend's petulance. -'Be assured that she must love something; and your turn -will deservedly come in due time.' -</p> - -<p> -'If a cat or a monkey don't take my place.' -</p> - -<p> -'Cynical again.' -</p> - -<p> -'I can't help being so, Trevor, as well as being a simpleton.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay, don't say so, Jerry,' said the soldier, kindly; 'I -think this unchanging love you have for a girl who used -you so does honour to your heart, especially in this age of -ours, when we are much more addicted to pence than to -poetry; and, as some one says, the <i>sauce piquante</i> of life is -its glorious uncertainty.' -</p> - -<p> -'And Clare—what were your thoughts and conclusions -about <i>her</i>? -</p> - -<p> -'My thoughts you know; my conclusions—I have none,' -replied Chute, who, since he had again seen and talked -with Clare Collingwood, had felt his heart too full of her -to confide, even to his friend, as yet, what hope or fear he -had. -</p> - -<p> -'And you saw Violet, too?' asked Vane, to fill up a -pause. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, yes,' replied Chute, with animation; 'Violet, whilom -the pretty little girl—the child with a wealth of golden hair -flowing below her waist, and no end of mischief and fun in -her bright blue eyes; she seems the same now as then. -She actually spoke of Desmond being an admirer of -Clare.' -</p> - -<p> -'Surely that was bad form in the girl, to <i>you</i> especially.' -</p> - -<p> -'She did so through pure inadvertence, Jerry; but I must -own that, when coupled with your remarks, the circumstance -stung me more than a week ago I could have anticipated. -But I suppose such trials as those of ours,' he continued, -helping himself to a bumper of sherry without waiting to be -asked, 'are part and parcel of the ills that manhood has to -encounter—"Manhood, with all its chances and changes, -its wild revels and its dark regrets—its sparkling -champagne-cup and its bitter aconite lying at the dregs."' -</p> - -<p> -'Times there are when I blush at my own want of proper -pride of heart in continuing to mourn after a girl who has -quietly let me drop into the place of a mere friend.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay, depend upon it, Jerry, you must be much more -than any mere friend can be to Ida Beverley; and now, as -far as her grief goes, my visit to-day will prove, I think, the -turning point.' -</p> - -<p> -'And so Violet actually blundered out with some remark -about Desmond.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, and that which galled me more was to see him -come lounging into the house to visit Clare just as I took -my departure, so there <i>must</i> be some truth in what the -clubs say.' -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane did not reply, and his silence seemed to give -a marked assent to the surmise, as he had been in London, -for some time past, and must, as Chute thought bitterly, -know all the <i>on dits</i> of the fashionable world, and he sat also -silent, watching the ice in the sherry cobbler melt slowly -away. -</p> - -<p> -Though Trevor Chute had, with emotions of doubt, -regret, and envy, seen Desmond lounging into the house of -the Collingwoods on the eventful day of his visit thereto, -it did not follow, he thought on reflection, that he visited -there daily. -</p> - -<p> -Nor was it so. -</p> - -<p> -It was the height of a crowded and brilliant London -season, and the Brigade had to undergo what that branch of -the service deem 'hard work.' -</p> - -<p> -There were guards of honour for Royal drawing-rooms; -escort duty; heavy morning drills at Wormwood Scrubs; -the daily ride in the Lady's Mile; polo at Lillie Bridge; -perhaps a match with the Coldstreams at Lord's; a -Bacchanalian water party and a nine o'clock dinner at -Richmond with some of the pets of the Opera; midnight -receptions and later waltzes; at homes, and so forth: thus -the time of Desmond was pretty well filled up; and yet at -many of these places he had ample opportunities for -meeting Clare, and being somewhat of a privileged dangler, -without committing himself so far as a special visit might -imply. -</p> - -<p> -All was over between Clare Collingwood and Trevor -Chute; yet the interest of the latter in her and her future -was irrepressible. -</p> - -<p> -Two days passed, and he remained in great doubt what -to do: whether to accept Ida's piteous and pressing invitation -to call on <i>her</i>, heedless, of course, though not forgetting -it, of Violet's proposal that he should escort her in -the Park when Clare rode with Desmond. -</p> - -<p> -And now he began to think that to remain in London, -where there would be daily chances of seeing Clare, would -be but to trifle with his own happiness and that peace of -mind which he had been gradually attaining in India, and -that he and Jerry Vane should betake themselves to Paris -or Brussels, and kill thought as best they could; to this -conclusion they came as they sat far into the hours of a -sultry summer night over cigars and iced drinks, and -resolved that the morrow should see them leave 'the silver -streak' behind them. -</p> - -<p> -And at that very time, when they were forming their -plans, what was Clare about? -</p> - -<p> -Could Trevor have seen her then, and known her secret -thoughts, perhaps he might have been less decided in his -views of foreign travel. -</p> - -<p> -Returning wearily and long before the usual time from a -brilliant rout, greatly to the surprise of Violet, and not a -little to the vexation of that young lady, Clare was seated -alone in her own room, lost in thought and unwilling to -consult poor sad Ida, who was now fast asleep. -</p> - -<p> -It was long past midnight; the throng of foot passengers -was gone, but the rattle of carriages was incessant as if the -time were mid-day. -</p> - -<p> -She had unclasped her ornaments as if they oppressed -her, and forgetful of her maid, who yawned fitfully and -impatiently in an adjoining room, she sat with her rounded -chin placed in the palm of a white hand, with her dark eyes -fixed on vacancy. -</p> - -<p> -The soft air of the summer night—or morning, rather—came -gently through the lace curtains of an open window, -bringing with it the delicious perfume of flowers from the -jardinière in the balcony; and perhaps the fragrance of -these blossoms, and the half-hushed hum of the streets -without, 'stole through the portals of the senses,' -and lured her into waking dreams of the past and of the -future. -</p> - -<p> -At the ball she had quitted so early, her father, who had -been making himself appear somewhat absurd by his senile -attentions to Desmond's rather <i>passée</i> sister, Evelyn, had -actually <i>spoken</i> to her of Trevor Chute, and in unwonted -friendly terms; and the flood of thought this episode had -called up within her, conflicting with the half-decided -addresses of Desmond, partly drew her home, to think and -ponder over her future, if a future she had that was worth -considering now. -</p> - -<p> -So far as monetary matters were concerned, the same -barriers existed still between her and poor Trevor Chute as -when Sir Carnaby broke off the engagement as cruelly as he -would have 'scratched' a horse; and then the settlements -which the great, languid guardsman could make were -known to be unexceptional. -</p> - -<p> -These did not weigh much with gentle, yet proud, and -unambitious Clare; but she knew that they had vast weight -with her worldly-minded father, so why torment herself by -thinking of Trevor Chute at all? -</p> - -<p> -But thoughts came thick and fast in spite of reason and -cool reflection, and the girl sank into a reverie that was far -from being a pleasant one. -</p> - -<p> -But what if Trevor Chute had learned to love another! -</p> - -<p> -She bit her lovely nether lip, which was like a scarlet -camellia bud, for an instant; her dark eyes flashed, then -drooped, and she smiled softly, confidently, and perhaps -triumphantly, as she said, half audibly: -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, no—he loves me still; poor Trevor! I saw it in -his eyes—I heard it in the cadence of his voice, and I never -was mistaken! He loves me still—but to what purpose, <i>to -what end</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -Tears started to her eyes; but she crushed her emotion, -and, with a quick, impatient little hand, rang for her -waiting-maid. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap06"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VI. -<br /><br /> -SIR CARNABY COLLINGWOOD. -</h3> - -<p> -Still intent upon his Continental scheme, and somewhat -impatiently waiting the arrival of Jerry Vane, Trevor Chute -was idling over a late breakfast, so full of thoughts—sweet, -regretful, and angry thoughts—of Clare Collingwood that he -seemed like one in a dream. -</p> - -<p> -It was nearly noon. The sun of May was bathing in light -the leafy foliage of the Green Park, and throwing its shadows -darkly and strongly on the green below; while the far -extent of the lofty street seemed all aglow and quivering in -the sunshine. -</p> - -<p> -How fair and fresh the world looked, and yet, since his -last interview with Clare, everything seemed indistinct and -unusual to his senses. -</p> - -<p> -'Bah!' thought he; 'to-night Jerry and I shall be in -France, and then——' -</p> - -<p> -What <i>then</i>, he scarcely knew. -</p> - -<p> -The current of his ideas changed, for times there were, -and this became one of them, when he longed morbidly to -go through all the luxury of grief and sentiment in taking -that which he had never before taken, save by letter—a last -farewell of her; to beg of her to let no hour of sorrow for -him mar her peace, no regret for his loss of fortune, a loss -that was no fault of his own; to think of him with no pain, -but with a soft memory of their past love, or to forget him, -though he never could, or should, forget <i>her</i>, but would ever -treasure in his heart how dear she had been to him, etc., -etc.; and in this mood he was indulging, when his valet -laid before him a note, the envelope of which caused him -to feel a kind of electric shock. -</p> - -<p> -It bore the Collingwood crest. -</p> - -<p> -With hands tremulous as those of an agitated girl, he tore -it open, and found that it was from Sir Carnaby Collingwood—a -brief invitation to dine with him at his club at eight -to-morrow evening (if disengaged), 'that they might have a -little talk over old times.' -</p> - -<p> -'Old times,' he repeated; 'what does that phrase mean?' -</p> - -<p> -He had read over the note for the fourth or fifth time -when Jerry Vane arrived. -</p> - -<p> -He, too, had a similar invitation, but in that there was -nothing remarkable, as he had never ceased to be on terms -of intimacy with Sir Carnaby. -</p> - -<p> -'What <i>can</i> old Collingwood mean by this invitation to -smoke the calumet of peace?' exclaimed Trevor Chute. -</p> - -<p> -'Time will show.' -</p> - -<p> -'After the cutting tenor of the letter he sent me—that -cold and formal letter of dismissal—I—I——' -</p> - -<p> -'Forget it, like the good fellow you are; and remember -only that he is the father of Clare Collingwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'True.' -</p> - -<p> -'You'll go, of course?' said Jerry, after a pause; but -Chute was silent. -</p> - -<p> -His pride suggested that under all the circumstances, -especially if what 'the clubs said' were true, he should decline -the invitation. -</p> - -<p> -But why? -</p> - -<p> -He had already been at the Collingwoods', but on a special -mission, certainly. -</p> - -<p> -Then Sir Carnaby was proud, and it was impossible to -forget that the first formal advance had come from him. -More than all, as Jerry Vane had said, he was the father of -Clare, of her who had never ceased to be the idol of all -his thoughts. -</p> - -<p> -'By Jove, I'll go—and you, Jerry,' he exclaimed. 'Of -course.' -</p> - -<p> -Each dashed off an acceptance, and they were despatched -to Pall Mall in the care of Trevor's valet. -</p> - -<p> -After a time, as if repenting of his sudden facility, Trevor -Chute muttered: -</p> - -<p> -'He used barely to bow to me in the Row or in the -streets after he gave me my <i>congé</i>. What the deuce can his -object be? Is he—is he relenting?' -</p> - -<p> -The pulsation of Chute's heart quickened at the idea, -and the colour deepened in his bronzed cheek. -</p> - -<p> -'How anomalous and singular is the position in which -we both stand with this selfish old fellow and his daughters,' -said he to Jerry as they ascended the stately marble staircase -of the baronet's club next evening, and gave their cards -to a giant in livery, with the small head and enormous calves -and feet peculiar to the fraternity of the shoulder-knot. -</p> - -<p> -As they were ushered into a lofty and magnificent room, -the great windows of which opened to Pall Mall, Sir -Carnaby took their cards mechanically from the silver salver, -but seemed chiefly intent on bowing out a tall and -fashionable-looking man, whose leading characteristics were languor -of gait and bearing, with insipid blue eyes, and a bushy, -sandy-coloured moustache. -</p> - -<p> -'And you won't dine with us, Desmond?' he was saying. -</p> - -<p> -'Impossible, thanks very much,' drawled the other. 'Then -I have your full permission, Sir Carnaby?' -</p> - -<p> -'With all my warmest wishes, my dear fellow,' responded -the baronet cordially; and, hat in hand, the visitor bowed -himself out, with a brief kind of stare at Trevor Chute, -whose face, he thought, he somehow remembered, and a -dry shake of the hand with Jerry Vane, whom he knew. -</p> - -<p> -He was gone, 'with full permission,' to do what? -</p> - -<p> -Chute's heart foreboded at that moment all the two words -meant, and the next he found himself cordially greeted by -the man whose son-in-law he had once so nearly been. -</p> - -<p> -'Ha, Captain Chute, welcome back from India,' he -exclaimed. 'By Jove, how brown you look—brown as a -berry, Violet said—after potting tigers, and all that sort -of thing; too much for Beverley, though. Poor Jack—good -fellow, Beverley, but rash, I fear. Very glad to thank -you in person for all your kindness to him and to poor -Ida. Most kind of you both, I am sure, to come on so -hurried an invitation.' -</p> - -<p> -Of Beverley and Ida, with reference to the death of the -first, and the grief of the second, he spoke in the same jaunty -and smiling way that he did of the beauty of the weather, -the brilliance of the London season, the topics before the -House last night, or anything else, and laughingly he led -the way to dinner, the courses of which were perfect, and -included all manner of far-fetched luxuries, even to pigeons -stewed in champagne, and other culinary absurdities. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Carnaby did not seem one day older than when Trevor -Chute had seen him last, and yet he had attained to those -years when most men age rapidly. -</p> - -<p> -He had been a singularly handsome man in that time -which he was exceedingly loath to convince himself had -departed—his youth. -</p> - -<p> -His firm, though thin—very thin—figure was still erect, -well-stayed, and padded, perhaps; his eyes were keen and -bright, their smile as insincere, artificial, and hollow as it -had been forty years Before. His cheek was not pale, for -there was a suspicious dash of red about it, while his -well-shaved hair and ragged moustache were dyed beyond a -doubt, like his curled whiskers. -</p> - -<p> -His mouth was perhaps weak and rather sensual; he -had thin white diaphanous hands, with carefully trimmed -nails and sparkling diamond rings. In general accuracy of -costume he might have passed for a tailor's model, while to -Chute's eye his feet were as small, his boots as glazed, as -ever; yet he had undergone the tortures of the gout, drunk -colchicum with toast and water till he shuddered at the -thoughts thereof, and talked surreptitiously of high and dry -localities as being most suitable for his health. -</p> - -<p> -He had, as we have said, keen—others averred rather -wicked—grey eyes, a long and thin aristocratic nose, on -which, when ladies were <i>not</i> present, he sometimes perched -a gold eyeglass. He was certainly wrinkled about the face; -but his smooth white forehead showed no line of thought -or care, as he had never known either, yet death had more -than once darkened his threshold, and hung above it a -scutcheon powdered with tears. He had still the appearance -of what he was—a well-shaved, well-dressed, and well -'got-up' old beau and man about town, and still flattered -himself that he was not without interest in a pretty girl's -eye. -</p> - -<p> -He had the reputation of being a courtly and well-bred -man; and yet, in his present hilarity, or from some -inexplicable cause, he had the bad taste to refer in his jaunty -way to his past relations with Trevor Chute, and to mingle -them with some praises of his recent visitor. -</p> - -<p> -'Good style of fellow, Desmond!—devilish good style, -you know; has a nice place in Hants, and no end of coal-pits -near the Ribble,' he continued, after the decanters had -been replenished more than once. 'Wishes to stand well -with Clare—<i>your</i> old flame, Chute; got over all that sort -of thing long ago, of course, for, as a lady writer says, -"nothing on earth is so pleasant as being a little in love, -and nothing on earth so destructive as being too much -so." Desmond has my best wishes—but, Chute, the decanters -stand with you.' -</p> - -<p> -Chute exchanged one brief and lightning-like glance with -Jerry Vane; he felt irrepressible disgust, and for this stinging -tone to him would have hated the heartless old man but -that he was the father of (as he now deemed her) his lost -Clare Collingwood. But Jerry was made to wince too. -</p> - -<p> -'Your visit the other day, Chute, seems quite to have -upset poor Ida,' said he, after an awkward pause. -</p> - -<p> -'So sorry to hear you say so, Sir Carnaby,' replied Chute, -drily. -</p> - -<p> -'I don't like girls to betray emotion on every frivolous -occasion; it is bad form, you know.' -</p> - -<p> -Frivolous occasion! thought Chute, receiving the last -relics and mementoes of her husband from the comrade in -whose arms he died, and who commanded the funeral party -that fired over him. -</p> - -<p> -'She has begun to mope more horribly than ever during -the last few days; but if I take her down to the country, -she becomes more dull than ever, or goes in for parochial -work—bad style of things, I think—blankets and coals—Dorcas -meetings—and helps the rector's wife in matters of -soup and psalm-singing.' -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, if the truth were known, Sir Carnaby Collingwood -was not ill pleased by Beverley's death, all things -considered. Ida's jointure was most ample—even splendid—and -she had no little heir to attend to. To be the father -of these grown-up girls was bad enough, he thought; but -to have been a 'grandfather' would prove the culmination -of horror to the would-be youthful beau of sixty. -</p> - -<p> -His own lover and romance, if he ever had any—which -may be doubted—were put by and forgotten years ago, and -he never dreamed that others might indulge in such dreams -apart from the prose of life. From his school-days he had -been petted, pampered, and caressed by wealth and fortune, -so much so that he was actually ignorant of human wants, -ailments, or sufferings. Hence his utter callousness and -indifference in such a matter as Trevor Chute's love for -Clare, or her love for Chute. Though his dead wife, a fair -and gentle creature, who was the antitype of Ida, and had -been quite as lovely, loved him well, he had married her -without an atom of affection, to suit the views of his family -and her own. -</p> - -<p> -Hence it was that, as we have shown, he could talk in -the manner he did to his two guests—men whose past -relations with his own household were of a nature so -delicate, and to be approached with difficulty; yet, had -anyone accused Sir Carnaby of want of tact or taste, or -more than all of ill-breeding, he would have been filled -with astonishment. But the ill-breeding shown by Sir -Carnaby simply resulted from a total want of feeling, good -taste, and perception. -</p> - -<p> -Thus it was that he could coolly expatiate to Chute on -the good qualities of Desmond, adding, 'You'll be glad to -hear of my girl's welfare and expectations; he'll be a peer, -you know, some of these days; and to poor Jerry Vane -upon Ida's grief for the loss of her husband, <i>his</i> rival. -</p> - -<p> -Then, while smoothing his dyed moustache with a dainty -girl-like handkerchief, all perfume and point, with a -Collingwood crest in the corner thereof, he would continue in -this fashion: -</p> - -<p> -'Poverty is a nuisance. I have admired dowerless girls in -my day—do so still—but never go farther than mere admiration; -so no girl of mine shall ever marry any man who cannot -keep her in the style to which she has been accustomed. -It was, perhaps, a foolish match Ida made with Beverley, -though he had that snug place in the Midlands—or rather, -the reversion of it when his father died; but now she is a -widow—ha! ha! bless my soul, that I should be the father -of a widow!—and with her natural attractions, enhanced -by a handsome dowry, may yet be a peeress—who knows?' -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane, with silent rage swelling in his heart, glanced -at Chute, as much as to say: -</p> - -<p> -'How intolerable—how detestable—all this is!' -</p> - -<p> -'She is a widow,' continued Sir Carnaby, eyeing fondly -the ruby wine in his glass, as he held it between him and -the lustre, with one eye closed for a moment, 'but with all -her attractions, may perhaps remain so if she continues this -horrible folly of unfathomable grief, and all that sort of -thing.' -</p> - -<p> -'It does honour to her heart!' sighed poor Jerry. -</p> - -<p> -'She is becoming an enthusiast and a visionary. The -girl's grief bores me, and times there are when I wish that -you, friend Vane, may come to the rescue, after all.' -</p> - -<p> -A little smile flitted across the face of Vane as he merely -bowed to this remark, which he cared not to follow, as he -was doubtful whether it was the baronet or his wine that -was talking now; but he glanced at Trevor Chute, and both -rose to depart, thinking they had now quite enough of Sir -Carnaby's 'hospitality.' -</p> - -<p> -But the latter, seized by a sudden access of friendship or -familiarity, on finding that he could no longer prevail on -them to remain, proposed, as the night was fine, and their -ways lay together, to walk so far and enjoy a cigar. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible to decline this: the 'weeds' were lit; -Sir Carnaby took an arm of each—perhaps his steps were a -little unsteady—and as they turned away towards Piccadilly, -he began anew to sing the praises of Desmond, with the -pertinacity with which wine will sometimes make a man -recur again and again to the same subject. -</p> - -<p> -'Good style of fellow, and all that sort of thing, don't you -know, Chute? Has a fortune—comfortable thing -that—very!—but it has prevented—it has prevented——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, Sir Carnaby?' asked Trevor, wearily. -</p> - -<p> -'The development of his genius.' -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute laughed aloud at this, and said: -</p> - -<p> -'Ah! there is nothing like a hand-to-hand free fight with -the world for <i>that</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'You are a soldier, Chute, but the world is no longer a -bivalve, which one may, like ancient Pistol, open by the -sword. Desmond graduated at Oxford.' -</p> - -<p> -'As stroke oar, Sir Carnaby, I presume.' -</p> - -<p> -'He would have taken the highest honours, Chute, and -all that sort of thing, don't you know, only—only——' -</p> - -<p> -'He could not?' -</p> - -<p> -'Not at all,' replied Sir Carnaby, somewhat tartly. 'He -preferred that they should be taken, Chute, by those who -set their hearts on such things; yet for Clare's sake, I -wish——' -</p> - -<p> -Whatever it was he wished, Trevor Chute never learned, -for now he lost all patience, and affecting suddenly to -remember another engagement, bade farewell, curtly and -hurriedly, to Sir Carnaby, who said: -</p> - -<p> -'Must have you down at Carnaby Court when the event—perhaps -the double event—comes off; good style of old -place—the baronial, the mediæval, the picturesque, and all -that sort of thing—bored by artists and tourists, don't you -know, but, of course, you remember it—ta-ta!' -</p> - -<p> -And arresting skilfully an undeniable hiccup, the senile -baronet trotted, or rather 'toddled,' away in the moonlight. -Remember it! -</p> - -<p> -Well and sadly did Trevor Chute remember it; for there, -on a soft autumn night, when the music and the hum of the -dancers' voices came through the ball-room oriels, when the -moonlight steeped masses of the ancient pile in silver sheen -or sunk them in shadow— -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - 'When buttresses and buttresses alternately<br /> - Seem framed of ebon or ivory,'<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -as he and Clare stole forth for one delicious moment from -the conservatory, had he first told her how deeply and -tenderly he loved her; and now again memories of the -waltz they had just concluded, of the delicate perfume of -her floating dress, of the scarlet flower in her dark hair, of -the drooping, downcast eyes, and her lovely lips, near which -his own were hovering, come vividly back to haunt him, as -they had done many a time and oft when he had seen the -same moon that lit up prosaic Piccadilly shining in its -Orient splendour on the marble domes and towers of Delhi, -on the waters of the Jumna or the Indus, and on the snow-clad -peaks that look down, from afar, on the vast plains of -Assam! -</p> - -<p> -Now that their old tormentor was gone, both Chute and -Jerry Vane laughed, but with much of scornful bitterness in -their merriment. -</p> - -<p> -'Hope you enjoyed your dinner, Jerry!' -</p> - -<p> -'Hereditary rank is very noble, according to Burke and -Debrett,' replied Vane, cynically. 'He is a baronet, true; -but I would rather win a title than succeed to one; and to -meet a few more men like Sir Carnaby would make a -down-right Republican of me.' -</p> - -<p> -'How such an empty fool ever had a daughter like Clare -Collingwood is a riddle to me. He is so cool, so listless, -so heartless——' -</p> - -<p> -'Yet so thoroughbred, as it is deemed!' -</p> - -<p> -'And so worldly—she, all heart!' -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps; but what does all this about Desmond mean, -eh, friend Trevor?' -</p> - -<p> -'A little time will show now,' said the other, bitterly. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap07"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VII. -<br /><br /> -A PROPOSAL. -</h3> - -<p> -It was the noon of the following day when Major Desmond -ordered his mail phaeton, and drove to the mansion of the -Collingwoods to avail himself of the 'permission' granted to -him so fully by Sir Carnaby on the evening before. -</p> - -<p> -The hour was somewhat early for a usual call; but as an -<i>ami de la maison</i>, and considering the errand on which he -was come, Desmond thought he might venture to take the -liberty, and he felt a kind of pleasure in the belief that he -would surprise his intended, for he came with the full -resolution of sacrificing himself at last, and making a -proposal to Clare, and feeling apparently as cool in the -matter as if he were going to buy a horse at Tattersall's. -</p> - -<p> -Miss Collingwood was at home and disengaged; Miss -Violet and Mrs. Beverley were out driving; so all seemed -to favour the object he had in view, and he was ushered -into the drawing-room. His name was announced; but -Clare, who was seated at a writing-table, with a somewhat -abstracted air, did not hear it, as she was intently perusing -a tiny note she had just written. She seemed agitated, too, -for her eyes bore unmistakable traces of tears. -</p> - -<p> -Agitation was so unusual with her, and indeed with -anyone Desmond met in society, that he paused with some -surprise, standing irresolutely near her, hat in hand; and as -he watched the contour of her head with a gleam of -sunshine in her braided hair, the curve of her shoulders, the -pure beauty of her profile, the grace of the tender white -neck encircled by its frill of tulle, and the quick movement -of the lovely little hand, as she rapidly closed and -addressed the note, he thought what a creditable-looking -wife she would be to show the world—aye, even the world -of London. -</p> - -<p> -There seemed something of a sad expression on her -usually serene face; but he knew not then that her heart -was beating with a new joy—yea, that 'it throbbed like a -bird's heart when it is wild with the first breath of spring.' -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly his figure caught her eye. -</p> - -<p> -'Major Desmond, pray pardon me; I did not hear you -announced.' -</p> - -<p> -'I fear, Miss Collingwood'—he could not at that moment -trust himself to say 'Clare'—'that I intrude upon your -privacy,' and the nearest approach to anger and surprise -that the usually imperturbable and impassive Desmond -could permit himself to manifest appeared in his face when -he saw her, with a rapidity, and even with something of -alarm, which she could not or cared not to conceal, thrust -the recently addressed envelope into the Marguerite -pouch—the same in which Trevor Chute had seen her place a -note from Desmond on the coaching day; but that referred -only to a bet of gloves and the coming Derby. -</p> - -<p> -All this seemed terribly unwonted, and the deduction -instantly drawn by the tall guardsman was that a note thus -concealed was not intended for one of her own sex. -</p> - -<p> -'You do not intrude,' said Clare, timidly, yet composedly. -'I am, as you see, quite alone—my sisters have gone to -the Park.' -</p> - -<p> -Desmond was too well bred to make any direct allusion -either to Clare's emotion or the matter of the note, to which -that emotion gave an importance it otherwise could not -merit; but he was nevertheless anxious for some light on -the episode. -</p> - -<p> -'You dined with papa yesterday?' said Clare, after a -pause. -</p> - -<p> -'I had to deny myself that pleasure, being otherwise -engaged; but he had an old <i>friend</i> with him,' replied -Desmond, tugging his moustache as he accentuated the word; -'and I have come here with his express permission,' he -added; but instead of seating himself, he drew very near, -and bent over her, with tenderness in his tone and -manner. -</p> - -<p> -'Express permission?' repeated Clare, lifting her clear, -bright eyes composedly to his. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—to take you out for a ride; we may join Sir -Carnaby and my sister, who——' -</p> - -<p> -He paused, for this was <i>not</i> what he came to say; but he -felt an awkwardness in the situation, and the perfect -coolness or apparent unconsciousness of Clare put him out, all -the more so that now a smile stole over her face. -</p> - -<p> -Vanity and admiration of her beauty had made him -dangle so much about Clare, that he felt the time was -come when 'something must be done.' -</p> - -<p> -He had come to do that 'something'—to propose, in -short; and now, with all his <i>insouciance</i>, he had a doubt -that, if it did not give him pain, certainly piqued his pride; -and he actually hoped that visitors might interrupt the -<i>tête-à-tête</i>. -</p> - -<p> -But he hoped in vain; the hour was too early for -callers. -</p> - -<p> -Clare's smile brightened; but there was an undeniable -curl on her lovely lip. -</p> - -<p> -He had just enough of lazy tenderness in his manner, -with something in his tone and eye which seemed to -indicate what he had in view, and yet seemed unmistakably -to say: 'I can't act the lover, so why the deuce do I come -here to talk nonsense?' -</p> - -<p> -'My mail phaeton is at the door; shall I send for my -horse and ring for yours?' he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Excuse me—I have a headache this morning.' -</p> - -<p> -'So sorry; but, perhaps, you may be better amused at -home.' -</p> - -<p> -'How, Major?' asked Clare. -</p> - -<p> -'With books, music, or—or correspondence.' -</p> - -<p> -At the last word she <i>did</i> colour, he saw, a very little. -</p> - -<p> -'Ladies have a thousand ways of passing time that men -don't possess,' he added, lapsing into his habitual bearing, -which in his style of man some one describes as 'gentle -and resigned weariness.' -</p> - -<p> -It actually seemed too much trouble to make love when -the matter became serious. -</p> - -<p> -There was a pause, after which, for a change of subject, -Clare asked about the horse he was to run in the Derby. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh! Crusader is in capital form,' said he with animation, -as this was a subject to be approached with ease. 'Though -neither a large nor a powerful horse, he is "blood" all over, -and there is no better animal in the stud book!' -</p> - -<p> -'I know that he stands high in the betting.' -</p> - -<p> -'How?' -</p> - -<p> -'From the racing column in the <i>Times</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, you take an interest in my horse, then!' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course,' replied Clare, smiling, thinking of her bets in -gloves; 'a very deep interest.' -</p> - -<p> -Encouraged by this trivial remark, he thought to himself, -'Hang it—here goes!' and while there occurred vaguely to -his lazy mind recollections of all he had read of proposals, -and seen of them on the stage, he took her hand in his, and -said abruptly: -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Collingwood—Clare—dearest Clare—will you be -my wife? Will you marry me—love me—and all that, -don't you know?' -</p> - -<p> -Clare withdrew her hand, and slightly elevated her proud -eyebrows, which were dark and straight rather than arched, -while something of a dangerous and then of a droll sparkle -came into her dreamy and beautiful eyes, for neither the -tone nor the mode of the proposal proved pleasing to her, -in her then mood of mind especially. -</p> - -<p> -'Excuse me, Major Desmond,' said she, scarcely knowing -how to frame her reply, 'you have done me an honour, -which—which I must, however, decline.' -</p> - -<p> -'Just now, perhaps; but—but in time, dearest Clare?' -</p> - -<p> -'Your sister may call me that; but to you I am Miss -Collingwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'Shall I ever get beyond that?' he urged, in a soft -tone. -</p> - -<p> -'I do not know,' murmured Clare, doubtfully; for she -knew what her father wished and expected of her; 'but as -yet let us be friends as we have been, and not talk of -marriage, I implore you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Deuced odd!' thought the Major, who, perhaps, felt -relieved in his mind. -</p> - -<p> -Clare knew well the calm, half-passionless, and <i>insouciant</i> -world of the Major and his 'set,' her own 'set' too; she -was not surprised; she had ere now expected some such -declaration or proposal as this from Desmond; but -certainly, with all his inanity, and perhaps stupidity, she -expected it to be made in other terms, and with more ardour -and earnestness; and at the moment he spoke her memory -flashed back to the same moonlight night of which Trevor -Chute had thought and remembered so vividly when he -parted from her father but a few hours before. -</p> - -<p> -While Desmond was considering what to say next, it -chanced that Clare drew her handkerchief from the Marguerite -pouch, and with it the note, which fell at the feet of her -visitor. Ere she was aware, he had picked it up, and saw -that it was addressed to <i>Trevor Chute</i>. -</p> - -<p> -With a greater sense of irritation, pique, and even jealousy -than he thought himself capable of feeling—certainly than -ever he felt before—he presented it to her, saying blandly: -</p> - -<p> -'You have dropped a note, Miss Collingwood—addressed -to some one at the "Rag," I think.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, thanks,' she replied in a voice with the slightest -tinge of alarm and annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -'Have you many correspondents there?' he ventured to -ask, with the slightest approach to a sneer, as he placed his -glass in his eye. -</p> - -<p> -'Only one,' replied Clare, now thoroughly irritated. 'Captain -Chute—Trevor Chute—perhaps you have heard of him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; does Sir Carnaby know of this correspondence?' -</p> - -<p> -'No,' she replied, a little defiantly. -</p> - -<p> -The Major began to feel himself, as he would have phrased -it, 'nowhere,' and to wish that he had <i>not</i> called that -morning. There ensued a break in the conversation which was -embarrassing to both, till Clare, who was the first to recover -her equanimity, said with a smile, as she deemed some -explanation due, if not to him, at least to herself: -</p> - -<p> -'It is to Trevor—to Captain Chute—concerning poor Ida—not -on any affair of mine, be assured; but,' she added, -colouring a little, 'you will not mention this circumstance -to—to papa?' -</p> - -<p> -'You have my word, Miss Collingwood; and now good-morning.' -</p> - -<p> -He left her with coldness of manner, but only a little; for -whatever he thought, he deemed it bad style to discover the -least emotion. But he felt that even in a small way, in virtue of -his promised secrecy, he and Clare had a secret understanding. -Why had she been so afraid that he should know of her -correspondence with this fellow Chute, who he understood -had been a discarded admirer of hers in her first season; -and why keep her father in ignorance of it, when Chute was -the old man's guest but yesterday? -</p> - -<p> -It was, he thought, altogether one of those things 'no -fellow can understand,' and drove off in his mail phaeton to -visit Crusader in his loose box. -</p> - -<p> -Clare remained full of thought after he had gone, and the -note had been despatched to Trevor Chute; she felt none -of the excitement a proposal might cause in another. She -was, in fact, more annoyed than fluttered or flattered by it. -Yet Clare felt a need for loving some one and being beloved -in turn. It is a necessity in every female, perhaps every -true human heart. -</p> - -<p> -Clare had certainly many admirers, but she was always -disposed to criticise them, and the woman who criticises a -man rarely ends by loving him; so since that old time, to -which we have already referred, she had gone through the -world of gaiety heart-free; and though mingling much in -society, she had somehow made a little world of her own—a -species of independent existence, and even preferred the -retirement of their country home, with a few pleasant visitors, -of course, and weaving out schemes of benevolence to the -tenantry, to the whirl of life in London, with its balls, drums, -crushes, and at-homes, attending sometimes three in the -same evening, as it was called, though the early morning was -glittering on the silver harness as the carriage drove her home. -</p> - -<p> -Though the proposal of Desmond had excited not the least -emotion in the heart of Clare Collingwood, it caused some -unpleasant and unwelcome thoughts to arise, and at such a -time as this more than ever did she miss her mother, whose -affection and counsel were never wanting. She had a dread -of her father, and of his cold and cutting, yet withal courtly, -way of addressing her, when in any way, however lightly, -she displeased him, and now she feared intuitively that she -would do so, or had done so, in a serious manner. -</p> - -<p> -She knew how much he was under the influence of the -Desmonds, and felt assured that something unpleasant -would come out of that morning's episode; and apart from -having such a husband as the Major, even with his great -wealth and prospective title, too, Clare felt that she could -not tolerate the close relationship of his sister, a <i>passé</i> belle, -horsey in nature and style, who had been engaged in -intrigues and flirtations that were unnumbered, and more -than once had made a narrow escape from being a source -of downright scandal, for the Honourable Evelyn Desmond -was fast—undeniably very fast indeed for an unmarried -lady, and the queen of a fast set, too—yet it never reached -the ears of Clare, though the rumour went current that she -had dined at Richmond and elsewhere with Sir Carnaby -Collingwood and some of the fastest men in the Brigade, -and without any other chaperon than her brother. But -then the baronet was more than old enough to be her -father, with whom a late conversation now recurred to -Clare's memory. While talking of Desmond, she had -remarked: -</p> - -<p> -'I am surprised, papa, that, with all her opportunities, -his sister does not get married.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' he asked, curtly. -</p> - -<p> -'She has now been out for seven or eight seasons—even -more, I think—and is getting quite <i>passé</i>! -</p> - -<p> -'Yet she is much admired; besides, Clare, it is not her -place to make proposals.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course not.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nor is it every proposal she would accept, any more -than yourself,' said the baronet, with a loftiness of manner. -</p> - -<p> -'She seems to dazzle without touching men's hearts.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed!' -</p> - -<p> -'Papa, how sententious you have become! But really I -don't think Evelyn will ever be married at all.' -</p> - -<p> -'Time will show, Clare—time will show,' chuckled Sir -Carnaby, showing all his brilliantly white Parisian teeth. -</p> - -<p> -'It will not be her fault if she is <i>not</i>, papa,' said Violet, -who had a special dislike to the lady in question. 'I -wonder how long she has studied the language of the -flowers in the conservatory with old Colonel Rakes' son?' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'And never got <i>him</i> to propose, I mean, papa. Her eyes -are handsome, yet they smiled exclusively, for the time, on -young Rakes.' -</p> - -<p> -'Violet!' -</p> - -<p> -'One good flirtation, she told me, always led to -another.' -</p> - -<p> -'Surely that is not <i>her</i> style,' said Sir Carnaby, with some -asperity; 'and I have to request, Miss Violet, that you will -not speak in this rough manner of any lady in the position -of Miss Desmond.' -</p> - -<p> -This and many similar conversations of the kind now -recurred to Clare, and led her to dread her father's -questions, and perhaps his lectures, on the subject, and she -began to feel sadness and doubt. -</p> - -<p> -From these thoughts she was roused by the entrance of -a servant, who said: -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Collingwood, a jeweller's man is here with the -jewels from Bond Street for your inspection.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>The</i> jewels! what jewels? I ordered none,' said Clare. -</p> - -<p> -'He 'ave Sir Carnaby's card, miss,' replied the man, -pulling his long whiskers, in imitation of Desmond and -others. -</p> - -<p> -The man entered with a mincing step, and bowed very -low, announcing the name of the firm he represented, and -unlocking a handsome walnut and brass-bound box, took -out the morocco cases, and unclasping them, displayed, to -the surprise of Clare, three magnificent suites of diamond -ornaments, all set in gold and blue enamel, reposing on the -whitest of velvet. In each suite were a tiara, pendant -ear-rings, and a necklace, each and all worth several thousand -pounds. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, such lovely jewels!' exclaimed Violet, who came in -at the moment, and with a burst of girlish delight; 'these -diamonds are fit for a prince or a maharajah! Clare! -Clare! are they meant for you?' -</p> - -<p> -'They are submitted for inspection and choice.' -</p> - -<p> -'What can this mean? There is some mistake,' replied -Clare, colouring with extreme annoyance. If they came by -her father's order, they came as a bribe; if from Desmond, -they could not be left for a moment! 'Did Sir Carnaby -give his address?' she asked. -</p> - -<p> -'No, miss; he simply ordered the three sets to be sent -on approval, and I brought them here. This is Sir Carnaby's -card.' -</p> - -<p> -'They are all too large—much too large for me,' said -Clare, hastily. 'Take them away, please, and I shall ask -Sir Carnaby about them when he returns.' -</p> - -<p> -The man bowed, returned the jewels to their cases, and -was ushered out. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, papa, how kind of you!' exclaimed Violet, apostrophizing -the absent. 'Are you sure, Clare, that these three -lovely suites were not for us?' -</p> - -<p> -'I am sure of—nothing, Violet: I don't know what to -think,' replied Clare, wearily, and with an unmistakable air -of annoyance. 'The Collingwood jewels are enough for us -all, Violet.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap08"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER VIII. -<br /><br /> -'THE DESIRE OF THE MOTH FOR THE STAR.' -</h3> - -<p> -Ignorant of the little scene that had passed in the -Collingwoods' drawing-room, Trevor Chute felt only something -very nearly amounting to transports of rage when he thought -of all that had occurred overnight at Sir Carnaby's club. -The callous remarks of the frivolous old man stung him to -the heart. So Clare as well as her father had blotted him -out of their selfish world, and Desmond was the man who -took his place! -</p> - -<p> -Love, doubt, indignation, and jealousy tormented him -by turns, or all together at once: love for Clare—the dear -old love that had never died within him, and that, seeing -her again and hearing her voice, had roused in all its former -strength and tenderness; doubt whether she were worthy of -it, and whether he had a place yet in her heart; indignation -at the underbred indifference of her father to whatever he -might think or feel, and jealousy of the influence of Desmond -with them both. -</p> - -<p> -Nor were the visions of hope and revenge absent. He -pondered that if she loved him—if she still loved him—why -leave it unknown? why should he trifle with himself -and her? Why tamper with fate? Why not marry her in -spite of her father and Desmond, too? In mere revenge -he might make Clare his own, after all! -</p> - -<p> -Then second, and perhaps better, thoughts came anon; -for Trevor Chute, though to his friends apparently but an -ordinary good fellow in most respects, a mere captain of the -line, and so forth, was in spirit as genuine a soldier and a -knight as chivalrous as any that ever rode at Hastings with -the bastard Conqueror, or at Bannockburn; and thus, on -reflection, his heart recoiled from making any advances to -his old love—to the girl that had been torn from him, -unless he obtained that which he considered hopeless—the -permission of her father. -</p> - -<p> -In India, why was it, when so many perished of jungle-fever -and other pests, that he escaped with scarcely the -illness of a day?—when among Nagas, Bhotanese, and -Thibetians, matchlock balls and poisoned arrows whistled -past him, and keen-edged swords crossed his, no missile or -weapon had found a passage to his heart? -</p> - -<p> -Amid these stirring scenes and episodes he had striven -to forget everything—more than all, those days of his -Guards' life in England; and now—now a lovely face—'only -the face of a woman—only a woman's face, nothing -more,' as the song has it, and a woman's voice, with all its -subtle music, had summoned again all the half-buried -memories of the past! -</p> - -<p> -From day-dreams, tormenting thoughts, and weary speculative -fancies, which were in some respects alien to his -natural temperament, Chute was roused by his valet, Tom -Travers, presenting him with a note on the inevitable silver -salver. -</p> - -<p> -If, as we have related, he was startled before by seeing -an envelope with the Collingwood crest thereon still more -was he startled now on receiving another addressed in the -well-remembered handwriting of Clare! How long, long it -seemed since last he had looked upon it! -</p> - -<p> -While his heart and hands trembled with surprise, he -opened Clare's note, which stated briefly that she had heard -from Mr. Vane of their intention of going abroad, and -begged that he would not forget his promise of once more -visiting Ida, by whose request she now wrote. -</p> - -<p> -'The pallor of her complexion and the lowness of her -spirits alarm me greatly,' continued Clare. 'I can but hope -that when the season is over, and we go to Carnaby Court, -the quietness there and the pleasant shady groves in autumn -may restore her to health; only papa always likes to have -the house full of lively friends from town, as you know of -old.' -</p> - -<p> -'Did her hand tremble when she referred to the past?' -thought Chute, viciously. 'Was Desmond hanging over -her chair when she penned this? Why does she and -not Ida write to me? Is this angling or coquetry? But -Clare needs not to angle with me, and she never was a -coquette.' -</p> - -<p> -The truth was that poor Clare had written, but with the -greatest reluctance, by desire of Ida, who, for secret and -kind reasons of her own, wished her sister to address him; -and the sight of her handwriting did not fail to produce -much of the effect which the gentle Ida intended; for -Chute, while resolving to pay a visit, meant it to be a -farewell one; and if he saw Clare, to suppress all emotion, to -seem 'as cool as a cucumber.' -</p> - -<p> -And yet, but for his promise given, and in accordance -with Jack Beverley's dying request, he would, on visiting -London, no more have gone near the Collingwood family -than have faced a volcano in full flame; perhaps he would -not have come to London at all till the season was over; -and now he was preparing to pay a second visit, but as he -meant, a farewell one, to Ida, after dining—actually dining, -per express invitation—with the father, who, in a spirit of -selfish policy, had broken his engagement with Clare. -</p> - -<p> -It was an absurdly anomalous situation, and altogether -strange. -</p> - -<p> -With all Trevor Chute's regard for Jerry Vane, many of -his deepest sympathies were with his brave comrade, -Beverley, whose last moments he had soothed, and to -whose last faint mutterings he had listened when life ebbed -in that hot and distant bungalow—mutterings of his past -years and absent love—of the beechen woods of his English -home. -</p> - -<p> -Chute had a brotherly love for Ida, and had she not -asked him to love <i>her</i> as a sister? -</p> - -<p> -He could remember a dainty, delicate little girl, with a -rose-leaf complexion, a face of smiles and dimples, all gay -with white lace and blue ribbon, and the floating masses of -her auburn hair bound by a simple fillet of gold. -</p> - -<p> -And the memory of these past times, with all their dear -and deep associations, came strongly back to Trevor's heart -when, within a short time of the receipt of Clare's note, he -sat with Ida's thin white hand in his, gazing into the depths -of her tender brown eyes, on her pale and delicate cheek, -and confessing to himself how lovely she was, and how -charming as a friend. -</p> - -<p> -She was every way more calm and composed than when -he visited her before, and she seemed much inclined to talk -of their first intercourse and relations in the years that were -gone; and more than once she stirred the depths of -Trevor's honest heart by a few words, dropped as if -casually, yet so delicately, from which he was led to infer -that he had frequently formed the topic of conversation -between her and Clare, and that he was not without an -interest in the breast of the latter still. -</p> - -<p> -After a pause he sighed, but with some little bitterness, -as he thought of the formidable rival who had Sir Carnaby's -'warmest wishes,' and said: -</p> - -<p> -'Am I, then, to suppose that you have pleaded for me -with Clare?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, dear Trevor,' she replied, as her slender fingers -tightened upon his. -</p> - -<p> -'There was a time when I did not require even you, Ida, -to do so for me,' he replied, mistaking, perhaps, her -meaning, for he was oversensitive. 'That is all past and gone -now; but in the same kind spirit may I not plead with -you for one who was very dear to you once—poor Jerry -Vane?' -</p> - -<p> -She coloured deeply, and then grew very pale again, and -while the long lashes of her soft eyes dropped, she said: -</p> - -<p> -'Do not speak of this again, Trevor—my heart is in -Beverley's grave.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yet,' he urged gently, 'a time may come——' -</p> - -<p> -'It will never come.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Jerry—as he loved you once, he loves you still. -I hope, dear Ida, you pardon me for speaking of this to -you.' -</p> - -<p> -'I do from my heart, Trevor; but tell me, in the time -that you have seen me—I mean since your return—have -you not been struck by a certain strangeness of action -about me?' -</p> - -<p> -'I confess that I have.' -</p> - -<p> -'I am conscious of it repeatedly,' she continued with a -strange and sad smile. -</p> - -<p> -'In the midst of an animated conversation, I have all at -once perceived your thoughts to wander, an expression of -alarm to creep over your face, a kind of shudder through -your frame, and your hand to tremble.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is so.' -</p> - -<p> -'And this sudden emotion, Ida? -</p> - -<p> -'Comes when I think of Beverley—or, rather, this -emotion, which I can neither avert nor control, makes -<i>me</i> think of <i>him</i> even when my thoughts have been elsewhere.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is very strange,' said Trevor Chute, as some of -what he deemed Beverley's 'wild speeches' came back to -memory again. -</p> - -<p> -'Strange indeed, Trevor; but morbid thoughts come -over me, with the <i>thrill</i> you have remarked, even in the -sunshine and when with others, but more especially when I -am alone; and there seems to be—oh, Trevor Chute, I -know not how to phrase it, lest you think me absurd or -eccentric,' she continued, while a wild, sad earnestness -stole into her eyes, 'that there hovers near me, and -unknown to all, a spirit—a something that is unseen and -intangible.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is but overheated fancy,' said Chute tenderly, and -with commiseration; 'you should be alone as seldom as -possible, and change of air and scene will cure you of all -this gloom. On my return—if I should return to London—I -shall hope to hear that you are, as you used to be, the -bright and happy Ida of my own brighter and happier -days.' -</p> - -<p> -And rising now, he lingered with Ida's hand in his, intent -on departure, as his last orders to his valet had been to pack -at once for France or Germany; and Tom Travers, a -faithful fellow, whose discharge he had bought from the -Guards, and who had been with him in India and everywhere -else, was fully engaged on that duty by this time. -</p> - -<p> -'But, dear Ida,' he said, 'dismiss as soon as you can -these gloomy ideas from your mind, and cease to imagine -that anything so unnatural, so repugnant to the fixed laws -of nature, as aught hovering near you <i>unseen</i>, forcing you -to think of Beverley, could exist.' -</p> - -<p> -'I do not require to be forced to think of Beverley,' said -she, with tender sadness. -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me, I did not mean that,' said he. -</p> - -<p> -'I know; but that which seems to haunt me at times -may exist; the world is full of mystery, and so is all nature. -We know not how even a seed takes root, or a blade of -grass springs from the earth.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ida, this is the cant of the spiritualists!' urged Trevor -Chute; 'do not adopt it. What would Sir Carnaby think of -such a theme?' -</p> - -<p> -She slightly shrugged her shoulders, and with a little -laugh said: -</p> - -<p> -'Papa's views of life are very different from mine, and his -ideas of the superiority of mind over matter must be vague, -if, indeed, he has any views on the subject at all. Do you -go to the Continent alone?' -</p> - -<p> -'No, Jerry Vane proposes to accompany me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Also leaving London in the height of the season!' -</p> - -<p> -'His reasons are nearly the same as mine,' replied Chute. -'Have you any message to him?' -</p> - -<p> -'None,' said she, colouring and looking down. -</p> - -<p> -'None,' repeated Chute, in a half-reproachful tone. -</p> - -<p> -'Save my kindest wishes. You know, Trevor, that I -used Jerry very ill; I am well aware of that, but it is too -late now to—to——' She paused in confusion, and then -said, 'Poor Jerry, I pity him with unspeakable pity.' -</p> - -<p> -'I would that he heard you,' said Chute, caressing her -pretty hand. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'Does not Dryden tell us that pity melts the mind to -love?' -</p> - -<p> -'Do not repeat the admission I have made,' said Ida, as -a shade of annoyance crossed her pallid face, adding -firmly, 'Let him have no false hopes; my heart has a great -tenderness, but no such love as he wishes, for him.' -</p> - -<p> -'And now farewell, Ida, for a long time.' -</p> - -<p> -'A pleasant journey to you,' said she, and tears started -to her eyes, as he bowed himself out of her boudoir. -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks—to-night may see me in Paris.' -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap09"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER IX. -<br /><br /> -DOUBTS DISPELLED. -</h3> - -<p> -'In Paris to-night?' said a voice that thrilled him, and he -found himself face to face with Clare, who unexpectedly, -and somewhat to her own confusion, appeared at the -drawing-room door. -</p> - -<p> -'I knew not that you were at home,' replied Chute, with -some coldness of manner, as the memories of last night -occurred to him, and he too became confused as he added, -'I meant to have left a farewell card for Sir Carnaby.' -</p> - -<p> -Mechanically they entered the drawing-room. For -reasons of her own, Ida did not follow them, and feeling full -of the awkwardness of the situation, Trevor Chute lingered, -hat in hand, and Clare, amid the tremor and tumult of her -thoughts, forgot to offer him a seat. -</p> - -<p> -She was provoked now that she had yielded to Ida's -urgency, and written personally to Chute. -</p> - -<p> -Yet wherefore, or why? She had loved him in the past -time, and loved him still, as she whispered in her heart; -and felt sure that he loved her; and yet—and yet she -thought now that letter should have been written by Ida, -not her, if written at all. -</p> - -<p> -'I hope you enjoyed your evening with papa at the club,' -she said; with polite frigidity of manner. -</p> - -<p> -'Far from it,' said he abruptly, as he felt piqued -thereby. -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed!' -</p> - -<p> -'I can scarcely tell you why.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do, if possible,' said she, with genuine surprise. -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon the admission, Miss Collingwood, but all night -long Sir Carnaby sang the praises of a certain Major -Desmond.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare coloured deeply; her eyes darkened, and sparkled, -yet softly, under the sweep of their long black lashes. -</p> - -<p> -'It was horrible taste in papa—to <i>you</i> especially! How -could he act so strangely?' -</p> - -<p> -'So cruelly, Clare,' said Trevor Chute, with a burst of -honest emotion, born of the sudden line this conversation -had taken. -</p> - -<p> -'Fear not for Desmond,' said she, in a bitter, yet low -tone, as she shook her graceful head. -</p> - -<p> -'He was to—to propose for your hand.' -</p> - -<p> -'He did so this morning,' was the calm reply. -</p> - -<p> -'And you, Miss Collingwood, you——' -</p> - -<p> -'Refused him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Clare!' exclaimed Trevor, and all the old love -beamed in his eyes as he uttered her name. -</p> - -<p> -'Neither doubt nor misunderstand me,' said Clare, -very calmly, and in a voice that was earnest, sweet, -and low. 'Papa and others too' ('What others?' thought -Chute) 'have tried hard to make me forget what you -and I were to each other once, but he and they have -failed.' -</p> - -<p> -'Thank God!' exclaimed Chute, so full of emotion that -he clutched the back of a chair for support. -</p> - -<p> -'In the seeming emptiness of my heart,' said Clare, -speaking in a low tone and with downcast eyes, while the -throbbing of her bosom was apparent beneath her dress, -'I made for myself a life within a life, known to myself -alone.' -</p> - -<p> -'And that life, darling?' -</p> - -<p> -'Was full of <i>you</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -He made a step towards her; but she drew back, and -said, questioningly: -</p> - -<p> -'And you, Trevor, in the days of this long separation?' -</p> - -<p> -'Have never, never forgotten you, Clare!' -</p> - -<p> -'Yet you must have seen many!' -</p> - -<p> -'Many—yes, and lovely women, too; but never have I -felt a touch of even the slightest passing pang or preference -for any one out of the many.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare gazed at him softly and sweetly. She did not, she -could not, tell him that in the intervals of a brilliant garden -party she had rejected for the third time the passionate -supplications and proposals of one who could have made -her a marchioness; and those who knew of this thought her -cold and proud, but they were wrong, for Clare was 'one -of those women who, beneath the courtly negligence of a -chill manner, are capable of infinite tenderness, infinite -nobility, and infinite self-reproach,' and her heart was -loving, tender, sweet, and warm as a summer rose to those -who knew her, and whom she loved. -</p> - -<p> -The mist was dispelling fast now. -</p> - -<p> -Again they were discovering, or recalling, all that was -sympathetic in each other, and learning to understand each -other by word, and hint, or glance, when soul seemed to -speak to soul, and more than all, when hand met hand, did -Clare feel that which she had never felt since their -separation, how magnetic was the influence between them, and -how no other hand had made the blood course through her -veins as his had done. -</p> - -<p> -The situation was becoming perilous, and Sir Carnaby -might at any moment come upon them, like the ogre of a -fairy tale, or the irate father of a melodrama. -</p> - -<p> -'I must go, Clare,' said he, but yet he lingered. -</p> - -<p> -Again he was calling her by her name—her Christian -name—as of old, in the dear past time, and how sweetly it -sounded in her ear! -</p> - -<p> -'Trevor,' said she, pressing a hand on her heart as if to -soothe its throbbing, while she leant on a table with the -other, 'stay yet a moment.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare was with him again; he was conscious of nothing -more; and the old love that had never passed out of his -heart, or hers either, stronger now than it had ever been, -made him linger in her presence, and made eye dwell on -eye, tenderly, sadly, and passionately, till emotion got the -better of all prudence, pride, and policy, and snatching the -hand that was pressed upon her bosom, he besought her, -in what terms, or with what words, he scarcely knew in -the whirl of his thoughts, to be his wife at all risks and -hazards. -</p> - -<p> -But Clare drew her hand away, and mournfully shook -her head, and then, with an effort, spoke calmly— -</p> - -<p> -'You know, Trevor, how I loved poor mamma, and how -she loved me?' -</p> - -<p> -'I do, my own Clare.' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, on her death-bed she made me give her two -solemn promises.' -</p> - -<p> -'And these were?' -</p> - -<p> -'First, to be, so far as I could, a mother to Ida and -Violet, and—and——' -</p> - -<p> -'The second? Oh, Clare, keep me not in suspense!' -</p> - -<p> -'Never to marry without the fullest consent of papa; and -as he acted before, so will he act again, out of mere -petulance and pride, perhaps, as he will never acknowledge -himself in error. Oh, Trevor!' she added, pathetically, 'I -would that we had never met, and almost wish that after -being so cruelly parted we had never met more.' -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute was silent for a time, but a sense of -irritation against her father gave him courage to hope. -</p> - -<p> -'Clare, Sir Carnaby is a somewhat gay man,' said he, -'and he has hinted to Jerry Vane, to Colonel Rakes, and -others, the chance——' -</p> - -<p> -'Of what?' asked Clare, as her lips became pale. -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me—his marrying again.' -</p> - -<p> -'With whom?' -</p> - -<p> -'I heard no name.' -</p> - -<p> -'Marrying again!' she exclaimed, with anger, as certain -undefined suspicions occurred to her or came to memory. -'If Sir Carnaby does aught so absurd, I shall consider -myself absolved from my promise to await his permission, -and—and——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, dearest Clare?' -</p> - -<p> -'Become that which I should have been three long years -ago,' she replied, with tenderness and vehemence. -</p> - -<p> -'My wife, darling?' -</p> - -<p> -'Your wife, Trevor.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Clare, God bless you for these words!' -</p> - -<p> -And as his arms went round her, all the man's brave heart -went out to her, and tears started to his eyes as he kissed -her with a passionate warmth in which he had never -indulged in the past days of their early and unclouded -love. -</p> - -<p> -Soft Clare in his arms again! Clare's tender lips touching -his! Oh, which was a dream and which was the truth? -The three years of excitement, sorrow, and disappointment -in burning India; the marches under the fierce glaring sun; -long days of drought and thirst, when facing death among -the fierce hill tribes; nights, chill and bitter, among the -Himalayan snows; the hard existence in barrack, tent, and -bungalow, all so different from what his Guards life had -been in London—the present or the past! -</p> - -<p> -But to what would the present lead? -</p> - -<p> -They knew too well that, so far as Sir Carnaby was -concerned, his consent would never be given. -</p> - -<p> -'Heavens, Clare!' exclaimed Trevor, in this bitter -conviction, 'to what a death in life does your father doom -you!' -</p> - -<p> -'Say <i>us</i>, Trevor,' said she, in a choking voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Bless you, dear girl, for saying so; but you it seems, -and all for my sake!' -</p> - -<p> -At last he had to retire—literally to tear himself away. -</p> - -<p> -So there was acted and there was ended, for the time, -their bitter but sorrowful romance, in that most prosaic of -all places a fashionable drawing-room, with all its mirrors, -lounges, porcelains, and <i>objets d'art</i>, which seem so -necessary to that apartment which Button Cook calls essentially -'the British drawing-room,' and mentally over and over -again did Trevor Chute react and recall every detail of that -delicious, yet painful interview, which had come so -unexpectedly about, while the swift tidal train bore him from -Charing Cross; and her last words seemed to linger yet in -his ear—her face before his eye, like the vision of a waking -dream—as on the deck of the steam-packet he sat, apart -from all, full of his own thoughts, and saw the lights of -Harwich and Landguard Fort mingling with moonshine on -the water, while the clang of the Bell Buoy came on the -wind, and the Shipwash floating beacon was soon left astern, -and Trevor Chute, careless of whither he went, changed his -mind and resolved to go to Germany. -</p> - -<p> -Happy thoughts banished sleep from his eyes, and on -deck he stayed nearly the whole night through, till the -muddy waters of the Maese were rippling against the bow -of the Dutch steamer. -</p> - -<p> -Clare loved him still, as she had ever, ever done! New -happiness grew with hope in his heart. -</p> - -<p> -Yet the prospect was a hard one. He could only know -that, though not his wife, Clare Collingwood should never -be the wife of another, and tenderly he looked on a ring of -sapphires and opals from her hand, on which he had slipped -their old engagement ring of diamonds. -</p> - -<p> -He was alone, we have said, for his friend Vane did not -accompany him. -</p> - -<p> -He had a card for Lady Rakes' 'at home;' Clare was -going, and Ida too; so the former asked Trevor to get him -to defer his journey and be present, adding: -</p> - -<p> -'It is for Ida's sake; you know <i>all</i> I mean, and all I -hope she wishes.' -</p> - -<p> -'I do, Clare, and so will Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'But do not speak of her.' -</p> - -<p> -Hence Vane remained behind in London. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap10"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER X. -<br /><br /> -FOR WHOM THE JEWELS WERE INTENDED. -</h3> - -<p> -Clare was seated in a shady corner of the library, looking -alternately at the German map in Murray's Guide and the -diamond ring which she had first received from Trevor -Chute on the eventful moonlight night at Carnaby Court. -</p> - -<p> -How strange that it should be on her finger again after -all! -</p> - -<p> -'And to think,' she muttered, 'that papa should so -unkindly and, with bad taste have stung his tender and -loving heart by speaking to <i>him</i> of me and that big -butterfly soldier, Desmond! No wonder it is that Trevor -seemed cold, constrained, and strange. Oh, my love, -what must you have thought of me!' -</p> - -<p> -And the girl, as she uttered this aloud, pressed the ring -to her lips, while her eyes filled with tears. Then she sank -into one of her reveries, from which, after a time, she was -roused by the entrance of her father. He was attired for a -ride in the Row, had his whip in his hand, and was buttoning -his faultlessly fitting gloves on his thin white aristocratic -hands with the care that he usually exhibited; but Clare -could perceive that his face wore an undoubtedly cloudy -expression. -</p> - -<p> -'Papa, for whom were those lovely jewels that came here -for inspection yesterday?' she asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Not for you, Miss Collingwood.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yet they were sent here.' -</p> - -<p> -'A mistake of the shop-people.' -</p> - -<p> -Clare looked up with surprise in her sweet face, for his -manner, though studiously polite in tone, was curt and -strange. -</p> - -<p> -'Perhaps they were for Ida?' said Clare, gently. -</p> - -<p> -'No.'—'Violet, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'No.'—'For whom, then, papa?' -</p> - -<p> -'The sister of him you rejected yesterday.' -</p> - -<p> -'Evelyn Desmond!' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, Miss Collingwood; and thereby hangs a tale,' -replied Sir Carnaby, giving a final touch to his stock in a -mirror opposite. 'Did any silly fancy for this man who -has just returned to India—this Captain Chute—influence -you in this matter?' -</p> - -<p> -Clare coloured painfully, but said 'No.' -</p> - -<p> -'Glad to hear it, Clare, as I thought all that stuff was -forgotten long ago,' he continued, with the nearest -approach to a frown that was ever seen on his usually -impassible visage. -</p> - -<p> -'You asked him to dine at your club, papa,' said Clare, -evasively. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, out of mere politeness, to thank him, as Beverley's -friend, for visiting Ida, though I fear the visit may make -her grief a greater bore than ever. But why did you -decline an alliance that would be so advantageous as that -with Desmond?' -</p> - -<p> -'Simply because I cannot love him, and I don't wish to -leave you, dearest papa; now that you are getting old.' -</p> - -<p> -'Old!' He was frowning in earnest now. -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me, papa, I love no man sufficiently to make -me leave your roof for his.' -</p> - -<p> -'What stuff and nonsense is this, Clare Collingwood!' -</p> - -<p> -'It is neither, but truth, papa.' -</p> - -<p> -'Though you have the bad taste to inform me that I am -getting old, permit me to remind you that in many things -you, Clare, are a mere child, though a woman in years.' -</p> - -<p> -'A child, perhaps, compared with such women as -Desmond's sister Evelyn,' replied Clare, with some -annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -'And as a woman in years, I, foreseeing the time when I -could not have you always to reign over my table at -Carnaby Court or in Piccadilly, have deemed it necessary to -provide myself with a—a——' -</p> - -<p> -'Papa!' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, a substitute,' he added, giving a finishing adjust to -his gloves, and then looking Clare steadily in the face. -</p> - -<p> -'In the person of Evelyn Desmond!' she exclaimed, in a -breathless voice, and becoming very pale. -</p> - -<p> -'Precisely, my dear Miss Collingwood. She has promised -to fill up in my heart all the fearful void left there by -the loss of your good mother. I meant to have told you -this long ago, but—but it was an awkward subject to -approach.' -</p> - -<p> -'So I should think!' -</p> - -<p> -'With one who comports herself like you; and—ah—in -fact, now that we are about it, I may mention that the -marriage has been postponed only in consequence of -Beverley's death, Ida's mourning, illness, and all that sort -of thing.' -</p> - -<p> -'So my sacrifice in declining poor Trevor Chute, after -all his faith, love, and cruel treatment, was uncalled for,' -thought Clare, as she stood like a marble statue, with scorn -growing on her lovely lip, while endeavouring to realize the -startling tidings now given to her. -</p> - -<p> -'Is <i>this</i> to be the end of Evelyn's endless manoeuvring -and countless flirtations?' she exclaimed after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Collingwood, I spoke of Miss Desmond,' said he. -</p> - -<p> -'So did I,' replied Clare, with growing anger. -</p> - -<p> -'Don't be so impulsive—rude, I should say—it is bad -form, bad style, very.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor mamma!' sighed Clare; 'she was a good and true -gentlewoman.' -</p> - -<p> -'That I grant you, but a trifle cold and stately.' -</p> - -<p> -'When she died I thought it is only when angels leave -us that we see the light of heaven on their wings.' -</p> - -<p> -'Now don't be melodramatic; it is absurd, and to be -emotional is bad taste. As one cuckoo does not make a -spring any more than one swallow a summer, so no more -should one affair of the human heart make up the end of a -human existence.' -</p> - -<p> -'Are you really in earnest about this, papa?' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course, though I am not much in earnest about -anything usually; it is not worth one's while.' -</p> - -<p> -'At a certain age, perhaps,' thought Clare; 'but you -were earnest enough once, in dismissing poor Trevor -Chute.' -</p> - -<p> -'You will break this matter to your sisters,' said he, -preparing to leave her. -</p> - -<p> -'My sisters!' said Clare, bitterly and sadly. 'Oh, papa! think -of Violet's prospects with—with' (she feared to add -such a chaperon)—'and of Ida, so sad, so delicate in health.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nonsense, Miss Collingwood, Ida will soon marry again; -such absurd grief never lasts; and I am sure that Vane -loves her still.' -</p> - -<p> -'Then <i>he</i> is not supposed to have got over "that stuff," -as you think Trevor Chute and I have done.' -</p> - -<p> -'Miss Collingwood, I do not like my words repeated; so -with your permission we shall cease the subject, and I shall -bid you good-morning.' -</p> - -<p> -Whenever he was offended with any of his own family -the tone he adopted was one of elaborate politeness; and -twiddling his eyeglass, with a kind of Dundreary skip, this -model father, this 'awful dad' of Clare, departed to the -abode of his inamorata. -</p> - -<p> -Clare remained for some time standing where he had left -her as if turned to stone. The proud and sensitive girl's -cheek burned with mingled shame and anger as she thought -of the ridicule, the perhaps coarse gibes of the clubs, and -general irony of society, which such an alliance was apt to -excite; and with all the usual command of every emotion -peculiar to her set and style, as this conviction came -upon her, tears hot and swift rushed into her sweet dark -eyes. -</p> - -<p> -Could Sir Carnaby have been so insane as to contemplate -a double alliance with that fast family? she asked of -herself. -</p> - -<p> -'It would have made us all more than ever ridiculous!' -she muttered aloud; and then she thought with more -pleasure of her re-engagement with Trevor Chute, the -promise given, and which she would certainly redeem; yet -she fairly wept for the price of its redemption, as she shrank -with a species of horror from seeing that 'Parky party,' as -she knew the men about town called the fair Evelyn, -occupying the place of her dead mother at home and -abroad, and presented at Court and elsewhere in the -Collingwood jewels. -</p> - -<p> -Vanity, perhaps, as much as anything else, was the cause -of this new idea in the mind of the shallow Sir Carnaby. -Though he felt perfectly conscious that his own day was -past, he would not acknowledge it. He knew well, too, -that though many enjoyed his dinners and wines, his -crushes in Piccadilly, and his cover-shooting at Carnaby -Court, and that many tolerated him for the sake of his -rank, position, and charming daughters, they deemed him -'no end of an old bore,' and this conviction galled and cut -him to the quick. -</p> - -<p> -Hence, if Evelyn Desmond became his wife, the fact -would be a kind of protest against <i>Time</i> itself! -</p> - -<p> -'How society will laugh! it is intolerable!' exclaimed -Ida, thoroughly rousing herself when she heard the startling -tidings. 'You, Clare, were ever his favourite—the one -who, as he said always, reminded him most of poor mamma -'when she last folded her pale, thin hands so meekly, and -after kissing us all, gave up her soul to God; yet he could -tell you, in this jaunty way, that another was to take her -place, and that other was such a woman as Evelyn Desmond!' -</p> - -<p> -Already the rumour of 'the coming event' must, they -thought, be known in town, else wherefore the hint thrown -out so vaguely by Trevor Chute? Already! The -mortification of the girls was unspeakable. -</p> - -<p> -Had the unwelcome announcement been made to her -but a day sooner, at least before her chance interview with -Trevor—that interview so full of deep and tender interest -to them both—she might have been tempted to make a -promise more distinct than she had given, for Clare's gentle -heart was full of indignation now. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute could not now make, as in the past time, -such settlements as her father's ambition required and -deemed necessary; yet his means were ample, and she had -lands, riches, and position enough for both; so why should -she not be his wife? -</p> - -<p> -Such are the idiosyncrasies of human nature, that her -father, who once liked Trevor Chute, now disliked, and -more than disliked him, because he felt quite sensible that -he had done the frank but unfortunate soldier who had -loved his daughter a wrong. -</p> - -<p> -To stay in town with this engagement on the <i>tapis</i>, and -this marriage in prospect, was more, however, than Clare -cared to endure, or Ida either. When it was pressed upon -the baronet that the three sisters should go to Carnaby -Court or elsewhere, he affected much surprise, as they had -barely reached the middle of the season, and the engagement -list contained many affairs towards which Clare, and -certainly Violet, had looked forward with interest. -</p> - -<p> -Though he made a show of some opposition to all this, -Sir Carnaby was not unwilling to be left in town alone at -this time, where he had to be in frequent attendance upon -his intended, where there were settlements to arrange, a -<i>trousseau</i> to prepare, and jewels to select, so the plan of -Clare and Ida was at once adopted. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap11"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XI. -<br /><br /> -A ROMANCE OF THE DRAWING-ROOM. -</h3> - -<p> -'It is bitter,' says a powerful writer, 'to know those whom we -love dead; but it is more bitter to be as dead to those who, -once having loved us, have sunk our memory deep beneath -an oblivion that is not the oblivion of the grave.' -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane had experienced much of this bitterness in the -past time; but new hopes were already dawning within him. -</p> - -<p> -He had received Clare's message from Trevor Chute, -who, for the life of him, in the fulness of his own joy, could -not, nathless his promise to her, help telling Vane what she -had said of Ida's probable wishes; thus, with a heart light -as a bird's, on the evening of the 'at-home,' he betook -himself to a part of Belgravia where at that season the great -houses, rising floor above floor, have usually every window -ablaze with light, and awnings of brilliant hues extending -from the pillared portico to the kerb, with soft bright -carpets stretched beneath for the tread of pretty feet in the -daintiest of boots, while the carriages, with rich liveries and -flashing harness, line the way, waiting to set down or take up. -</p> - -<p> -Countless carriages were there; those which had deposited -their freights were drawn up on the opposite side of -the square, wheel to wheel, like a park of artillery; others -were setting down past the lighted portico, which was -crowded by servants in livery. The bustle was great, nor -were smart hansoms and even rickety 'growlers' wanting in -the throng of more dashing vehicles, bringing bachelors, like -Jerry, from their clubs. -</p> - -<p> -Full of one thought—Ida—he was betimes at Colonel -Rakes' house—earlier, indeed, than was his wont—and -piloted his way up the great staircase and through the great -drawing-rooms, which were hung with stately family portraits -of the Rakes of other times, and were already crowded with -people of the best style, for the 'at-home' was usually a -'crusher' in this house; a sea of velvets and silks, diamonds, -and sapphires; and every other man wore a ribbon, star, or -order of some kind. -</p> - -<p> -Of his hostess Lady Rakes, a <i>fade</i> old woman of fashion, -with her company smile and insipid remarks for all in -succession, and her husband the Colonel, who, till Sir Carnaby -came, was ever about Evelyn Desmond, with whom he -fancied himself to have an incipient flirtation, we shall say -no particular more, as they have no part in our story. -</p> - -<p> -The Collingwoods had not yet arrived. Vane could see -nothing of them amid the throng while looking everywhere -for Ida. Any very definite idea he had none; but love -was the impulse that led him to seek her society so -sedulously again—to see her, and hear her voice. How often -had he said and thought, even while his whole heart yearned -for her, 'I shall never torment myself by looking on her -face again!' and now he was searching for her with a heart -that was hungry and eager. -</p> - -<p> -He heard carriage after carriage come up and deposit its -occupants, name after name announced, and saw group -after group stream up the staircase and glide through the -doors. Would she come after all? He was beginning to -fear not, when suddenly the name of 'Collingwood' caught -his ear, and the well-saved old dandy, with an unusually -bright smile on his thin aristocratic face, appeared with -Clare leaning on one arm and Ida on the other. With all -their beauty, we have said that he felt his daughters a bore; -thus, so soon as he could, he made all haste to leave them -in the care of others, while he mixed with the glittering -throng. -</p> - -<p> -So dense was the latter that a considerable time elapsed -ere Vane could make his way to where the sisters stood, -with more than one admirer near them. -</p> - -<p> -There, too, was Desmond, with his cross of the Bath, -and a delicate waxen flower in his lapel. Clara's refusal -had certainly piqued, but not pained, the tall, languid -guardsman with the tawny hair; yet he did not think his -chances of ultimate success, if he cared sufficiently to attain -it, were over yet; but his love was of that easy nature—more -like a listless flirtation than love—that he was in no -haste to press his suit again; for if this affair, and 'a very -absurd affair, by Jove!' he deemed it, between Sir Carnaby -and his fast sister actually came off, he would find himself -often enough in the charming society of Clare; but what a -joke it would be to think that Evelyn might be his -mother-in-law. -</p> - -<p> -All things considered, the Honourable Major was not -much in want of consolation, and if he had required it, -there were plenty of lovely belles there and elsewhere 'who -would gladly be bride,' not 'to young Lochinvar,' but to the -future Lord Bayswater. -</p> - -<p> -And what of Clare, so calm in aspect and aristocratically -serene? -</p> - -<p> -Her thoughts were not with the gay yet empty throng -that buzzed and glittered around her, but with her soldier-lover, -browned and tanned by the fierce sun-glare of India, -from whom she had been so long wantonly separated, and -was now separated again, yet with the sweet memory of his -last passionate kisses on her lip, that looked so proud to -others, and who was not now, thank God! as before—facing -the toils and terrors of an obscure mountain war in -India, but simply self-banished to Germany till time should -show what might be before them both. Where was he -then? what doing, and with whom? -</p> - -<p> -Thinking, doubtless, of her! so thought and pondered -Clare, when she could thrust aside the coming marriage of -Sir Carnaby, with all its contingent ridicule; but it was in -vain that she repelled it, for the fact took full and bitter -possession of her, and could not be displaced; and her lip -curled scornfully as she saw her father, with his bald head -shining in the light like a billiard ball, his dyed moustache, -and false teeth, his undoubtedly handsome and aristocratic -figure, though thin and shrunken, clad in evening costume -of the most perfect fashion, simpering and bending over -Evelyn, of whom we shall have more to say anon. -</p> - -<p> -None that looked on Clare, and saw the greatness of her -beauty, the general sweetness of her smile, her tranquil air, -and somewhat languid grace, could have dreamed that -irritating or bitter thoughts were flitting through her mind. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh,' thought she, as she fanned herself, 'how vapid it -all is, exchanging the same hackneyed commonplaces with -dozens in succession.' -</p> - -<p> -Yet society compelled her to appear like other people, -and she found herself listening to Desmond, who lisped -away in his usual fashion of things in general: the debates -in the House last night, the envious screen of the ladies' -gallery, la crosse at Hurlingham, polo, tent-pegging, and -lemon-slicing at Lillie Bridge, the coaching club and the -teams, Colonel Rakes' greys, Bayswater's roans, the Scottish -Duke of Chatelherault's snow-whites, the matching of -wheelers and leaders; of this party and that rout; who -were and were not at the Chiswick Garden Fete. -</p> - -<p> -One circumstance pleased her. Nothing in the -well-bred and impassive manner of Desmond, though he hung -over her and tugged his long fair moustache, could have -led anyone to suppose that he had actually made her a -proposal the other morning, and as to his sister's intended -'fiasco,' for such they both deemed it, the subject was not -even hinted at; and now, as he moved on to speak to -some one else, a gloved hand was laid on her arm, and -Clare found herself beside Evelyn Desmond. -</p> - -<p> -She was perhaps about thirty, yet she had more -experience of the world than Clare could ever have won in a -lifetime. In girlhood she had been handsome; but her -beauty—if real beauty she ever possessed—was already -gone; bloom at least had departed. She was fair, blue-eyed, -and not unlike her brother, with a proportionately -tall figure, and a face rather aristocratic in contour, but -with a keener, sharper, more haughty and defiant -expression. -</p> - -<p> -One of the <i>three</i> suites of diamonds that Clare had seen -was sparkling on her brow and bosom. She was attired in -violet velvet, with priceless point lace, cut in the extreme -mode: her neck and shoulders were bare, and her dress -cut so absurdly low behind as to show rather too much of a -certainly fair and snow-white back. -</p> - -<p> -Clare's chief objection to her, apart from the disparity of -years, was that the Honourable Evelyn had the unpleasant -reputation of having done more than one very fast thing in -her life, though no one could precisely say what they were; -and though she was the daughter of a peer and a sister of -a major in the Guards, all men had a cool, <i>insouciant</i>, and -even flippant or half 'chaffing' mode of addressing her, -that they would never have dared to adopt to a girl like -Clare Collingwood. -</p> - -<p> -'Your papa has told you about—you know what, Clare?' -said Miss Desmond, looking not in the slightest degree -abashed, though lowering her tone, certainly. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' said Clare, curtly and wearily. -</p> - -<p> -'We must be better friends than ever, Clare.' -</p> - -<p> -Miss Collingwood fanned herself in silence, so Evelyn -spoke again: -</p> - -<p> -'I suppose you know when the—the event takes place?' -</p> - -<p> -'No.' -</p> - -<p> -'How monosyllabic you are,' said the other, while her -lip quivered, and her eye lightened. 'Has Sir Carnaby not -told you?' -</p> - -<p> -'I never asked him,' was the half-contemptuous response. -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'I was not aware that matters were in such a state of -progression. A time is named, then, for—for this <i>affaire de -fantasie</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -'A month from to-day. Pray call it an <i>affaire du cœur</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -'A month!' repeated Clare, dreamily. -</p> - -<p> -'He would have it, he was so impatient,' said Evelyn -Desmond, with something of a smile; but whether it was a -triumphant or malignant one, Clare cared not to analyze. -She only feared that the 'impatience' had been elsewhere, -as Evelyn had been on the point of marrying with more -than one man already, but there was always a flaw -somewhere, and the affairs ended. Perhaps, as some hinted, -they were too easily begun. -</p> - -<p> -As she could neither express pleasure or congratulation, -Clare fanned herself in silence, until Evelyn said: -</p> - -<p> -'And so you have refused Harvey?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'How exceedingly funny.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why?' -</p> - -<p> -'Because on that same morning I finally accepted Sir -Carnaby. By the way,' she added, with a glance that was -not a pleasant one, 'I heard that your old admirer, Trevor -Chute, once of the Guards, was in town again.' -</p> - -<p> -'Indeed.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; perhaps that accounts for poor Harvey's -disappointment.' -</p> - -<p> -'Think so if you choose,' replied Clare, haughtily, as she -turned away to conceal how her soft cheek coloured with -the excess of her annoyance. -</p> - -<p> -By this time Vane, after being entangled by innumerable -trains, had made his way to the side of Ida. -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane was popular in society, and could have had -many a girl for the asking. Clare and Ida, too, had often -wished—for he was still the dearest of their friends—that -he should marry; but they had never suggested it to him, -for under the circumstances it would have seemed bad -taste, and though he had but one thought—Ida, and -Ida only—Jerry Vane went everywhere, and was deemed -the gayest of the gay; and now, when their eyes met, there -was a kind, sad smile in hers—a smile of the olden time—that -took a load off his heart, and still lighter did it grow -when, rising, she took his arm—as a widow she could do so -now, and said: -</p> - -<p> -'Take me to a cool place; the heat here is stifling, especially -in this dark dress; there is a cool seat just within the -conservatory door. Thanks, that will do.' -</p> - -<p> -Many a picture—many a soft Gainsborough or softer -Greuze—may suggest a face as delicate and beautiful as -that which was turned up to his; but no picture ever -painted by human hand had such a power of expression as -that possessed by the face of Ida Beverley, as she sat there, -slightly flushed by the heat of the crowded room, and -feeling with pleasure the breeze from the great square without -blowing on her cheek, and laden with perfumes of fresh -flowers as it passed through the long conservatory. -</p> - -<p> -The broken ring, the gipsy ring of the dream, rent in -two by the cruel tiger's fangs, was now on the marriage -finger beside the wedding hoop, as Jerry could see when -she drew off her glove, but he was glad to observe that her -mourning was becoming lessened by trimmings of grey silk; -yet the dark costume, by its contrast to the pallor and -purity of her complexion, made Ida seem lovelier than -ever, and his heart ached to think that those trappings of -woe were worn for a rival. -</p> - -<p> -Why did he seek her presence? he was asking himself -again. Did some lingering hope inspire him? Without it -Jerry felt that it would be madness to place himself within -the sphere of her beauty, with their mutual past; yet he -could not deny himself the joy of the present, in watching -the tenderness of her soft grey-blue eye, the glory of her -auburn hair, and the grace of all her actions. -</p> - -<p> -She had been the wife of Beverley, true; but the wife of -only a few months, and left behind in loneliness while yet -a bride. -</p> - -<p> -Worried by her sadness, and sick of her repining, selfish -old Sir Carnaby had become, unknown to her, somewhat -an adherent of her first lover. He was not disinclined to -let his widowed daughter become the wife of this unappropriated -man, whose good looks and style were as undeniable -as his position and expectations. Thus he whispered to -Evelyn Desmond that he was not ill-pleased to see them -draw apart within the conservatory door. -</p> - -<p> -Jerry's friends would have called him 'a muff,' to sigh as -he did, and make himself 'a blighted being' for Ida, whose -whole heart and soul seemed devoted to another, and who -sorrowed as some women only sorrow over their dead, -going through the world with one visionary yet formed -fancy that floated drearily and vaguely in her memory. -Yet, in spite of himself, Jerry Vane hovered near the sad -one like a love-bird by the nest of its young. -</p> - -<p> -It was impossible that the love of this faithful, honest, -and good-hearted fellow should fail to impress Ida. She -was conscious that his fate was a cruel one, and of her own -making; and she felt a great pity for him; for although she -<i>had</i> been fickle once, her nature was generous and -compassionate. -</p> - -<p> -A dead flirtation can seldom be revived, but an old love is -often rekindled; yet Ida bore him none as yet; it was only -pity, as we have said—compunction for what she had done—a -tenderness, nothing more, save, perhaps, a sense of honour for -him, that gave Jerry Vane an indefinable and, it may be, -dangerous attraction to her; and now, as he spoke to her, -bending over her as he used to do of old, her dark blue -eyes changed and shadowed with the changing thoughts -that passed quickly through her mind. -</p> - -<p> -'We are good friends as ever,' said she, smiling upward -in reply to some remark of his. -</p> - -<p> -'Ida, some one has written that after love, mere friendship -becomes more cruel than hate, and says it is the worst -cruelty "when we seek love—as a stone proffered to us -when we ask for bread in famine."' -</p> - -<p> -Jerry felt that in this remark he had made somewhat of a -'header;' but fanning herself, she said calmly: -</p> - -<p> -'I <i>believe</i> in you, Mr. Vane; is not that the highest trust -one creature can give another?' -</p> - -<p> -'May I not implore you to call me Jerry, as—as of old?' -he asked, in a tremulous voice. -</p> - -<p> -'When alone—yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'Mr. Vane sounds so odiously formal after—after——' -his lip quivered. -</p> - -<p> -'Well—Jerry it shall be.' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, dear, dear Ida; I begin to hope again.' -</p> - -<p> -Poor Jerry did begin indeed to have fresh hope; and are -we not told that its promises are sweeter than roses in the -bud, and more flattering to expectation? -</p> - -<p> -'Combine love with friendship, Ida,' he urged, softly, -with the tip of his moustache almost touching her ear, 'and -its tranquillity will be great and happy.' -</p> - -<p> -She could not, without growing interest and tenderness, -see the mournful love-me look that his eyes wore; yet she -said, over her bouquet of stephanotis, Beverley's favourite -flower and perfume: -</p> - -<p> -'Do not talk thus, I implore you, Jerry Vane.' -</p> - -<p> -A gesture of impatience escaped Vane, yet he said, in a -voice of tenderness: -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Ida, <i>I do know it</i>—too well and bitterly; for as I -loved you in the past time, so do I love you still!' -</p> - -<p> -'Pardon me, Jerry; you are indeed a kind and faithful——' -</p> - -<p> -'Fool!' he interrupted her, bitterly. 'That is the word, -Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay, nay, don't say so,' she urged, with tremulous lips -and moistened eyes. -</p> - -<p> -'The first love of a woman's heart is a holy thing, -Ida—and yours was mine.' -</p> - -<p> -'Let us be friends,' said she, in a painful tone. -</p> - -<p> -'I can never, never be your—mere friend, Ida!' -</p> - -<p> -Like that of Clare and Trevor Chute, but a few days -before, it was another romance of the drawing-room, the -strange intercourse and perilous friendship between these -two. -</p> - -<p> -She looked wistfully at Vane. -</p> - -<p> -'We know not what God may have in store for us yet,' -said she, colouring while she spoke, but only with the desire -to soothe and not ignore the passion he was avowing. 'It -may be—may be that we have only in our hearts been -waiting for each other after all.' -</p> - -<p> -Ere Vane could make a response to this speech, which -she felt conscious was a rash one, she shivered and grew -deadly pale. -</p> - -<p> -'Does the night air chill you, Ida?' he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'I know not—surely no,' said she, in a strange voice: -'it is close, rather; and yet——' -</p> - -<p> -'What, dear Ida?' -</p> - -<p> -'I felt a strange shudder come over me as I spoke.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is nervousness, and will soon pass away.' -</p> - -<p> -For a moment she sat with her eyes dropped and her -heart palpitating. Whence came that strange, cold, and -irrepressible tremor, like the shock of an electric battery, yet -so chilly? What could it be? Could she have an affection -of the heart? -</p> - -<p> -She started from her seat with manifest uneasiness, and -taking his arm, said, 'Let us return to the rooms.' -</p> - -<p> -And now there occurred an episode which, however trivial -then, Jerry Vane recalled with singular and very mingled -emotions at a future time. As they came out of the -conservatory, Colonel Rakes said, laughingly: -</p> - -<p> -'Who is your friend, Vane, that is so strangely dressed—at -least, not in evening costume?' -</p> - -<p> -'Friend! What friend?—where, Colonel?' -</p> - -<p> -'In the conservatory with you and Mrs. Beverley. Ah, -Mrs. Beverley, too bad of you to appropriate our friend -Vane when you know all the women are in love with him.' -</p> - -<p> -'Colonel—I?' -</p> - -<p> -'You, my dear girl—for I am old enough to call you so. -But about your friend——' -</p> - -<p> -'There was no one but ourselves in the conservatory,' -said Vane. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh pardon me, Vane, you three were close together.' -</p> - -<p> -'Impossible!' -</p> - -<p> -'As you rose to retire, I saw him slide, as it were, behind -the shelves of flowers.' -</p> - -<p> -'We saw no one,' urged Ida. -</p> - -<p> -'Can it be a thief or an intruder? Let us see,' said the -Colonel; and he and Vane searched all over the place, -which was brilliantly lighted with gas, but without success. -</p> - -<p> -'You must be mistaken, Colonel,' said Jerry, 'as the only -other door of the conservatory is locked, and on the inside.' -</p> - -<p> -'Though a little short-sighted, I was not mistaken, Vane.' -</p> - -<p> -'And this man——?' -</p> - -<p> -'Stood close behind Mrs. Beverley's chair, within less -than arm's-length of you both.' -</p> - -<p> -'What was he like?' asked Vane, with genuine irritation -and astonishment. -</p> - -<p> -'That I can scarcely describe.' -</p> - -<p> -'His face?' -</p> - -<p> -'Was singularly pale, with dark eyes and a dark, heavy -moustache.' -</p> - -<p> -'And he actually hung over Ida—Mrs. Beverley, I -mean—unseen by me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; closer than good breeding warranted. You must -have been very much absorbed not to have seen him,' said -the Colonel, with a wicked smile in his old eyes. -</p> - -<p> -'I was indeed absorbed, Colonel.' -</p> - -<p> -'Don't wonder at it; there are not many Ida Beverleys -even in the world of London. But, egad, the butler must -be told to have an eye upon the plate-chest—the -racing-cups and silver spoons!' -</p> - -<p> -<i>Who</i> was this strange-looking man whom the Colonel -could not describe, yet had so distinctly seen close by Ida's -chair, listening, doubtless, to all their remarkable conversation? -It was, to say the least of it, a most ungentlemanly -proceeding; and Jerry, amid the clatter of tongues around -him, strove to remember all they had said, and whether he -had let fall anything that shed a light upon their past -relations and his present hopes; with the pleasant conviction -that the eavesdropper must have heard much that was -intended for Ida's ear alone! -</p> - -<p> -'By Jove!' thought Jerry, 'if I had caught the fellow, -there would have been an unseemly scene among the -Colonel's majolica flower-pots, his orchids, and azaleas.' -</p> - -<p> -The interview in the conservatory, and the strange -emotion that came over her, had somewhat wearied Ida; -and like Clare, who had overheard some unmistakable -remarks on the 'coming event'—remarks certainly not -meant for her sensitive ear—she was anxious to be home. -</p> - -<p> -'A game old fellah,' she heard Lord Brixton say—a peer -whose only known ancestor was one of the cottonocracy—to -another, whose adjusted eye-glass was focussed on Sir -Carnaby; 'game indeed! but will live to repent his -matrimonial folly. <i>She'll</i> lead him a dance, believe me, -don't you know.' -</p> - -<p> -Even the servants in the hall and at the portico had -heard some rumour, for there fell upon Clare's ear, as they -swept out to the carriage, something like this:— -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, yes! I knows 'em—the Honourable Miss Desmond, -with her big mastiff, whip, and wissel, and only Sir Carnaby -on dooty. I've seen 'em by the Serpentine many times.' -</p> - -<p> -So, then, their names were linked together, even by the -men in livery! -</p> - -<p> -And as they drove home in the carriage, leaving Sir -Carnaby with his fair one, by the lighted windows of the far -extent of streets and squares, Ida lay back in a corner, -muffled in her gossamer-like Shetland shawl, soft as Dacca -muslin, the 'woven wind,' very silent and sad. -</p> - -<p> -She was thinking very much of what Jerry had said, and -the hopes she had, perhaps unwisely, awakened; but more -of the strange cold thrill that came over her, for she had -too often experienced that unwelcome emotion or sensation -of late. -</p> - -<p> -In another direction Jerry was 'tooling' home in a -hansom, with a heart full of happiness. He had struck the -vein; he had an interest, even though but a renewed -interest, in the eyes and heart of his old love. Had she -not admitted that they knew not what Fate had in store for -them yet, and that their hearts might only have been -waiting for each other after all! -</p> - -<p> -Moreover, Sir Carnaby had given, and he had accepted, -a formal invitation for the shooting and then for the -Christmas festivities at Carnaby Court; and he drove on, -sunk in happy waking dreams of all that the future might -have in store for him yet. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap12"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XII. -<br /><br /> -IN THE KONGENS NYTORV. -</h3> - -<p> -'Married, at St. George's Church, Hanover Square, on -Saturday, Sir Carnaby Collingwood, Bart., of Carnaby -Court, to the Hon. Evelyn Desmond, only daughter of the -Right Hon. Lord Bayswater..... The bride wore a -dress composed of rich ivory-white Duchesse satin, the -skirt,' &c., &c. -</p> - -<p> -Such was the announcement which suddenly met the eye -of startled Trevor Chute, as it was running leisurely and -carelessly over the columns of a <i>Times</i>, nearly a fortnight -old, as he lingered over his coffee one morning, when -seated under the awning in front of the Hotel d'Angleterre, -in the Kongens Nytorv of Copenhagen. -</p> - -<p> -'Whew!' whistled Chute, as he read and re-read the -paragraph, with all its details of the bride's elaborate -costume, the uniform of the bridesmaids, the presents, and -so forth, down to the shower of satin slippers, and the -departure of the happy couple by the Great Western -Railway. -</p> - -<p> -This event was all the more startling to Chute, as he had -been wandering from place to place, through Germany and -the North of Europe, and thus few letters and no papers -from England had reached him for some time past; and -now it was the end of the first week of September, when -the brown partridges would be learning to their cost that -the tall waving wheat, amid which their little broods had -thriven, was shorn on the uplands, and the sharp-bladed -plough was turning up the barley-stubbles. -</p> - -<p> -It may well be supposed that the contents of this -paragraph among the fashionable intelligence gave our -wanderer occasion for much thought; and from the bustle -around him—for he had been taking his coffee at a little -marble table placed literally on the pavement of the square, -which, if not one of the handsomest places in Europe, is -certainly the finest in the Danish capital, with its statue of -Christian V., with its green plateau and flower-borders—he -retired to the solitude of his own room; but even as he did -so there were others, he found, who were near him, and -took a gossiping interest in the paragraph. -</p> - -<p> -There were several English people in the hotel, of -course, for one must travel a long way to find solitude in -these our days of universal locomotion. Among others -there was young Charley Rakes, at whose house we have -lately seen the Collingwoods—a fast youth of Belgravian -breed, whom Chute did not like; and he had rather a way -of keeping at full arm's-length those whom he viewed thus. -</p> - -<p> -'So, so,' he heard him say to a friend; 'the old fellow is -married at last, and to the Desmond. What the little birds -said proves right, after all.' -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Clare!' thought Chute, as a burst of laughter -followed the reading of the paragraph, with great -accentuation, aloud. -</p> - -<p> -'Fancy Evelyn Desmond airing flannel bags for the gouty -feet of old Collingwood, fomenting his bald pate—(he is -bald, isn't he?)—putting his lovely teeth into a tumbler at -night, unlacing his stays, and all that sort of thing, don't you -know!' -</p> - -<p> -From this rough jesting with names in which he had an -interest so vital now, Trevor Chute, we say, gladly sought -the privacy of his own room, where, stretched upon a -sofa, he gave himself tip to the luxury of lonely thinking, -while watching the pale blue wreaths evoked from his -meerschaum bowl floating upward into the lofty ceiling -overhead, while the drowsy hum of the city came through the -green jalousies of the windows, which opened to the Kongens -Nytorv, and faced the Theatre Royal. -</p> - -<p> -Would this alliance mar for ever the chances of the Major, -or redouble them, as he would be quite <i>en famille</i> at Carnaby -Court and the town mansion in Piccadilly? -</p> - -<p> -He recalled the parting words of Clare, and thrust the -speculation aside as unworthy the consideration of a second. -He could awaken in the morning now with other thoughts -than the dull ache of the bitter olden time; for though -their prospects were vague and undefined, he had her -renewed promise, and now more than ever did he recall -it, with the delicious threat that accompanied the renewal. -</p> - -<p> -'Clare, Clare!' he muttered aloud; and with all the -passionate longing of a lad of twenty, the man's heart went out -to her, the absent one. -</p> - -<p> -She was his in spirit only; but oh, for Surrey's magic -mirror, to bring her before him once again, that he might -revel on the calm poses of her statuesque figure, her soft, -yet aristocratic face, and the curve of her lips, that were -exquisite as those of a Greuze—even as Surrey revelled -on the beauties of Geraldine when conjured up by Cornelius -Agrippa! -</p> - -<p> -Again he was sunk in thoughts of her, as when far away -amid the awful and undisturbed solitude of the Himalayan -forests, where the pines that rose to the height of two -hundred feet were tipped with sunshine, while all was night -below; and where the torrents, with their ceaseless roar, -that wearied the ear, when, swollen by the winter rains, they -tore past the lonely cantonment of Landour, where the last -home of Beverley and many more lie, rolling on and on to -the plains and tea-gardens of Assam. -</p> - -<p> -But his prospects were brighter now, and thus he had -thought of her happily when idling from place to place, in -the glittering Kursaal at Hamburg, the many gaieties of -Berlin, and of more domestic Copenhagen; when among -the lonely woods of Norway, and the countless isles of the -Christiana Fiord, which the Norse packet had traversed -when its waters were moonlit and luminous, when the dark -violet-tinted waves of eve rolled on the green shores of the -Jungfrau land, when he had seen the gorgeous sun setting -redly beyond the bronze-like forests of Sweden, and flushing -alike the sky above and the waters of the Sound below—her -face was ever before him, and he had remembered its -expressions and the tone of her voice in every hour he spent, -especially when alone, by land and sea, in city, wood, or -wilderness. -</p> - -<p> -'I have Clare's promise and assurance that she loves me -still,' he would think; 'but how long am I to drag on this -absurd life, this separate existence? Surely we are not -so hopeless now as in that time when I was broiling up -country.' -</p> - -<p> -With reference to her promise, he pondered, would she -write to him? Scarcely. Should he write to her, and -remind her of it—not that for a moment he ever believed it to -be forgotten; but of, this policy he was doubtful, and so -resolved to wait a little, as he would be certain to hear from -Jerry Vane or some other friend. -</p> - -<p> -But while waiting, Clare might be cast into the attractive -influence of some one else, and he knew that she was -surrounded by all the charms and allurements of rank and of -wealth. Then he deemed himself a wretch to think of such -things. Anon he became terrified lest she should be ill, as -he knew how much this marriage would mortify, fret, and -worry her. -</p> - -<p> -From his reverie he was roused by the appearance of his -valet, Tom Travers, standing close by at 'attention,' by pure -force of old habit. He had neither heard him knock nor -enter; neither had he heard his tread on the polished floor, -which as usual in these countries, was uncarpeted. -</p> - -<p> -'Letter for you, sir,' said he, presenting one on a salver. -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, Tom.' -</p> - -<p> -He tore it open; it was from Jerry Vane, and dated from -'Carnaby Court.' This made Trevor's heart leap. -</p> - -<p> -'Jerry must have been making his innings,' thought he, -'to be there. He has surely been seized with a most unusual -<i>cacoethes scribendi</i>. I have not heard from the fellow -for months, and now he sends me nearly sixteen pages. -What can they all be about? Perhaps the marriage, but -more likely that alluring <i>ignis fatuus</i>, Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -And once more filling his pipe, he composed himself -to peruse the letter of his old chum, Jerry, who ran on -thus:— -</p> - -<p> -'I suppose you have long since heard how Sir Carnaby -Collingwood made a fool of himself at St. George's. He -has now gone on his wedding tour, and I am thankful he is -out of the way. It is ungracious to write these lines of one's -host, and still more so of one I would fain be more nearly -connected with; but it is the old story of Doctor Fell, and -you know I never liked Sir Carnaby. How difficult it is to -analyse sympathy. By Jove, Trevor, it is a thing that no -fellow can understand, for it takes possession of us whether -we will or no; hence it is that we are unconsciously -attracted or repelled by some of those we meet at first sight. -And why? No one can tell. Hence, a magnetic influence -draws us sometimes even to those we should shun, or -compels us to shun sometimes those whom, from policy, we -should attract, and in whom we should confide.' ('Has -Jerry had a sunstroke?' thought Trevor; 'what <i>is</i> all this -about?') 'And thus it was that a magnetic influence led -me to love Ida at first sight, and at the same time to dislike -Sir Carnaby, and I fear the feeling will never pass away, so -far as he is concerned. -</p> - -<p> -'I know not where this may find you; but any place is -better than London at this season. You know what it is in -August and September, with its pavement fit only for a -salamander or a fireman. After Ascot, the Collingwoods—the -three ladies, at least—left London in the height of the -season, and went to Carnaby Court. I was with them—Ida -and Clare, I mean—on Rakes' drag on the Royal Heath on -the Cup day. Don't you envy me, old fellow? I am sure -you do. We spoke much of you among ourselves, anyhow, -and Clare looked her brightest and her best when we did so. -By not starting early, we were delayed waiting for the young -engaged couple; we lost the first two races, but that was -nothing. -</p> - -<p> -'It was with quiet anger the girls saw the half-concealed -billing and cooing of the old baronet and the <i>fiancée</i>, and -with what excellent grace he lost some heavy bets to her -brother, the Guardsman, and others to the lady herself, -which she entered in a dainty little book with a jewelled -pencil, and laughing girlishly as she buried her pretty -nose in a hot-house bouquet of the colours affected by Sir -Carnaby. -</p> - -<p> -'Desmond's animal was nowhere; but, perhaps, you -won't be sorry for that. Some say he has lost a pot of -money, and may have to leave the Brigade; anyway, it did -not prevent him from returning with some dolls in his -hat-band. For some reason—gout, it was whispered—the -baronet did not go to the Derby, so the fair Evelyn agreed -with him that it was only fit for boys, and declined to go -either. Why should a gentleman go, to have his clothes -covered by dust or flour, his hat, perhaps, banished by a -cocoa-nut; and why a lady, to see and hear all the horrid -things that were said or done? Yet, in times past, she had -gone and faced all these things and more, so it suited her to -play propriety on that Derby Day; but when Ascot came, -she was there making bets, even 'ponies,' in full swing. -</p> - -<p> -'I came here at first to have a shot or two at the birds for -a week, by express invitation, as I told you, and then I may, -perhaps, join you on the Continent after all. Ida -matronises the household, and a lovely matron she makes, with -her sweet, sad grace. Sir John and Lady Oriel are here, old -Colonel Rakes and his wife, and that titled <i>parvenu</i>, Lord -Brixton, with some others, to await the return of the "young -couple" from Germany, whither they have gone to hide -their blushes; and the tenantry are getting up an enormous -triumphal archway at the avenue gate; the public-house at -the village is getting a new signboard; the ringers are -practising chimes in the old Saxon spire; the schoolmaster -is composing an epithalamium, and the Carnaby volunteer -artillery are to fire a salute on the lawn. But I wonder how -I can write so frivolously, for something occurred on the -third day after I came that has caused me much discomfort -and perplexity. -</p> - -<p> -'There is an arbour in the garden, one of many, but -before this I mean there stands a marble Psyche.' -</p> - -<p> -(How well Trevor Chute could remember that arbour—a -kiosk—with all its iron lattice-work and gilded knobs, and -the masses of roses and clematis, Virginia creeper and ivy, -all matted and woven in profusion over it. Many a time -had he sat there with Clare, and often in a silence that was -not without its eloquence. 'Well; and what of the arbour?' -thought he, turning again to the letter of Jerry.) -</p> - -<p> -'When passing among the shrubberies, I saw Ida seated in -that arbour, with a book in her lap, and, to all appearance, -lost in thought. A flood of amber light, shed by the -evening sun, poured aslant through an opening in the -greenery upon her white neck and lustrous auburn hair, -which shone like gold, as her hat was off and lay beside her. -A great joy filled my heart as I thought of the hopes given -me during the meeting at Rakes' house, and after watching -her beauty for a minute or so in silence I was about to join -her, when she looked upward, and then there appeared, -what I had not before perceived, so absorbed had I been in -her, a man, unknown to me, looking down upon her—a -man with whom she seemed to be in close conversation. -</p> - -<p> -'Some huge branches of roses concealed his figure from -me, but his face was distinct enough, in closer proximity to -hers than good breeding generally warrants. It was pale, -very, with dark eyes and a black moustache—in detail, by -Jove, Chute, the same fellow whom Colonel Rakes found -eavesdropping in the conservatory! -</p> - -<p> -'Startled, alarmed, and scarcely knowing what to think, I -still resolved to join her. I could scarcely deem myself an -intruder, considering the terms we had been on, and are -on now, and approached the arbour, but in doing so had to -make a circuit among the shrubberies. Half a minute had -not elapsed when I reached the arbour; no one passed me -on the walk, not a footfall was heard on the gravel, at least -by me; but when I joined her she was alone, with her head -stooped forward, her face buried in her hands, and when she -looked up its pallor startled me; yet her grey-blue, changeful, -and lustrous eyes looked, and with a smile, into mine. -</p> - -<p> -'"Have I disturbed you?" I asked, scarcely knowing -what to say. -</p> - -<p> -'"Disturbed me? Oh, no; I was done reading." -</p> - -<p> -'"But some one was with you." -</p> - -<p> -'"When?" -</p> - -<p> -'"Just now." -</p> - -<p> -'"Impossible!" -</p> - -<p> -'"I thought that some one was here," I said, in great -perplexity. -</p> - -<p> -'"Oh no—but sit down and let us talk," said she, frankly. -</p> - -<p> -'I thought of the face I had just seen so near her own. -I was rendered dumb, as I felt my tenure of favour was too -slight to risk offending her by further remark on a subject -so singular; but I was pained, grieved, and bewildered to a -degree beyond what words can express. I looked at her -earnestly, and seeing her so pale, said: -</p> - -<p> -'"Are you not well, Ida?" -</p> - -<p> -'"Only in so far that one of those mysterious shudders -which I feel at times came over me a minute ago." -</p> - -<p> -'I am aware that she has complained of this emotion or -sensation before, and that the best medical skill in town has -failed to make anything of it. -</p> - -<p> -'"The odour of those flowers has perhaps affected you," -said I, somewhat pettishly thrusting aside a bouquet tied by -a white ribbon which lay near her. -</p> - -<p> -'"Oh no," she replied, "their perfume has always been a -favourite of mine." -</p> - -<p> -'They were stephanotis, and I have often heard it was a -favourite flower with Beverley. -</p> - -<p> -'"From whom did you receive the bouquet?" I asked, -but something indefinable in my tone attracted her. -</p> - -<p> -'"Vane—Jerry!" she exclaimed. "It was brought me by -the gardener," she added, and her calm face and serene eye all -spoke of one to whom doubt or further question would have -been intolerable, and the fear of anything unknown. Did -she know what I had seen, or suspect what was passing in -my mind? It would seem not; and still more was I perplexed -and startled on perceiving, as we rose to join Clare, -Violet, and others who were proceeding laughingly to the -croquet lawn, a gentleman's glove lying on the seat which she -had just quitted. -</p> - -<p> -'"Some one has dropped this," said I, taking it up. -</p> - -<p> -'"I never observed it," she replied, quietly; "is it not -your own?" -</p> - -<p> -'"No," said I, curtly, as I tossed it into the arbour, with -the fear, the crushing conviction, that some fellow <i>had</i> been -there after all How he had effected his exit from the -arbour unseen by me was a mystery; but how I enjoyed our -croquet that afternoon you may imagine. -</p> - -<p> -'In the course of our game I casually discovered that the -lost glove belonged to Sir John Oriel, but you know that his -personal appearance scarcely answers to that of the man I -have described to you. -</p> - -<p> -'I am loath to admit myself to be jealous; but there is a -mystery in all this I cannot fathom. My visit here -terminates at the end of a week, when I shall return to town -more miserable in mind than I ever did before. I am to -be at Carnaby Court for the Christmas festivities, but have -a vague fear of what may happen in the meantime. <i>This -fellow</i>——' (Jerry had drawn his pen through words, -evidently as if checking some ebullition, and then continued). -</p> - -<p> -'It was, perhaps, with the naturally kind and womanly -desire to soothe the sorrow she had caused, and the wound -she had inflicted, that when next day we met by chance in -the same arbour—in fact, I followed her to it—she was -more than usually affable and sweet with me, and I ventured -in the plainest terms to speak of the subject that was nearest -my heart. -</p> - -<p> -'"Confident in my own unchanging love for you, Ida," -said I, "honour for your feelings, tenderness and kindness -have made me silent for long; but I think the better time -has come when I might openly speak to you of love again, -dear Ida." -</p> - -<p> -'"Do not urge that subject on me now," she replied, -with undisguised agitation. "You are a dear good and -kind fellow—dear and good as—as—as when I first knew -you; but I—I——" She paused and trembled. -</p> - -<p> -'"What?" I whispered. -</p> - -<p> -'"My heart is in the grave!" -</p> - -<p> -'"This is absurd; it is morbid—it is irreligious!" I -exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -'"Do not say so, Jerry Vane." -</p> - -<p> -'I thought to myself, bitterly (excuse me, Chute), could -not this confounded fellow Beverley die without bothering -her with all his gloomy messages and mementoes? -</p> - -<p> -'"If you do not marry me, I shall die an old bachelor. -Let not the one love of my life be utterly hopeless—you, -my first and last!" -</p> - -<p> -'"Poor Jerry, what <i>can</i> I say?" she exclaimed, -interlacing her white, slender fingers. -</p> - -<p> -'"That you will love me." -</p> - -<p> -'"In time, perhaps—I will try—but cease to urge me -now." -</p> - -<p> -'"Bless you for those words, Ida." -</p> - -<p> -'"I am glad to make you happy, Jerry," said she, with a -bright smile in her beautiful eyes. -</p> - -<p> -'"You do indeed cause my heart to swell with -happiness—but—but why do you <i>shudder</i>?" I exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -'"Did I shudder?" she asked, growing very pale, and -withdrawing her hand from mine. "Oh, let us cease this -subject, Jerry, and—and excuse me leaving you." -</p> - -<p> -'She glided away from my sight down the garden walk, -quitting me with an abruptness unusual to her, which I -observed on more than one occasion, and the cause of -which I was unable to discover, or reconcile even with the -rules of common politeness; but now she returned with a -sad yet smiling and somewhat confused expression of face, -and showed me the book she had been perusing on the -preceding day. It was the Baron von Reichenbach's work -on magnetism and vital force, and pointing to a passage -wherein he details the effect produced on a girl of highly -sensitive organization when influenced by a magnet, she -said: -</p> - -<p> -'"I feel when I start and leave you exactly what this -girl describes her sensation to be, drawn from you by an -irresistible attraction which I am compelled to follow -unconditionally and involuntarily, and which, while the power -lasts, I am obliged to obey, even against my own will. So -do pardon me, Jerry; I am powerless, and not to blame." -</p> - -<p> -'She spoke with quiet sweetness—with an infinite gentleness -and sadness, but I saw the man's glove yet lying in the -arbour—the tangible glove—and thought: "Good heavens! is -all this acting—insanity, or what?" -</p> - -<p> -'Anyway, I was filled with keen anxiety and deep sorrow -to find that she whom I loved so tenderly was under -influences so strange and accountable—so far beyond one's -grasp. -</p> - -<p> -'Could the figure of the man I had seen so near her, with -his odious face so close—so very close—to hers, have been -an illusion—a hallucination—a thing born of my own heated -fancy, and the shifting lights and shadows of the arbour and -its foliage? -</p> - -<p> -'If so, it seemed very odd indeed that an appearance -exactly similar should have been seen in his conservatory -by such a sentimental and matter-of-fact old fellow as -Colonel Rakes!' -</p> - -<p> -Here ended Jerry's long and rambling letter, many items -in which gave Trevor Chute food for long thought and -reverie. -</p> - -<p> -As for Ida's nervous illness, for such he deemed it beyond -a doubt to be—an illness born of her grief for Beverley, and -annoyance at her father's marriage—he believed the bracing -country air would cure all that; and as for her magnetic -fancies, he thought that the less she read of such far-fetched -philosophy as that of the Baron the better. -</p> - -<p> -The two stories of the man who had been seen were odd, -certainly, and to some minds the bouquet, though alleged -to be given by the gardener, and the glove might have -seemed suspicious; but Ida, though she had jilted Jerry in -time that was past, was not by nature a coquette; and -knowing this, Trevor Chute, as a man of the world, -dismissed the whole affair as some fancy or coincidence, and -then his ideas went direct to Clare and Carnaby Court, and -he envied Jerry. -</p> - -<p> -The strange medley of foreign sounds in the vast space of -the Kongens Nytorv were forgotten and unheard, for Chute's -mind was revelling amid other scenes and places now. He -was even thinking over the Derby to which Vane had -alluded, and he recalled the days when he had been a -species of pet in 'the Brigade,' when he looked forward to -the Derby as the great event of the year, and his own delight -when he first drove the regimental drag, the selection of the -horses, the ordering of the luncheon, the colour of the veils, -and the road along which all the world of London seemed -pouring, the golden laburnums at Balham in all their glory, -the hawthorn hedges at Ewell, the beeches and chestnuts -that shaded the dusty way, the myriads on the course, the -wonderful bird's-eye view from the grand-stand, the excitement -of the races, the stakes and the bets, from thousands -to pretty boxes of delicate gloves for Clare and others; all -of which he should never enjoy as he had enjoyed them -once. And now impatience made him peripatetic, so he -rang for his valet, Travers. -</p> - -<p> -'Pack up, Tom,' said he; 'we leave Copenhagen to-morrow.' -</p> - -<p> -'All right, sir—for where?' -</p> - -<p> -'Lubeck. Have a droski ready at ten; I shall take the -morning train.' -</p> - -<p> -Travers saluted and withdrew, without thinking or caring -whether Lubeck was in Hanover, Hindostan, or the island -of Laputa. -</p> - -<p> -It was the merest whim or chance in the world that led to -the selection of Lubeck as a place to be visited; but Trevor -Chute could little foresee whom he was to meet there, or all -that meeting led to. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap13"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIII. -<br /><br /> -BY THE EXPRESS FOR LUBECK. -</h3> - -<p> -Though Trevor Chute's old habits of decision and activity -remained, a new kind of life had come upon him of late; -thus he who had found the greatest pleasure in his military -duties and attending to the wants of his men, in the saddle -hunting, enjoying the day-dawn gallop, or with his rifle and -hog-spear, watching under the fierce sun-glare for the red-eyed -tiger or the bristly boar, as they came to drink in some -secluded nullah, had now changed into one of the veriest -day-dreamers that ever let the slow hours steal past him -uselessly in succession. -</p> - -<p> -So that time were got through, he cared little how. -Would Vane join him? He rather fancied that he would -not. -</p> - -<p> -Nor did he wish it, though Jerry was the friend he valued -most in the world, for the urgent reason that through him -alone could he hear aught of her to whom he could not -write, and who would not write to him. -</p> - -<p> -Thus Chute lived in a little world of his own, lighted up -by the remembered face of Clare and the hopes she had -bade him cherish. -</p> - -<p> -He marvelled much how Jerry's love affair was progressing, -and whether Ida would yet forget his other friend, -Jack Beverley. -</p> - -<p> -He thought not, by all he knew of her, yet wished that -she should do so, for Jerry's sake. -</p> - -<p> -There was much of humility in the latter, and he held -himself of small account with her. -</p> - -<p> -Though proud enough with his own sex, even to hauteur -at times, his love for Ida made him her very slave; and -now how often came back to Vane's memory, with regret -and reproach, the bygone scoffs and silly ironies he had -often cast on his friends, who, when he was heart-whole, -were suffering from the lost smile of those they had loved, -perhaps more truly than wisely. -</p> - -<p> -Recollections of his own laughter, his gibes and his quips, -came back to him as if in mockery now. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute and Clare were separated again; but not -as before: now he did not feel, as in the old time, that he -had lost her, and he looked back to his last interview with -joy. -</p> - -<p> -Long though the time seemed since then, it was but -recently that her dark eyes had smiled lovingly into his; -that all the nameless charms of her presence had been with -him, that she had spoken with him, and that he had listened -to her. -</p> - -<p> -When would all this come to pass again? -</p> - -<p> -Till then what mattered it how he killed the time, or -whither he went? -</p> - -<p> -Yet pleasure and amusement palled on him; the sea -breeze had lost its charm, and the sparkling waves their -beauty; flowers seemed to be without fragrance; the fertile -green pastures of Germany and Denmark, in all their -summer glory, and the woods with the first tints of autumn, -were without interest to his eye; for he was, more than -ever, a man of one thought, and that thought was Clare -Collingwood. -</p> - -<p> -In this mood of mind, without thinking how or why, he -started for the famous old Hans town. -</p> - -<p> -The train took him to Korsor, in Zealand; there he -crossed the Great Belt, and from the deck of the <i>Maid of -Norway</i> steamer could see the Danish Isles steeped in the -noon-day heat, when every sandy holm and green headland -seemed to vibrate in the sunshine that glistened on the blue -waves which roll round Nyeborg and picturesque old -Odensee; and after running through Sleswig and Holstein -on a pleasant afternoon in autumn, he found himself at -Hamburg, in the train for Lubeck, 'the Carthage of the -North.' -</p> - -<p> -Tom Travers had seen to the luggage and the inspection -thereof; procured the tickets for himself and his master, -and the latter had just lit his cigar, and composed himself -for his journey, pleased to find himself the sole occupant of -a carriage, when he suddenly observed a lady, undoubtedly -an Englishwoman, procuring a bouquet of rose-buds from a -Vierlander <i>fleuriste</i>, one of those picturesquely costumed -girls who wear a bodice that is a mass of spangles and -embroidery, a straw hat shaped like a Spanish sombrero, and -thick, bunchy skirts, such as we may see in an old picture -of Teniers, and who come from that district which lies -between the Elbe and the Bille, where the whole population -are market-gardeners. -</p> - -<p> -There was some delay, during which the train was shifted -a little, and amid the bustle of the platform the lady looked -about in confusion, uncertain which was her carriage. -</p> - -<p> -Already the starting bell had been rung and the shrill -steam-whistle had sent up its preparatory shriek. -</p> - -<p> -'Dritte klasse, zweite klasse!' the bearded German guard -was shouting, while waving his little flag of the North -Germanic colours. 'Hierher—nach hinten—nach vorn—Bitte, -steigen sie ein, madame!' ('Pray get in,' etc.) -</p> - -<p> -Mechanically, Chute, in mere politeness, opened the -carriage door, and she was half handed, half pushed in by -the hasty guard, for already the train was in motion, and she -found herself, it would seem, separated from her friends, -and swept away by the express in companionship with a -total stranger. -</p> - -<p> -'How awkward,' she said in German; 'I have been -put—almost thrust, I may say—into the wrong carriage.' -</p> - -<p> -'You can change at Buchen, the only place where the -express stops,' replied Chute. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah! you are English,' said she, her countenance -languidly lighted up. 'So glad; for though I speak -German pretty well, I don't understand the patois of the -people hereabouts, on the borders of Holstein.' -</p> - -<p> -Chute merely made an inclination of his head, and was -about to throw his cigar out of the window, when she -begged he would not do so; smoking never incommoded -her—indeed, she rather liked it. -</p> - -<p> -He thanked her, and they slid into the usual little -commonplaces about the weather, the scenery, and so forth. -</p> - -<p> -Though handsome, she was <i>passée</i>, and Trevor Chute -could detect that she had in her manner much of the -polished <i>insouciance</i>, the cultivated, yet apparently careless -fascination of a woman of the world; and it soon became -evident that she knew it, and the world of London too, in -many phases. -</p> - -<p> -Apart from the rank that was indicated by a coronet and -monogram that were among the silver ornaments on her -blue velvet Marguerite pouch, he felt certain that she was -an Englishwoman of undoubted position, and was quite -<i>aplomb</i>—even a little 'fast'—in her manner; but that -amused Chute. -</p> - -<p> -He could perceive that she was married, as a wedding -hoop was among the gemmed rings that sparkled on -her left hand—a very lovely one in shape and whiteness; -moreover, she spoke of her husband, and said they were -to take the branch line at Buchen for the Elbe, adding: -</p> - -<p> -'Do you go so far?' -</p> - -<p> -'Farther; to Lubeck—a place few people go to, and few -come from.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ah! And you travel——' -</p> - -<p> -'To kill time.' -</p> - -<p> -'Most people do so. <i>We</i> came here to be out of the -way of people one knows and is sure to meet everywhere in -more beaten tracks; also to get rid of the tedium of visiting -ambassadors, and undergoing their receptions—one of the -greatest bores when abroad.' -</p> - -<p> -She evidently knew London well. In the course of -conversation they discovered that several of their -acquaintances were mutual, and Chute began to wonder who she -was, and became interested in her, in spite of his general -indifference. -</p> - -<p> -She seemed to be 'up to' a good deal, too; acknowledged -that she made quite a little book on the Derby and Ascot—was -above taking a bet on a favourite in kid gloves only; -and told in the prettiest way how skilfully, and with a little -spice of naughtiness, she had, on more than one occasion, -learned the secrets of the stables, and of the trials in the -early morning gallops; and actually how she had persuaded -people to lay five to one, when the printed lists said 'evens,' -to square herself in the end; and then she laughed, and -said it was so odd to have her husband travelling in the -next carriage, and thus quite separated from her; but at -Buchen she would rejoin him. -</p> - -<p> -'Do you travel much?' she asked, after a pause. -</p> - -<p> -'Well; yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'Who does not nowadays!' -</p> - -<p> -'My profession——' -</p> - -<p> -'The army?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; I have just returned from India.' -</p> - -<p> -'To one who has seen all the wonders and marvels there—the -rock-hewn temples, the marble palaces and mosques, -the vast plains and mighty mountains of India—how tame -you must think these level landscapes and little German -villages!' -</p> - -<p> -'They are peaceful scenes, and most English in aspect.' -</p> - -<p> -'But all this part of Europe is quite like the midland -counties. You were, of course, with the Line in India; -but—you have been in the Guards?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' replied Chute, becoming thoroughly interested -now. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah! I discovered that from a slight remark you made -about the Derby.' -</p> - -<p> -'Who the deuce can this woman be, who picks all my -past life out of me?' thought Chute, as they mutually -recalled the names of many men of 'the Brigade.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do you know Major Desmond?' she asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Slightly,' replied Chute, while a shade crossed his face. -</p> - -<p> -She was quick enough to perceive it, so the subject was -not pursued; and now the train glided into the station. -</p> - -<p> -She bowed politely to Chute, who endeavoured to open -the door for her; but it was locked fast, and the guard was -at the other end of the train. -</p> - -<p> -A sound was heard, like the clanking of a heavy chain, -as some carriages were uncoupled; and the train again -began to move. Chute called and gesticulated to some -men on the platform. -</p> - -<p> -'Sitzen sie ruhig!' was the only response. 'Sit still! the -train is in motion!' -</p> - -<p> -And once more they were sweeping with increased speed, -through the open country. The carriages for the branch -line had been left behind, with the lady's husband, suite -and baggage; and she borne helplessly off by the express -for Lubeck. -</p> - -<p> -She became very much discomposed on learning this, -and that she would be carried on fifty-six English miles in a -wrong direction before she could telegraph to or communicate -with her friends in any way; but after a time she -laughed at it as being quite a little adventure, and to amuse -her, Chute, by the aid of his Continental guide, indicated the -various places of interest through which they swept with a -mighty rush; now it was Ahrensburg or Bargtehude, and -after traversing a flat, stupid, and uninteresting district, -Oldeslohe with its salt mines and lime pits, and then -Reinfeldt. -</p> - -<p> -Anon the scenery became more and more English in -aspect, and enclosed with hedges in English fashion, and all -so homelike, that one could not but remember that not far -off lies the nook which still bears the name of England, -which was transferred by the emigrant Saxons to South -Britain. The rich meadows, the well-tilled corn-lands, the -farmhouses and villages, all looking as clean and as pretty -as red brick, white plaster, green paint and flowers could -make them, all seem there to remind one of the most -beautiful parts in England; while in the distance, more than -once could be had glimpses of the Baltic, with its dark blue -waters sparkling in the evening sun. Lakes and groves add -then to the beauty of the scenery, and wood-covered hills -that slope gently upward from the bordering sea, or smooth -sheets of inland water. -</p> - -<p> -Chute's companion seemed really to enjoy her journey; -and her first annoyance over, she relapsed into her -occasional air of nonchalance and languid carelessness, that -seemed born of Tyburnia and the West-end of London; -and soon the tall red spires of Lubeck, which had been -long in sight above the greenness of the level land, were -close by, as the train ran into the station, near the -magnificent and picturesque double towers and deep dark archways -of the Holstein Thor, which stands among the long and -shady avenues of the Linden-platz. -</p> - -<p> -Though small, beautiful indeed looked the ancient Hans -city rising on its ridge, with its twelve great earthen bastions -covered by luxuriant foliage, all steeped in the glorious -crimson of the after-glow from the set sun that blended with -amber and blue. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute handed out his fair companion. There -was no train for Buchen that night, nor would there be one -till nearly noon on the morrow. The lady knew that her -husband would be taken on to Lauenberg, but as she did -not know where to telegraph to him there, she could but do -so to the station-master at Buchen, and on this being done, -she turned to Chute, for, traveller though she was, she was -perplexed to find herself in a strange place, without servants -or escort, and surrounded by unceremonious German touts -bawling out, 'Stadt Hamburg,' 'Hotel du Nord,' 'Funf -Thurme,' and the names of other hotels. -</p> - -<p> -'Permit me to be your guide,' said he, as Travers -procured an open droski; 'the Stadt Hamburg is the chief -hotel. I shall have the honour to escort you there.' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, very much indeed,' said she, bowing, and for -the first time colouring slightly; 'when' (he did not catch -the name amid the hubbub around them) 'my husband -arrives he will be most grateful to you for all this.' -</p> - -<p> -And now, as they drove through the Holstein Thor -towards the hotel, Chute was provoked to see in the face -of his man, Travers, a comical and perplexed expression. -He had never seen his master escorting an apparent -stranger thus before, and hence knew not what to make of -the situation. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap14"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIV. -<br /><br /> -AN IMBROGLIO. -</h3> - -<p> -The great dining-hall of the hotel, where the <i>table d'hôte</i> -was daily served, was empty; all the visitors had gone to -the theatres, the Tivoli gardens, and so forth, so Trevor -Chute and the lady found themselves seated at a long table -alone, to partake of a meal that was of course deemed -supper there, where people dine at 2 p.m. -</p> - -<p> -The <i>salle</i> was elegant; at one end a great console glass, -with all its curved branches, lit up the gilded cornices, the -tall mirrors, the long extent of damask table-cloth, the rich -fruit, the silver epergnes, and the wines. -</p> - -<p> -Without, through the open windows, could be seen, on -one side, the partially-lighted streets of quaint gable-ended -houses, all of the middle ages; on the other, the dark and -silent woods, where the Trave and the Wakenitz wandered -towards the Baltic, showing here and there amid the -shadows 'the phosphor crests of star-lit waves,' while -overhead was a cloudless sky, the constellations of which had a -brilliance and a clearness all unknown in England. -</p> - -<p> -All was very still without, and perhaps—for all are abed -betimes in these northern cities—the only sounds that -stirred the air were the murmur of the Trave, with the -music of a band in a distant Tivoli garden. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, that Clare were with me here!' thought Chute, -while endeavouring to make himself agreeable to a woman -of whom he knew nothing, and for whom he cared nothing; -and Chute had a natural turn and capacity for doing it -with all, but with a lady more especially; and she, to all -appearance naturally fast and coquettish, could not help -giving Chute, even amid her dilemma, what she deemed -one of her most effective side-glances; but, though they -were not unperceived, they were wholly wasted upon him, -save as a little source of amusement; and after a time her -face and manner seemed to express a wish to know who -this man was who seemed so politely insensible to her -powers—to those of all women, perhaps. He was quite -unlike, she thought, anything she had ever met in <i>her</i> -world, and she was, consequently, somewhat piqued. -</p> - -<p> -On the other side of the table Chute, while toying with -the fruit and drinking with her the golden moselle, was -wondering who his fair <i>compagnon de voyage</i> was; and felt -that it might be bad taste to inquire her name, as she had -not asked for his; yet she knew many of his old friends in -the Brigade—men who were well up in the service when he -joined, and long before he left it for India. -</p> - -<p> -She seemed fond of questioning about the latter, and led -him to speak more of himself, and of wild adventures in the -dark jungle, where daylight scarcely came, than was his -wont. She asked him what his regiment was, and on his -telling her, the expression of her face brightened; and -laughingly tapping his hand with her perfumed fan, she -said: -</p> - -<p> -'Then you must know well a friend of mine.' -</p> - -<p> -'Very probably; was he of ours?' -</p> - -<p> -'If not quite a friend, one at least in whom I have an -interest.' -</p> - -<p> -'And his name?' -</p> - -<p> -'Chute—Captain Trevor Chute.' -</p> - -<p> -'I am he you speak of,' replied the other, feeling -considerably mystified. -</p> - -<p> -'You!' exclaimed the lady, colouring. -</p> - -<p> -'There is no other so named in the regiment.' -</p> - -<p> -'You the Trevor Chute who was engaged to—to Clare -Collingwood!' she exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -It was Chute's turn to colour now at this blunt remark, -and with some surprise and annoyance he said: -</p> - -<p> -'I knew not that our engagement was such a common -topic as to be known to every chance stranger.' -</p> - -<p> -'But I am no stranger to all this,' she replied, with -something of a haughty smile; 'I have heard much of your love -and devotion—a love quite like that of a romance rather -than of everyday life; but I fear greatly that in the present -instance your chances of success——' -</p> - -<p> -'Are rather small,' said a voice, and Sir Carnaby -Collingwood, looking somewhat flurried and weary, but yet -endeavouring to cover his annoyance by his perpetual -smile, suddenly appeared beside them. 'Got your telegram -at Buchen just in time to catch the last train for this place, -and so am here; and so I find you, Evelyn, <i>tête-à-tête</i> with -Captain Chute!' -</p> - -<p> -Evelyn! -</p> - -<p> -So the lady was the sister of Desmond, and the newly -married bride of Sir Carnaby. The words he had casually -overheard, without understanding their exact application, -had filled him with a secret annoyance that almost amounted -to rage and jealousy. The old baronet was aware of Chute's -great personal attractions, his popularity with women, his -charms of manner and handsome person, and of the disparity -in years between them; he was fully aware also of -the name Lady Evelyn had for scientific flirtation, and for -a time he almost feared that, perhaps in revenge, Chute -might have been overattentive, or tempted to improve the -occasion, so little did he understand the real nature of the -man at whom he was gazing now with a cold stare, while -his lips attempted a smile. -</p> - -<p> -'This is a doubly unexpected pleasure, Sir Carnaby,' -said Chute, presenting his hand, which the other seemed -not to perceive; 'I am so glad to have been of service to -Lady Evelyn, and permit me to congratulate——' -</p> - -<p> -'Thanks, that will do,' replied the baronet, abruptly -interrupting him; 'you are too apt, sir, to thrust yourself -upon members of my family, and at times, too, when you -are neither wanted nor wished for.' -</p> - -<p> -'Sir, this is most unwarrantable!' exclaimed Chute, -who grew very pale with mortification and bitterness of -heart. -</p> - -<p> -'Sir Carnaby!' urged the lady. -</p> - -<p> -'I am astonished, Lady Evelyn, that you could so far -forget the proprieties as to sit down and sup at a common -<i>table d'hôte</i>, and with a stranger!' -</p> - -<p> -'A stranger!' said Lady Evelyn, with much of hauteur -in her manner, for never in her life had she been -reprehended before; 'he has been most kind to me, and seems -to know many of my friends.' -</p> - -<p> -'By name, doubtless,' sneered Sir Carnaby. -</p> - -<p> -'Sir,' said Chute, 'you are offensive—unnecessarily -so; and, after my past relations with your family, your -manner is unjustifiable. Were you not the father of -Clare Collingwood, whom I love better than my own life,' -he added, with a tremulous voice, 'I would here, in Lubeck, -teach you—even at your years—Sir Carnaby, the peril of -insulting me thus!' -</p> - -<p> -'My years! my years! impertinence!' muttered the -other, who, we have said, had conceived an unwarrantable -and unjust dislike of Trevor Chute, and now was -disposed to give full swing to the emotion. Chute's faith -to Clare, like that of Vane to Ida, was a sentiment utterly -beyond Sir Carnaby's comprehension; and, indeed, was -perhaps beyond 'the present unheroic, unadventurous, -unmoved, and unadmiring age,' as it has, perhaps justly, been -described. -</p> - -<p> -Like all persons of her order, Lady Evelyn had a -horror of everything that bordered on a scene. For a -moment her calm <i>insouciance</i> left her, and she darted an -angry glance at her husband, but was silent. She had -lived amidst luxury, splendour, and pleasure, power and, -at times, triumph, but now 'the perfume and effervescence -of the wine were much evaporated, and there was -bitterness in the cup and a canker in the roses that crowned -its brim.' At that moment she felt, perhaps, ashamed of -herself, and of him to whom she was bound, for thus -insulting an unoffending man. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, Sir Carnaby,' continued Chute, 'your age and -relationship to Clare, together with the presence of -Lady Evelyn, alone protect you in daring to sneer -at me.' -</p> - -<p> -Feeling intuitively, with all his anger, that there was -something grotesque in the situation, and that in it he -was forgetting the rules he prescribed for himself, and was -in 'bad form,' he looked at Chute for a moment with a -languid but impertinent stare, and after ringing the -hand-bell, said to the head waiter: -</p> - -<p> -'Desire my valet to select rooms for us on the first <i>étage</i>, -if unoccupied. Lady Evelyn, your maid will attend you at -once.' -</p> - -<p> -They left the <i>salle</i> together, she alone bowing to Chute, -who, though swelling with passion, returned it, but with -frigid politeness. -</p> - -<p> -'Thank Heaven,' thought he, as he tossed over a bumper -of moselle, 'poor Clare knows nothing of a scene like this, -and never shall from me!' -</p> - -<p> -He then thought with mad bitterness of the glory that -had departed amid the monetary misfortunes of the old -general, his father; of all that would have been, and once -was, his by right to lay at the feet of the beautiful girl -that returned his love so tenderly; and his heart seemed -to shrink up within him at the tone assumed by Sir -Carnaby. -</p> - -<p> -The dislike of that personage towards the man he had -injured in the past years, and openly insulted now, was at -this time as great as though the injury and the insult had -been received by himself. He was one of whom it might -be said that 'he never went out of his way in wrath, but, -all the same, he never missed his way to revenge. He had -a good deal of ice in his nature; but it was, perhaps, the -most dangerous of ice—that which smiles in the sun, and -breaks to drop you into the grave.' -</p> - -<p> -Disquietude of any kind, or mental tumult, were usually -all unknown to Sir Carnaby, and were, he thought, as -unbeseeming as any exhibition of temper; hence he was -intensely provoked by the manner in which, through his own -fault, the adventures of the day had wound up, as by means -of their servants or others—perhaps Trevor Chute himself—the -affair might be noised abroad till it assumed the absurd -form of some genuine fiasco. -</p> - -<p> -'Could the old man have been inflamed by the bad wine -of the railway buffets,' thought Chute. It almost seemed -so; and he began to hope that when the morrow came, -and with it temper and reflection, some approach to a -reconciliation might—especially if Lady Evelyn acted the -part of peacemaker—be made by her husband; and if -anything like an apology came, Chute felt that he would with -joy take the hand of his cold-hearted insulter. -</p> - -<p> -But in the artificial life she had led since girlhood -Lady Evelyn had never found much use for a heart, and -was not disposed to take upon herself the task of pouring -oil upon troubled waters. At first she had been inclined, -in her own insipid way, to like Chute very much, as who -did not? But afterwards she conceived a pique to him, as -the lover of Clare, for she remembered how the latter had -called her marriage 'an affaire de fantasie;' and there had -been other passages of arms between them, in which -such as women, especially well-bred ones, with a singular -subtlety of the tongue, can gibe and goad each other to -the core; so, perhaps, she was not ill-pleased, after all, that -an affront had been put upon Trevor Chute as the known -lover of Clare. -</p> - -<p> -Feeling himself galled, insulted, and outraged by the whole -affair, he resolved to quit Lubeck—or the hotel, certainly—the -next day, if no apology came, but it so happened that he -had reason to change his mind. -</p> - -<p> -The treatment he had received at the hands of <i>her</i> father -was, to a man of Chute's sensitive nature, a source of -intense pain. -</p> - -<p> -This sudden and insulting hostility to himself made the -love of him and of Clare seem more than ever hopeless, -unless—unless what? in revenge he eloped with her, -but that Clare would never consent to; and now, -despite all that had passed between them at their last -interview, the old dull ache of the heart had come back to him -again. -</p> - -<p> -From what did the old baronet's indignation spring? -</p> - -<p> -'What were we saying when he came so suddenly -upon us?' thought Chute; 'we were speaking of love, -but it was mine for Clare. Could he have dreamed -for a moment that I meant for Lady—oh, absurd! absurd!' -</p> - -<p> -Yet perhaps it was not so much so as Chute deemed it. -</p> - -<p> -So long after darkness had sunk over Lubeck, he sat at -his window thinking, and smoking a favourite pipe given -him by Beverley in India, and many times he filled and -emptied it without seeing his way very clear in the future, -while the clear northern moon flooded the sky with a light -against which the taper church spires of the little city stood -up in sharp and dark outlines, and the bells of the cathedral -tolled the hours in succession, and the sunshine, or at least -the grey dawn, began to steal over the woodlands that -surround Lubeck; and with it came the odour of peat, as the -fires were lighted—an odour as strong as there is in any -Irish village, or a Scottish clachan in the wilds of Lorne or -Lochabar; and he strove to court sleep, thinking that it -would be better were he sleeping as Jack Beverley did, -under the shadowy shelter of the Indian palms and the -fragrance of the baubul trees. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap15"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XV. -<br /><br /> -'LOVE IS STRONG AS DEATH.' -</h3> - -<p> -Jerry Vane did not leave Carnaby Court at the time he -intended to do; with ulterior views in her kind heart, Clare -pressed him to lengthen his visit, and enjoy a few days' -more shooting. She found but little pressing requisite to -influence Jerry's actions; yet ere long he had cause greatly -to deplore that he had not taken his departure earlier, and -he was again doomed to experience a bitter shock concerning -his rival—if rival, indeed, he had. -</p> - -<p> -Daily and hourly intercourse afforded him all the facilities -he could wish for now; but it seemed as though Ida would -never again receive him or accept him as her lover, yet -would permit him to be the slave of her fascinations, and -without the slightest symptoms of vanity or coquetry. She -knew all the simple and single-hearted fellow's love, and yet, -apparently, would not yield him hers. -</p> - -<p> -Indeed, she had more than once hinted or said, he scarcely -knew which, as he declined to accept the proposition, that -she wished his regard for her to die away in silence. If so, -why did she permit her sister to urge that she should remain -at Carnaby Court, where, in virtue of her widowhood, she -yet presided as matron, though some change would assuredly -take place on the return of Lady Evelyn to England. -</p> - -<p> -Whatever were her motives, he could not but give himself -up blindly and helplessly to the intoxication of the present -time, to gaze upon her face, to hear her voice, and conjure -up the hope that a time would come when she would love -him better than ever. Besides, her society was full of many -charms. As in Clare, there was in Ida a wonderful -attraction to a companion. She had, though young, travelled -much in Europe, and seen all that was worth seeing. She -was thus familiar with many countries; and so far as their -histories and traditions went, together with a knowledge of -literature that was classic, refined, abstruse, and even mystic, -as we have shown, she was far beyond an everyday young -Englishman like Jerry Vane. -</p> - -<p> -'I am neither a boy nor a madman, yet I dream like both -in hanging on here as I do!' he would sometimes say in -bitterness; and then he would recall her remarkable words -on that evening in town—'It may be that we have only been -in our hearts waiting for each other after all.' -</p> - -<p> -From what did these hopeful words spring?—coquetry, -mockery, reality, or what? -</p> - -<p> -She was never known to coquet; she was too genuine a -creature for mockery; hence, they must have been reality, -and, full of this conviction, he resolved once more to put it -to the issue on the first opportunity, and one was secured -on the very afternoon he made the resolution. -</p> - -<p> -He had not, that day, gone to shoot; the men were all -abroad; nearly all the ladies were out driving or riding, -save Ida, whom he found in the curtained oriel of the inner -drawing-room, where she was standing alone and gazing out -on the far-stretching landscape, that was steeped in the -evening sunshine; the square spire of the village church, -the tossing arms of an old windmill, the yellow-thatched -roofs of white-walled cottages stood out strongly against the -dark green of the woodlands at the end of a long vista of -the chase, and made a charming picture. In the middle -distance was some pasture land, where several of Sir Carnaby's -fierce little Highland cattle and great fat brindled -Alderneys stood knee-deep amid the rich grass. -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps she was thinking of how often she had ridden -there with Beverley, and loved to hear him compliment her -on the daring grace and ease with which she topped her -fences, and the lightness of hand with which she lifted her -bay cob's head; and Jerry feared that some such thoughts -might be passing through her mind as he paused irresolutely -and thought how beautiful was the outline and pose of her -darkly dressed figure against the flood of light that poured -through the painted oriel. -</p> - -<p> -The dark shadow had been less upon her to-day than -usual, and on hearing his footstep on the soft carpet she -turned and welcomed him with a bright smile. Would that -smile ever change again to coldness and gloom? Would -his hand ever again wander lovingly and half fatuously -among the richness of her auburn hair, that shone like -plaits of golden sheen in the light? Heaven alone knew. -</p> - -<p> -'Dear Ida,' said he, longing, but not venturing to take -her hand (he had been on the point of saying 'darling'—had -he not been privileged once to do so?), 'I am so glad -to find you thus alone, for I have much to say, too, that -cannot brook interruption.' -</p> - -<p> -'Say on, then, Jerry,' said she, knowing too surely it -would be 'the old, old story,' while his devotion seemed to -touch and pain her, for she did honour and pity him, as she -had already admitted. -</p> - -<p> -'Ida, save on that night in the conservatory, I have -hitherto, from motives that you must be well aware -of—motives most pure and honourable—never spoken to you of -the love that my heart has never, never ceased to feel for -you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Love is no word for me to listen to now, Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'Not from—from <i>me</i>?' -</p> - -<p> -'Even from you, Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'I implore you to be mine, Ida. Do not weep—do not -turn away—you stand alone now; this recent marriage has -made your home a broken one; I, too, am alone, and each -needs the love of the other. Do not trifle with me, Ida!' -</p> - -<p> -'Trifle—I—oh, Jerry Vane.' -</p> - -<p> -'You loved me once!' he urged, drawing very near. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes—I loved you once,' she said, vaguely and wearily. -</p> - -<p> -<i>Once!</i> How cruel the speech sounded, though she did -not mean it to be so, of course; for as she turned to him, -an infinite tenderness filled her sparkling eyes of grey or -violet blue—for times there were when they seemed both; -and his met them with something wistful and pathetic in -their gaze as he said: -</p> - -<p> -'Ida, dearest Ida, time and separation—separation that -seemed as if it would be lifelong, have but strengthened the -regard I bear you; and now—now——' -</p> - -<p> -'That I am free, you would say?' -</p> - -<p> -'I entreat you to be mine. Your father would wish it, -and I know that dear Clare does. All my brightest hopes -and associations, all my fondest memories are of you; and -all have been bound up now in the hope that we might yet -be so happy, beloved Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do not address me thus,' said she, imploringly, as she -covered her eyes with her slender fingers tightly interlaced. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah—why?' he asked, entreatingly, and venturing to put -a hand lightly on each side of her little waist; but she -stepped back, and said in a low and concentrated voice: -</p> - -<p> -'Because—how shall I say it? Each time you speak -thus the strange thrill I spoke of passes through me.' -</p> - -<p> -'A thrill?' -</p> - -<p> -'A shudder!' she answered, -</p> - -<p> -'What causes it?' -</p> - -<p> -'I cannot, cannot tell' -</p> - -<p> -'My poor Ida! your nerves are all unstrung, and that -absurd book of Reichenbach's has made you worse. -Promise to marry me, Ida, and we will go to Switzerland, to -Scotland, or anywhere that the breezes of mountains or the -sea may restore you to what you once were, even as fate has -restored you to me!' -</p> - -<p> -But the lovely head was shaken sadly, and the pale face -was turned to the distant landscape. The passion with -which he loved her was of a quality certainly very rare in -the world of 'society,' she knew that. -</p> - -<p> -'Your wants are very simple, as your tastes are, Ida, and -my fortune is more than equal to your own—in worldly -matters there can be nothing wanting.' -</p> - -<p> -'I know, Jerry, that a devotion such as yours deserves all -the love I could and ought to give it; and yet——' -</p> - -<p> -She paused, and permitted him to retain her hand. Was -she, in spite of her asseverations to the contrary, about to -love him after all? The heart of Vane beat wildly amid -the dawn of fresh hope. -</p> - -<p> -'Many men have loved, Ida,' he urged, in a soft, low, -passionate tone; 'but it seems to me that I love you as few -men have ever loved before. From the first moment I met -you I loved you—and—and—surely circumstances have -tested and tried that love to the uttermost.' -</p> - -<p> -'Most true, Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'I ask not of what your—your regard has been for -another since we parted; I ask you only to love me as you -did before that time, if you can.' -</p> - -<p> -The words that Vane spoke came from the depth of the -honest fellow's heart, in the full tide of emotion, and Ida -could not fail to be touched; and as she gave him one of -her profound yet indefinable glances of pity, the light in her -beautiful eyes seemed to brighten as her lashes drooped, and -Jerry read in them an expression he had not seen there since -the happy time that was past. -</p> - -<p> -In fact, Ida seemed to be trembling in her heart to think -how dear—was it indeed so?—how dear Jerry Vane was -becoming to her again, and how necessary to her his society -was daily becoming, and how like the old time it was—more -like than, with all her past love for Jack Beverley and her -strange dreams and hauntings, she dared to acknowledge to -herself! -</p> - -<p> -'Say, Ida, that the gap in my life is to be forgotten—filled -up it can never be!' -</p> - -<p> -'Jerry, Jerry,' she urged, 'do not press me so—at present, -at least!' -</p> - -<p> -She was yielding after all. -</p> - -<p> -'May I hope that you will accept me yet?' he said, -pressing her hand caressingly between both of his. -</p> - -<p> -'A heart is not worth having, Jerry, that accords to pity -only what it should accord to love. You have all my -esteem, and, perhaps, in time, Jerry——' -</p> - -<p> -She paused and shuddered visibly, and sank back -with eyes half closed and a hand pressed on her bosom -as if about to faint or fall, but Jerry's arm supported -her. -</p> - -<p> -'Good heavens, that sensation again!' he exclaimed. -</p> - -<p> -'I must struggle against it, or it will conquer me,' she -said, suddenly regaining her firmness and striving to crush -or shake off the nervous emotion that shook her fragile form -and gentle spirit. -</p> - -<p> -'My darling, I am to blame; oh, pardon me, if I, at a -time when your health—your nervous system, at least—so -selfishly urge my claim upon your heart, for a strong and -tender claim I have, indeed, Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -There was in this an eloquence greater than more florid -phrases could express, as he spoke, for it seemed as if Jerry's -very soul was spent in what he said. After a pause, he -said, with an arm still round her: -</p> - -<p> -'I will not press you to answer me now, dearest Ida; you -are pale and seem so weary. I will go, but ere I do so, -give me one kiss in memory of the past, if not to encourage -hope for the future.' -</p> - -<p> -She lifted her sweet face to his, and there was infinite -tenderness, but no passion in the kiss she accorded him so -frankly; and Vane was but too sensible of that; while a -sound like a deep sigh fell at the same moment on the ears -of both. -</p> - -<p> -'Who sighed?' she asked, startled, in the fear that they -were overseen or overheard; 'did you, Jerry?' -</p> - -<p> -'No; yourself, perhaps, darling.' -</p> - -<p> -'Nay—I sigh often enough, but I did not do so now, -Jerry.' -</p> - -<p> -'Most strange! We must have deceived ourselves, for -here are people coming,' he added, as steps were heard in -the outer drawing-room. 'You will give me a final answer, -then?' he urged, in a deep, soft whisper. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes.' -</p> - -<p> -'When?' -</p> - -<p> -'This evening.' -</p> - -<p> -'Bless you, darling Ida. Where? -</p> - -<p> -'After dinner—we dine at six—say eight o'clock, in the -rhododendron walk.' -</p> - -<p> -And as she left him, on her pouting lip and in her grey-blue -eyes—eyes that seemed black at night—Jerry thought that -the sadness was gone, and replaced by the beautiful smile of -old. Unheard by both, the dressing-bell for dinner had -already rung, and several of the sportsmen, Sir John Oriel, -Colonel Rakes, and others, entered the room. Among -them was Major Desmond, the languid, irrepressible, and -imperturbable Desmond—who, en route from town, had -turned up for a single day's cover shooting at Carnaby -Court. -</p> - -<p> -Overcome by the new tide of his own thoughts, Jerry Vane -hurriedly left them to talk over their hits, misses, experiences, -and exploits of the day, the results of which had filled a -small-sized pony cart. -</p> - -<p> -He retired to his room to dress, and threw open the -window to admit the autumn breeze, that it might cool his -flushed cheeks and throbbing temples. The kiss of that -beloved lip—albeit one so coldly given—yet seemed to -linger on his, and all nature around him seemed to grow -lighter now that hope had swelled in his heart. -</p> - -<p> -Lit by the evening sun, the leaves of the masses of wild -roses and other creepers that clambered round the mullioned -window of his room, seemed to murmur pleasantly on the -passing breeze, that brought also the chimes of the village -spire, the voices of the exulting birds, and the pleasant -rustle of the old oak trees in the chase. To the ear of Jerry -Vane there seemed to be a melody in all the voices of -nature now, for his own heart was all aglow with joy. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap16"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVI. -<br /><br /> -'JEALOUSY CRUEL AS THE GRAVE.' -</h3> - -<p> -He could gather from the manner of Ida nothing of what -was passing in her mind during dinner. He observed, however, -that she wore on this occasion a flower in her auburn -hair, the first with which she had appeared since the time of -her mourning—a simple white rose. He remembered that -he had admired the simple decoration long ago, and that she -had been wont to wear it to please him ere she had worn -flowers to please another, so hope grew stronger in the heart -of Vane. -</p> - -<p> -She chatted away with Desmond and joined in the general -conversation with more gaiety than usual, but not without -showing a little abstraction at times, as if her thoughts -wandered. She accorded little more than an occasional -glance to Vane, with a soft smile on her sweet face, though -there was the old languor in all her actions and manner, -while she gave a programme of the forthcoming Christmas -festivities at Carnaby Court, to which he, and some of the -others present, were invited. -</p> - -<p> -At last the ladies left the room, and the last glance, as she -retired, rested on <i>him</i>. Jerry's heart beat like lightning. -The hands of the clock above the mantel-piece were close -upon the hour of eight when—after having to linger over a -glass or two of wine—he quitted the table, and the house -unperceived, and hastening through the garden, where the -few flowers of autumn were lingering yet, he reached the -appointed place, the long vista of which he could see in the -twilight, bordered by gigantic rhododendron bushes, -intermingled with lilac trees and Portugal laurels. -</p> - -<p> -She had not yet come, and with a heart in which much of -joyous happiness was blended with hope and anxiety, Jerry -walked slowly to and fro, as he knew not at which end of -the alley she might appear. The sun had set more than an -hour and a half; there was a deep crimson flush in the west, -against which the great trees of the chase stood up still, -motionless, and dark as bronze, for the night was calm, -without a breath of wind, and the garden was so lonely and -still, that Jerry thought he could actually hear the beating of -his heart. -</p> - -<p> -Time stole on; the twilight passed away, and the shadows -and shapes became lost and blended in darkness. The -clock in the central gable of the court struck quarter after -quarter, till Jerry, peevish with impatience now, and alone, -too, found the hour of nine was nigh, and that Ida had not -appeared. -</p> - -<p> -Could he have mistaken the place, or she the time? -Had sudden illness come upon her, as her health was so -uncertain now? Had she been interrupted by some of their -numerous guests? To forget, or omit to come, were surely -impossible! -</p> - -<p> -A distant step on the ground made his pulses quicken. -</p> - -<p> -'At last, dearest, dearest Ida!' he muttered aloud. -</p> - -<p> -But no; that could not be the step of Ida, hastening -lightly and quickly to keep her appointment. It was a slow -and heavy one—that of a man; and Major Desmond came -sauntering along, in full evening costume, with his hands in -his coat-pockets, and the red glowing end of a cigar -projecting from his bushy moustache. He was chuckling, -laughing to himself, and evidently much amused by something. -</p> - -<p> -Vane would gladly have avoided him and quitted the -rhododendron walk, but to do so might be to lose the last -chance of seeing whether Ida kept her appointment; while, -if she came, it might indicate that one had been made. -</p> - -<p> -He could but hope that the tall guardsman would pass -and leave him; but it was not to be so. He had partaken -freely of wine, and he was disposed to be jocular, confidential, -and particularly friendly, so he passed his arm through -Vane's, saying: -</p> - -<p> -'As I passed into the garden a few minutes ago, just to -enjoy a soothing weed, I made the funniest discovery in the -world—by Jove I did!' -</p> - -<p> -'You discovered what?' asked Vane, intensely annoyed. -</p> - -<p> -'Well—ah—that, with all her grief for our friend Beverley, -I don't think the fair Ida is quite beyond being consoled. -Do you take?' -</p> - -<p> -'Not in the least,' was the curt response. -</p> - -<p> -'She has an admirer.' -</p> - -<p> -'Many, I should think,' replied Jerry, becoming more and -more amazed and nettled by the tone and laughter of the -guardsman. -</p> - -<p> -'But she has one in particular, I tell you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Who do you mean?' asked Vane, colouring, as he thought -the reference was to himself. -</p> - -<p> -'By Jove, that is more than I can tell you!' said Desmond, -with another quiet laugh, as he tossed his cigar away; 'I -only know that as I lounged slowly past the arbour where -the marble statue stands, about ten minutes ago, I saw her -in close proximity—quite a confabulation—with a fellow, -though I did not hear their voices; doubtless they were -"low and sweet," like that of Annie Laurie.' -</p> - -<p> -Was this assertion a piece of Desmond's impudence, or -the result of the baronet's champagne? his idea of wit, fun, -or what? -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane felt his face first redden and then grow pale -with fury in the dark. -</p> - -<p> -'You must be mistaken,' he said, sternly—almost imperiously. -</p> - -<p> -'Not at all, Vane,' replied the other; 'I passed on without -affecting to perceive them; but I could make out that -the fellow who hung over her as she sat at the table was not -one of the guests—very pale, with a black, lanky moustache.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, it is impossible!' urged Vane in a very strange -voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Not at all, I tell you,' replied Desmond, in a somewhat -nettled tone. 'I simply amused myself with the fun of the -thing. I heard a sound, and on looking up saw her start -up, look at her watch, and then hurry—almost rush——' -</p> - -<p> -'This way?' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, no!' -</p> - -<p> -'Whither, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Straight into the house by the back drawing-room -window.' And the tall dandy stroked his long moustache, -and uttered one of his quiet laughs again. -</p> - -<p> -Vane, past making any comment, remained silent and in -utter bewilderment. His heart seemed to stand still; and -he felt a more deadly jealousy, a more sickening and -permanent pang in it, than he had ever endured before. He -remembered what he himself had seen in that bower, and -recalled the eavesdropper in the conservatory, who was -seen by another, and whose personal appearance tallied -exactly with what Desmond had said, and an emotion of -heart-sick misery—of bitter, bitter disappointment and -hopeless desolation, came upon him. -</p> - -<p> -Great was the mental torture he endured for some -moments. While he had been awaiting her in that walk, -with such emotions in his soul as were known only to -heaven and himself, she had been in dalliance with -another—an unknown man—in that accursed bower <i>again</i>! -'Violent passions,' he knew, 'are formed in solitude. In -the bustle of the world no object has time to make deep -impression.' So are deep emotions formed in solitude; but -where had she learned to love this unknown, if love she -did? and if she did not, what was the object of their secret -meetings, and whence the power he seemed to have over her? -</p> - -<p> -All these ideas and many more flashed through the mind -of Jerry Vane, whose lips became dry as dust. His tongue, -though parched, seemed cleaving to the roof of his mouth, -whilst a rush of blood seemed mounting to his brain, and a -giddiness came upon him. He heard the drawling and -'chaffing' remarks upon the arbour scene, which Desmond -had resumed, but knew not a word he said, while arm-and-arm -he mechanically promenaded to and fro with him. -</p> - -<p> -He had but one idea—Ida false, and <i>thus</i>! -</p> - -<p> -He knew not what to think, in whom to believe, or in -whom to trust now, if it were so. Heaven, could such -falsehood be, and within a few brief hours! he thought. -</p> - -<p> -Then for the first time there began to creep into the heart -of Vane something of that hatred which in the end becomes -so fierce, cruel, and bitter—the hate that is born of baffled -or unrequited love! -</p> - -<p> -Anon, his heart wavered again; the unwonted emotion -began to die away; it seemed too strange and unnatural -and the passion he had for Ida vanquished him once more, -by suggestions of utter unbelief, or there being an -unexplainable, but dreadful, mistake somewhere. -</p> - -<p> -It could not be that all along she had been deceiving him -and others by playing a double game of dissimulation, while -acting outwardly such gravity and grief! The soft and sad -expression of the chaste and sweetly pretty face that seemed -before him even then forbade the idea, yet the galling fear, -the stinging suspicion, remained behind. -</p> - -<p> -'She refused Jerningham, of ours, who was foolish -enough to propose in the first flush of her widowhood, and -she refused Jack Rakes of the Coldstreams last month, and -sent him off to the Continent to console himself,' Desmond -was saying; 'she has vowed, they say, that she would never, -never marry, after the death of that fellow in the -line—what's his name?—Beverley, don't you know, and here I -find her billing and cooing most picturesquely in an arbour! -It is right good fun, by Jove! I only wonder who the -party is that was receiving "the outpouring of an enamoured -heart, secluded in moral widowhood;" and I might have -discovered, if I had only pretended to blunder into the -arbour; but then I hate to make a scene, and it's deuced -bad form to spoil sport.' -</p> - -<p> -Vane felt it in his heart to knock the laughing plunger -down, when hearing him run on thus. -</p> - -<p> -It began to seem painfully evident that all this episode -could not be falsification. Major Desmond had no particular -interest in Ida, though piqued, as much as it was in -his lazy nature to be, at Clare, for refusing the lounging -offer he had made her. -</p> - -<p> -For the other he had neither liking nor disliking; but, in -all he told Vane, he seemed inspired only by that love of -gossipy chit-chat in which even men of the best position -will indulge by the hour at their club or elsewhere, together, -perhaps, with the desire, so invariable, to quiz the grief of -a widow, especially if she is young and handsome. -</p> - -<p> -'There is,' says a writer, 'no weakness of which men are -so ashamed of being convicted as credulity, and there is -none so natural to an honest nature.' -</p> - -<p> -But to the storm that gathered in the honest heart of -Jerry were added rage, astonishment, and an overwhelming -sense of utter disappointment. -</p> - -<p> -Where had this unknown come from, and whither did he -go? Where had she met him, and how long had this -mysterious, and, to all appearance, secret intimacy lasted? -What manner of man was he, that she was ashamed to have -him introduced to her family? He had heard—he had -certainly <i>read</i>—of ladies, even of the highest, most delicate -nurture and tender culture, by some madness, inversion of -the mind, or by temptation of the devil, taking wild fancies -for valets and grooms, and even marrying them in secret, -and thus at times all manner of horrible speculations -crowded into the now giddy brain of Jerry. -</p> - -<p> -Ida! wildly as he loved her he would rather she were -dead than less or not what he supposed and believed her to -be; but he thought bitterly, 'Alas! where was there ever -man or woman who reached the spiritualised standard of -idealistic love?' -</p> - -<p> -So, in spite of himself—it was not in human nature that -it could be otherwise—his old jealousy, that barbarous yet -just leaven which he had felt in the past time, when she -preferred Jack Beverley to himself, grew in his heart again. -</p> - -<p> -He marvelled much how she would look when he joined -her among other guests in the drawing-room; but the face -he had looked for so anxiously was not there when he and -Desmond entered it; and he was actually somewhat relieved -when he was informed by Clare that Ida was unable to appear, -and had retired to her room 'with a crushing headache.' -</p> - -<p> -He expressed some well-bred sorrow to hear this, very -mechanically and quietly, adding that he was the more sorry -to hear it as he believed he would have to leave for town -early on the morrow. -</p> - -<p> -Clare heard this sudden announcement with surprise, and -regarded Jerry's face earnestly. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap17"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVII. -<br /><br /> -A QUARREL. -</h3> - -<p> -But one idea or conviction, prevailed in the mind of Jerry -Vane: -</p> - -<p> -'She who was so readily false to me before, may easily be -so again!' -</p> - -<p> -If he slept at all that night, his sleep was but a succession -of nightmares, with dreams such as might spring from a -slumber procured by the mandragora; one aching thought -ever recurring amid the darkness of the waking hours, and -all the more keenly when morning came, and he knew that -he must inexorably see and talk with Ida in the usual -commonplace way before others, ere he left her for ever, and -quitted Carnaby Court to return no more. -</p> - -<p> -The tortures he had endured he resolved never to endure -again. It should never be in the power of Ida or any other -woman to place her heel upon his heart and crush it, as she -had crushed it twice! -</p> - -<p> -Yet when he saw her at the breakfast-table, in all her -fresh morning loveliness, and in the most becoming -demi-toilette, with her gorgeous hair so skilfully manipulated by -her maid, and her grave, chastely beautiful face rippling -with a kind—almost fond—smile, as if greeting him and -asking his forgiveness too, he knew not what to think, but -strove to steel himself against her for the future. -</p> - -<p> -She had a newly gathered white rose—his flower, she was -wont to call it—in her bosom; and that rose was not whiter -than the slender neck round which the frills of tulle were -clasped by a tiny coral brooch. -</p> - -<p> -At times, when he looked on her, and heard the steadiness -of her musical voice and sweet silvery little laugh, and -beheld the perfect ease of her manner and the candour of -her eyes, he could have imagined the affair in the garden to -have been a dream, but for the strange and conscious smile -that hovered in the face of Desmond when he addressed -Ida, while making a hurried breakfast before his departure -for London. -</p> - -<p> -'I would take the same train with you, Desmond,' said -Vane, 'but that my things are not packed.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do you leave us so soon?' asked Ida, who overheard him. -</p> - -<p> -'I must,' said Vane, for whom there had been no letters -that morning, much to his annoyance, as he wished to plead -something like a genuine excuse to Clare for taking an -abrupt departure. 'I mean to leave England—perhaps -even Europe, if I can.' -</p> - -<p> -'For where?' asked Ida, growing very pale. -</p> - -<p> -'Well, I scarcely know,' replied Vane, with a laugh that -certainly had no merriment in it. -</p> - -<p> -'Do you really mean this?' -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' he replied, curtly. -</p> - -<p> -She was silent, but looked at him pleadingly, and even -upbraidingly across the table, while Jerry, becoming, as he -thought, grim as Ajax, busied himself with a piece of -partridge pie. -</p> - -<p> -'No, no,' thought he; 'I shall not again begin that -hazardous play with love, which some one truly calls "the -deadly gambling of heart and thought and sense, which -casts all stakes in faith upon the venture of another's life."' -</p> - -<p> -He had hoped that by the mere force of his own passionate -love for her some tenderness might be reawakened in -her heart for him; and now—now, after all, she was actually -fooling him—vulgarly fooling him! -</p> - -<p> -By a glance that was exchanged between them they -tacitly quitted the room when breakfast was over, and -passed together—he following with undisguised reluctance—into -the garden, through a window which opened like a -folding-door on the back terrace of the mansion. -</p> - -<p> -'What is the meaning of this sudden departure, Jerry?' -she asked, when they reached a part of the garden near the -very bower Desmond had referred to. 'Do you mean it?' -</p> - -<p> -'I do.' -</p> - -<p> -'How strange you are in your manner, Jerry! Look at -me! why, you are quite pale!' -</p> - -<p> -He dared not tell her the cause at first; he felt ashamed -of his own folly—ashamed of her and of the accusation he -had to make. -</p> - -<p> -'I was in the rhododendron walk last night. You did not -come, as you promised.' -</p> - -<p> -'I—I could not,' said she, her pallor increasing, as she -cast down her eyes. -</p> - -<p> -'My heart was wrung by your absence, Ida; but still -more wrung—ay, tortured nigh unto death—by the cause!' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Cause?</i>' said she, trembling. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes,' he replied, sharply and bitterly. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, you know not the cause,' she said sadly, as she -shook her head. -</p> - -<p> -'I do know, and so do others; but I have no right to -question your actions or control your movements—no -warrant for—God help me, Ida, I scarcely know what I say.' -</p> - -<p> -'So it seems,' said she, a little haughtily. -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Ida, what is this man to you?' he asked, huskily. -</p> - -<p> -'To me—who—what man?' she asked, with a bewildered -air. -</p> - -<p> -'He who is always hanging about you—he who detained -you in that arbour last night, when you promised to meet -me, and give me the answer I prayed for in yonder oriel.' -</p> - -<p> -Astonishment, alarm, and anxiety pervaded the delicate -coldness of her pure, pale face, and then a flush—the hectic -of unwonted anger—crossed it. -</p> - -<p> -'Jerry—Mr. Vane—are you mad?' she exclaimed. 'How -dare you address me thus?' -</p> - -<p> -'Mad—I fear so; but for the love of pity, Ida——' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, sir.' -</p> - -<p> -'Tell me, what am I to think?' -</p> - -<p> -'Enough,' said she coldly; 'the words we have exchanged -are most painful to us both.' -</p> - -<p> -'They are agony to me, Ida. But say, were you in that -arbour last night?' -</p> - -<p> -'On the way to meet you, <i>I was</i>,' she replied, but with -hesitation in her manner. -</p> - -<p> -'And there you remained?' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, thrice I endeavoured to leave the arbour and keep -my appointment with you, and then—then——' -</p> - -<p> -She paused, and her voice died away upon her quivering -lip. -</p> - -<p> -'What? Speak, dearest Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -'That strange magnetic influence, which I told you -impels my actions and controls my movements, came over -me like a species of drowsy sleep, and I remained till the -time to meet you was long since past.' -</p> - -<p> -'And <i>he</i> who had this influence over you—he who -detained you,' said Vane, bitterly and incredulously. -</p> - -<p> -'Jerry! this to <i>me</i>!' she exclaimed, her eyes expressive -now of sad reproach. 'Think of me as you will, I can -explain no more.' -</p> - -<p> -Her eyes closed, her little white hands were clenched and -pressed upon her bosom, and again, as yesterday in the -oriel, she seemed on the point of sinking. She had -suddenly become bewildered and confused, and this bewilderment -and confusion were but too painfully apparent to the -sorrowing and exasperated Vane. -</p> - -<p> -Was she thinking it possible that <i>that</i> of which she had -spoken in a moment of confidence to Trevor Chute—the -thing or being unseen, but which she felt conscious of being -near her—could have been by her side in that dark arbour -then, or what caused her emotion? Did a memory of the -icy and irrepressible shudder she felt at times, when that -dread pang occurred to her, come over her then? -</p> - -<p> -Perhaps so, for the nameless dread that paralysed her -tongue made her more tolerant to Jerry. Anon she -recovered herself, and pride of heart, dignity of position, -and a sense of insult came to her rescue and restored her -strength, and she looked Vane steadily, even haughtily, in -the face. -</p> - -<p> -'You put my faith to a hard test, Ida,' said he; 'God -alone knows how hard.' -</p> - -<p> -'If I could spare you a pang, Mr. Vane, He knows I -would,' she replied; 'but when last you spoke to me about -a strange gentleman being with me in the arbour, I thought -your manner odd and unwarrantable, and now I think it -more so. I trust this is the last time the subject will be -referred to—and, and—now I wish you good-morning.' -</p> - -<p> -And bowing with gravity and grace, not unmingled with -hauteur, she swept away towards the house and left him. -Great was the shock this event, and this most unanticipated -interview or explanation, gave the heart of Vane, who made -not the slightest attempt to detain her, or soothe the -indignation he had apparently kindled; but he stood rooted to -the spot, motionless as the marble Psyche on its pedestal -close by. -</p> - -<p> -If perfidy rendered her unworthy of him, why regret her? -Yet it was so hard, so bitter, and so unnatural to deem her -so. With all his pride, we have said that Jerry had none -with Ida, and the moment the accusation against her -escaped him, he repented of it. With all her tenderness -and gentleness, he knew how dignified and resolute Ida -could be. He recalled all the varying expressions he had -seen in her sweet face, great amazement, pain, alarm, and -sorrow, culminating in indignation and pride; and though -she left him in undisguised anger, he still seemed to hear -the pathos of her voice, which seemed filled with unshed -tears. -</p> - -<p> -Was he yielding her up in anger now, and not in sorrow -as before, to another who would revel in all the spells of -her beauty and sweetness, and thus ruining all for himself -again? -</p> - -<p> -Then he said through his clenched teeth: -</p> - -<p> -'What matters it? If she is so perfidious, let her go. -But I have been too long here playing the moonstruck fool.' -</p> - -<p> -Yet with a pitiful desperation he clung to the faint hope -that ere he left, some explanation, other than he had -received, might be given him; that another interview might -pass between them which would change the present gloomy -aspect of their affairs, and place them even on their former -vague and unsatisfactory basis. But Major Desmond had -taken his departure during the interview in the garden; -thus Vane had no opportunity of recurring to what he had -related overnight in the garden; and Ida remained -studiously aloof, sequestered in her own room, and he saw -no more till the moment of his departure, and even then -not a word passed between them. -</p> - -<p> -Clare Collingwood heard with genuine concern the -announcement of Vane's sudden departure that day; he was -the sole link between her and Trevor Chute, and the -medium through which she heard of all the wanderer's -movements. -</p> - -<p> -It was long past mid-day ere he could leave the Court, -and as he passed through the hall he saw the ladies taking -their afternoon tea in the morning room, and amid that -brilliant group, with their shining silks and rich laces, their -perfumed hair and glittering ornaments, he saw only the -bright Aurora tresses and sombre dress of Ida, her jet -ear-rings and necklet contrasting so powerfully with the paleness -of her blonde beauty—the wondrous whiteness of her skin. -She was smiling lightly now at Violet, who was coquetting -with, or quizzing, old Colonel Rakes. -</p> - -<p> -Why should not Ida smile when the eyes of 'Society' -were upon her? -</p> - -<p> -It fretted Vane, however, that she should be doing so on -the eve of his departure, and added fuel to the fire that -consumed him. He was just in the humour to quarrel with -trifles. He simply bade her adieu as he did all the rest, and -bowed himself out; but he could not resist making some -explanation to Clare, who followed him to the porch, and -whose expressive eyes seemed to ask it, for she had detected -in a moment that something unusual had passed between -him and Ida. -</p> - -<p> -She heard him with pain and bewilderment. -</p> - -<p> -'All this must, and shall, be fully explained,' said Clare, -with her dark eyes swimming in tears. -</p> - -<p> -'I doubt it.' -</p> - -<p> -'Doubt not!' said she, firmly, 'and, dear Jerry, promise -me that you will forget your quarrel with Ida, and visit us -again at Christmas; papa and—and Lady Evelyn will be -home long before that. Do you promise?' -</p> - -<p> -'I promise you, Clare—dear Clare, you were ever my -friend,' said he, in a broken voice, as he kissed her hand, -and would have kissed her cheek, perhaps, but for the -servants who stood by; and in half an hour afterwards the -train was sweeping him onward to London. -</p> - -<p> -'I had hoped, Ida, that Jerry Vane's visit would have had -a different termination than this,' said Clare, the moment -she got her sister alone. 'Why, you have actually -quarrelled.' -</p> - -<p> -'No, not quarrelled,' urged Ida. -</p> - -<p> -'What then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Parted coldly, certainly.' -</p> - -<p> -'Why did you not keep your appointment with him?' -</p> - -<p> -Again the expression that Vane had seen on her face—pain -and embarrassment, sorrow and bewilderment, were all -visible to Clare, who had to repeat the question three times; -then Ida said: -</p> - -<p> -'As he himself has told you, he accused me—me—of -meeting another, and I was almost bluntly accused thus, -Clare, when—when I was certainly beginning to feel that I -might love him with the emotion that I deemed dead in my -heart and impossible to resuscitate.' -</p> - -<p> -'All this seems most inexplicable to me!' said Clare, -with the smallest expression of irritation in her tone. 'Poor -Jerry! he loves you very truly, Ida, and sorely indeed has -that love been tested.' -</p> - -<p> -'He loved me because he believed in me; that regard -will cease when he ceases to believe, as he has done, through -some insulting suspicion, the source or cause of which is -utterly beyond my conception,' said Ida, wearily and sadly. -Then she threw an arm round the waist of Clare, and -lying on her sister's breast, said in a low voice, 'Another -seems to hold me by bonds that will never be unloosed, -Clare.' -</p> - -<p> -'<i>Another</i>, Ida!' -</p> - -<p> -'Beverley.' -</p> - -<p> -'What madness is this?' asked Clare, regarding her -sister's face with great and deep anxiety. -</p> - -<p> -'I loved Beverley as I never loved Jerry; it was, -indeed, the passion which Scott describes as given by God -alone: -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - '"It is the secret sympathy,<br /> - The silver link, the silken tie,<br /> - Which heart to heart and mind to mind<br /> - <i>In body and in soul can bind</i>."<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -Beverley's last words were that we should meet again; -and we have met again—nay, seem to be always meeting in -my thoughts by day and dreams by night; but always the -memory of him was most vivid when Jerry Vane was near -me or in my mind.' -</p> - -<p> -'How will all this end?' said Clare, in a voice of sorrow. -'I would that papa were here.' -</p> - -<p> -'He had never much sympathy with, or toleration for, -my grief, and now that it is passing away, he would have -still less with these secret thoughts or strange impressions I -have told to you, dear Clare, and even hinted at to Trevor -Chute.' -</p> - -<p> -'It is a disease of the mind, Ida; but all this seems so -incomprehensible to me. Surely we have power and will -over our own acts, and even in these days, when so much is -said, thought, written—yes, and practised too, about -spiritualism, mysticism, etc., there is the danger of adopting that -as an <i>inevitable law</i> to which we must conform, but which -we should with all our power resist as the vilest of -superstition.' -</p> - -<p> -Ida only shook her head mournfully, and poor Clare's -motherly and sisterly heart was stirred within her. She -knew not what to think; but she clung to the hope that -ultimately a marriage with Jerry Vane would dissipate these -morbid impressions with which the mind of Ida had become -so singularly and so strongly imbued. -</p> - -<p> -But now, after this, rumours began to spread—though the -strange man, if man he was, had disappeared, and was seen -no more, but seemed to have taken his departure with Jerry -Vane—rumours born of chance, remarks overheard by listening -servants, and taken to the still-room, the kitchen, the -stable court and gamekeeper's lodge, of spectral appearances -in the rhododendron walk, in the arbour where the -Psyche stood, and elsewhere about the ancient mansion, till -at last, through Major Desmond, they actually reached the -ears of Sir Carnaby Collingwood abroad, and though they -excited the merriment and languid curiosity of Lady Evelyn, -they caused him anger and annoyance, and not a little -contempt: 'Such stories are such deuced bad form—get -into the local papers, and all that sort of thing, don't you -know.' -</p> - -<p> -One fact became pleasantly apparent to Clare ere long, -that though Ida regretted the departure of Vane, and still -more the inexplicable cause of their mutual coldness, her -health for a time improved rapidly: the colour came back -to her cheek, and the brightness to her eyes; she loved as -of old to take her share in pleasures and amusements; and -the chill shiver she had been wont to experience affected -her less and less—but for a time only. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap18"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XVIII. -<br /><br /> -THE EMEUTE AT LUBECK. -</h3> - -<p> -At the Stadt Hamburg Sir Carnaby and his bride probably -secluded themselves in their own apartments on the day -after the unpleasant rencontre related in Chapter XIV.; at -least Trevor Chute saw nothing of them at the <i>table d'hôte</i>, -which was filled by its usual frequenters, officers of the -garrison, German Jews and Jewesses, and those whose -names inevitably figure on the board in the hall as 'Grafs, -Herrs, Rentiers, and Privatiers.' -</p> - -<p> -Avoiding the hotel—on consideration, Chute saw no -reason why <i>he</i> should change his quarters—he had 'done' -all Lubeck, seen the Dom or Cathedral, a huge red-brick -edifice of the twelfth century, with its wonderful screen, -stone pulpit, and brass font; the Marien Kirche, with its -astronomical clock, where daily the figures of the seven -Electors pass in review, and bow before the Emperor; the -wonderful old Rathhaus; and the stone in the marketplace -whereon 'the Byng' of Lubeck, Admiral Mark Meyer, -was judicially murdered for not fighting a Danish fleet; the -wood carvings in the Schusselbuden Strasse; and the -famous letter of Sir William Wallace to the Hans cities—the -first 'free trade' document the world ever saw; and -when evening was come again he found himself seated, -somewhat weary and almost alone, at the long board of the -<i>table d'hôte</i> in the great dining-room. -</p> - -<p> -A tempestuous sun was setting in the west, against the -crimson glow of which the black kites, like flies amid wine, -seemed to float above the trees of the Linden Platz; and -the waters of the Trave and the Wakenitz were reddened, -as they flowed past the timber-clothed ramparts, the copse -woods and turfy moors, towards the sea. -</p> - -<p> -Something portentous seemed in the air, the sky, and even -in the manner of the people of Lubeck that evening. Trevor -Chute observed that the Prussian officers who were at the -table, or smoking under the verandah outside the windows, -all talked confidentially of something that was expected—he -could not make out what, and the military eye of Chute -observed that, since noon, double sentinels had been posted -at the Burg Thor, the Rathhaus, and elsewhere. -</p> - -<p> -The thoughts of Trevor Chute went back over the many -stirring events of his past life since he had known Clare and -been rent from her—events full of sporting excitement, of -military peril, and Indian adventures, of rapid change by -land and sea, of aimless wanderings like the present, of wet -night marches and wild gallops, amid the scorching heats -of the Punjaub, when men fell by the wayside, stricken and -foaming at the mouth with sunstroke, or writhing with the -deadlier cholera, and he knew not why all this retrospect -occurred to him. Was he on the eve of any great danger? -It almost seemed so. -</p> - -<p> -The evening closed in dark and gloomy, and though the -atmosphere was stifling, Chute perceived that the lower -windows of the hotel were being all closed and barricaded. -He was then informed by the <i>Ober Kellner</i> that a serious -riot was expected by 'His High Wisdom, the Senior -Burgomaster,' among the tradesmen and working population, who -were all 'on strike,' and hence the doubling of the guards -on the town house and at the city gates. -</p> - -<p> -Sounds of alarm from time to time, shouts and other -noises, were heard in the echoing streets, then followed the -tolling of an alarm bell, and the beating of the Prussian -drums, while flames began to redden the sky in one quarter, -thus indicating that the houses of some persons obnoxious -to the rabble had been set on fire outside the Holstein -Thor. -</p> - -<p> -Despite the advice of the landlord and the waiters, Trevor -Chute remained on the steps at the hotel door, enjoying a -cigar, and determined to see what was going on, though but -little was visible, as in the streets the rioters had turned off -the gas. Ere long he could make out something like the -head of a great column debouching over the open space -before the hotel. -</p> - -<p> -For a moment nothing could be distinguished but that it -was a crowd, shadows moving in the shade, but accompanied -by a roar of sounds, cheers, hoarse hurrahs, oaths and -imprecations in German, with the patois of Schleswig and of -Holstein. The rabble, consisting of many thousands, were -in readiness to commit outrage on anyone or anything that -came in their way, and were now in fierce pursuit of an open -droski that was brought at a gallop up to the door of the -hotel, and out of which there sprang, looking very pale and -bewildered, Sir Carnaby Collingwood and Lady Evelyn, -whom the crowd had overtaken when returning from a visit -to one of the three Syndics. Above the heads of the grimy -rabble seven or eight torches were shaking like tufts of -flame, and by their uncertain glare added much to the -terror of the scene, for a madly infuriated mob has terrors -that are peculiarly its own, and the simple circumstance -that Sir Carnaby and Lady Evelyn were the occupants of a -hired vehicle was sufficient to make all these half-starved -and tipsified boors—tipsy with beer and fiery -corn-brandy—turn their vengeance on them. -</p> - -<p> -Even while rushing alongside the fast-flying wheels—for -the driver lashed his horses to a gallop—they could see that -Sir Carnaby was an aristocrat, an <i>hochgeboren</i>, or well-born -man; that was enough to ensure insult and ridicule, or worse, -and all the more when they discovered that he was an -Englishman—and, like a true Englishman, the baronet, with -all his folly and shortcomings in many ways, did not want a -proper amount of pluck. -</p> - -<p> -All that passed now seemed to do so with the quickness -of lightning. -</p> - -<p> -Sir Carnaby, highly exasperated by what he had undergone, -and the terror of Lady Evelyn, instead of retiring at -once into the hotel, unwisely turned and struck the foremost -man in the crowd a sharp blow across the face with his -cane. -</p> - -<p> -The voices of the crowd now burst into one united roar -of senseless rage, and a piercing and agonising shriek -escaped Lady Evelyn, as she saw him seized by many hands, -torn from her side, and dragged violently along the streets, -amid shouts of 'To the Trave!—to the Trave!' -</p> - -<p> -She did not and could not love this old man—she was, -perhaps, incapable of loving anyone—but she loved well the -position her marriage gave her, though a viscount's daughter, -with the luxury and splendour in which she was cradled -when at home. She had been used since childhood to -obedience; to be followed and caressed; to have every -wish gratified, every caprice supplied; to see every doubt -and difficulty cleared away; to feel neither pain nor illness, -not even the least excitement about anything; and now—now, -the man with whom she had linked her fate was at the -mercy of an infamous and brutal foreign mob; and with -her shriek there came a cry to Chute to save him; but -Trevor never heard her, for the moment hands were laid on -Sir Carnaby, followed by Tom Travers, his servant, he had -plunged into the moving and shouting mass, which went -surging down the street; then Lady Evelyn saw the three -disappear in the obscurity; out of which there came the -roar of mingling shouts, the gleam of cutlasses as the -night-watch attacked the rioters; and then followed the red -flashes and the report of musketry, as the Prussian guard -at the Rathhaus opened fire upon them; and Lady Evelyn, -unused, as we have said, to any excitement, especially the -sudden and unwonted horrors of an episode like this, fainted, -and was borne senseless into the hotel. -</p> - -<p> -Meanwhile, amid the wild whirl of that seething mob, how -fared it with Trevor Chute and him whom he sought to save -or rescue? -</p> - -<p> -In all his service in India—service so different from the -silk and velvet dawdling tenor of life in the Guards—dread -of death had been unknown to Trevor Chute, and never -felt by him, even when he knew that he was supposed to be -dying of fever or a wound, or when he lay in the dark -jungle, where the thick and rank vegetation ran riot, as it -were; where the Brahminese cobra had its lair, the tiger -and the cheetah, too; where, heavy, hot, and oppressive, -the vapour rose like steamy clouds about the stems of the -trees, while his life-blood ebbed away, and he had the -knowledge that, if undiscovered, he might die of thirst, of -weakness, under the kuttack dagger of a mountain robber, -or by the feet of a wild elephant, for oblivion thus clouded -the end of many a comrade who was reported 'missing,' -and no more was known; so Chute was not to recoil before -a German rabble now. -</p> - -<p> -He knocked down by main strength of arm and sheer -weight of hand the two who had hold of Sir Carnaby, and -were dragging him helplessly along the street; and then, -with the aid of Travers, he assisted him towards an archway -which opened off the street, while the rabble closed in -upon them, showering blows and execrations, but impeding -each other in their mad efforts; thus man after man of -them, uttering groans and shouts, went down before the -regular facers, dealt straight out from the shoulder by -Chute and Travers into the eyes and jaws of their -assailants, who had a wholesome Continental terror of 'the -art de box,' as the French name it, while breathless, -bewildered, and certainly appalled to find himself so suddenly -become the sole victim of a dreadful mob, Sir Carnaby -stood between his two defenders, his polite and deprecatory -gestures (for voice he had none), and the elegance of -his delicate white hands, as seen in the torchlight, exciting -only the ridicule of the unwashed rabble. -</p> - -<p> -Through the archway, which was narrow, they conveyed -Sir Carnaby, and by their united strength succeeded in -closing the door, and by an iron bar that was behind it -completely excluding the crowd, who continued to shout -and rave without as they surged against it and beat upon it -with sticks and stones. Anon the crash of glass was heard, -and then the cries of women, as the house itself was assailed. -</p> - -<p> -Infuriated to find that their victim or victims, whom -many of them now supposed to be some of their wealthy -and oppressive monopolists, had escaped them, the blows -upon the door were redoubled, but its strength baffled them. -</p> - -<p> -'It is me they want, Chute, because I struck that rascal -at the hotel,' said Sir Carnaby: 'leave me—they will tear -you to pieces to get at me, the German brutes!' -</p> - -<p> -'Leave you, Sir Carnaby! Never! If, even were you a -stranger, I should stand by you, how much more am I -bound to do so when you are the father of Clare Collingwood! -And if I cannot by main strength save, I shall die -with you—game, an Englishman to the last!' -</p> - -<p> -They were in a court which had no outlet. From it an -open stair led to a species of ancient gallery overlooking -the street; it was a species of balcony, with pillars and -arches carved of stone, like those in front of the wonderfully -quaint Rathhaus, which was not far from it, and was -built in the middle of the fifteenth century. -</p> - -<p> -Their appearance in this place elicited a roar from the -mob some fifteen feet below them, and hundreds of dirty -hands were shaken clenched towards them, and hundreds -of excited and upturned faces were visible in the red, -uncertain glare of the torches that were held still by five or -six of the rioters. But matters now began to look very -serious; for the crowd was seen to part like the waves of -the sea as a ladder was borne through it and planted -against the wall. Then five or six men began to mount at -once, while others pressed forward to follow, determined to -visit the fugitives by escalade. -</p> - -<p> -Travers looked bewildered, and Sir Carnaby still more -so; but Trevor Chute, by habit, profession, and nature, -had all that coolness in front of immediate peril, and utter -indifference of personal risk, which made him renowned -in his regiment and the idol of the soldiers, and he had -been in many critical situations, where caution and decision -had to be combined with instant action. -</p> - -<p> -The head and shoulders of the uppermost man on the -ladder had barely appeared above the front of the balcony -when Chute seized the former by its two uprights, and -thrust it fairly outward from the wall. For a moment it -oscillated, or seemed to balance itself, and then, describing -a radius of about thirty feet or more, fell back among the -crowd with its load of ruffians. -</p> - -<p> -Then shrieks and the rattle of musketry were heard, as -the Prussian guard arrived from the Rathhaus, and by -orders of a burgomaster poured in a volley of some twenty -muskets or so, on which the mob took to flight, and -dispersed in all directions, leaving behind two or three dead -men and the maimed wretches who had been on the upper -portion of the ladder. -</p> - -<p> -So ended this episode of excitement and peril, after which -the three Englishmen, to whom every species of apology -was tendered—after due explanation given—were conducted -by the armed night watch back to their hotel, and -once more quietness settled over the little city of Lubeck. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap19"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XIX. -<br /><br /> -SIR CARNABY'S GRATITUDE. -</h3> - -<p> -Save that he had got a terrible shaking, a few blows, and -considerable fright, Sir Carnaby Collingwood, thanks to -Trevor Chute and his servant, was not much the worse -and between his draughts of iced seltzer and brandy, he -sputtered and threatened the whole city of Lubeck with -our ambassador at Berlin, and to have the outrage of the -night brought 'before the House' as soon as he returned to -town; while Lady Evelyn, filled with genuine admiration -of the pluck shown by Chute, his manly and generous -bearing, and with gratitude for the manner in which he had -assuredly saved the life of her <i>caro sposo</i>, became his most -ardent ally; but as he and Sir Carnaby lingered over their -wine that night he felt—and still more next day—the -weight of the many blows and buffets of which he had been -quite unconscious at the time they were so freely bestowed -upon him. -</p> - -<p> -'Egad, Chute,' chuckled Sir Carnaby, 'didn't think you -and I should ever figure like two heroes in a melodrama; -by Jove—absurd, don't you know—but those Germans <i>are</i> -beastly fellows. The moselle stands with you. We have -had nothing here,' he continued, laughing with more -genuine heartiness than was usual to him, for his feelings -had undergone a revulsion—'we have had nothing here but -mistakes and scenes—actually scenes. I refused you Clare, -and you make off, per train, with Lady Evelyn. I was -most unkind to you, and you act generously by returning -good for exceeding evil.' -</p> - -<p> -Trevor was so unused to this tone from Sir Carnaby that -his heart swelled with mingled hope and anticipation, joy -and sadness, as he said: -</p> - -<p> -'I am only thankful to Heaven that I was here to-night, -and able to be of service to you.' -</p> - -<p> -'Service—egad, my dear fellow, you have saved my life!' -</p> - -<p> -'The consciousness of that rewards me for more than one -past misfortune.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, you mean those which caused you to leave the -Guards?' -</p> - -<p> -'To leave England, and—lost me Clare!' said Chute, -falteringly. -</p> - -<p> -'Ah, well, it was all no fault of yours. It was a thousand -pities that your father, the old General—an extravagant dog -he was—could touch the entail. That is all over now; and -believe me, Trevor Chute, if you forgive me the past, you -shall not go without your <i>reward</i>.' -</p> - -<p> -And the two shook hands in silence. The heart of -the younger man beat tumultuously, for well did he -know the glorious 'reward' that was referred to. He -knew that Sir Carnaby would keep to his word, and he had, -we have said, an ardent admirer and adherent in Lady -Evelyn. -</p> - -<p> -'Captain Chute,' said she, 'do give up this peregrimania -of yours, and spend Christmas with us at Carnaby Court. -Promise me,' she added, taking his hands in hers; 'I will -take no denial, and am always used to have my way in -everything.' -</p> - -<p> -So Chute, without much difficulty, accepted an invitation -in which kindness was perhaps mingled with some desire to -get Clare off her hands. -</p> - -<p> -Chute, with Sir Carnaby's permission, wrote to Clare -next day, saying that he had been so happy as to be of -service to her father, and had saved him—'saved his life, in -fact'—during a row among the Germans; that they were -the best of friends now that all barriers were removed, -and how happy he and she would yet be in the time to -come. -</p> - -<p> -Poor Clare was extremely bewildered by all this, till -the letter was supplemented by a more descriptive and -effusive epistle from the, sometime to her, obnoxious -Lady Evelyn, describing in glowing colours the terrors of -the affair at Lubeck, Chute's bravery, and Sir Carnaby's -rescue, and the heart of the girl leaped in her breast with -gratitude to Heaven for this sudden change in the feelings -of her father, and gratitude to Trevor for saving -the selfish old man from injury, insult, and, too -probably, a sudden and dreadful death; and amid this -new-born happiness grew a longing to behold that of her sister -and Jerry Vane. -</p> - -<p> -The latter, when in London, more than once, when -with Desmond; contrived to draw on the subject of the -male figure he had seen in the arbour with Ida, and -found that he still adhered to it in all its somewhat vague -details. -</p> - -<p> -On the other hand, he had a long private letter from -Clare, impressing upon him that it must have been a -delusion; that no such person had been seen by Ida; and -dwelling delicately on the health of the latter, and the -strange fancies which haunted her. Perplexed, he knew -not what to think, and would mutter: -</p> - -<p> -'Delusion! Were Colonel Rakes, Desmond, and I all -deluded alike? It is an impossibility!' -</p> - -<p> -He actually doubted her, and bitter as the doubt must be -of that one loves, deep must be the love that struggles against -it, and his was of that kind. Clare reminded him of his -promised visit at Christmas-time. -</p> - -<p> -'Shall I go, to be snared again by the witchery of Ida's -violet eyes and the golden gleam of her auburn hair?' -</p> - -<p> -The most rankling and bitter wounds are those of the -heart; because they are unseen, and, too often, untellable; -so Vane, amid the bitterness of his doubt, consoled, or -strove to console himself with the remark of a Scottish -writer, who says, 'How humbling it is to think that the -strongest affections which have perplexed, or agitated, or -delighted us from our birth, will, in a few years, cease to -have an existence on the earth; and that all the ardour -which they have kindled will be as completely extinguished -and forgotten as if they had never been!' -</p> - -<p> -Love for him certainly seemed to have been dawning in -her heart again; else whence that kiss—somewhat too -sisterly, perhaps—which she accorded to him so frankly in -the oriel window, filling his bosom with the old joy? Across -the sunshine that was brightening his path why should this -marring shadow have fallen, giving a pain that was only -equalled in intensity by his love? hence it was simply horrid -to hear a man like Desmond say, mockingly: -</p> - -<p> -'You ask me about that fellow in the arbour so often -that, by Jove, Vane, you are becoming spoony on her -again—heard you were so once, don't you know—threw you over -for Beverley, and all that sort of thing. Fact is, my dear -fellow, women always betray those who love them too much. -Never throw your heart further away than just so far that -you can easily recover it.' -</p> - -<p> -And with his thoughts elsewhere, Jerry, spoiled as -women of the world will spoil a drawing-room pet, lingered -on amid a gay circle in London, endowed with a vague -flirting commission, and coquetted a little with the languid, -the soft, and the lovely, to hide or heal the wound that -Ida had inflicted; while it was with regret, and a sense of -as much irritation and hauteur as her gentle nature was -capable of feeling, Ida heard that Vane was to accompany -Chute (after all that had passed between them, and his -suspicions) to Carnaby Court, where now the beeches and elms -were all yellow or brown with the last tints of autumn, and -the tall trees in the chase showed flushes of crimson, purple, -and orange when the sun was sinking beyond the uplands in -the west. -</p> - -<p> -On very different terms were Clare and <i>her</i> lover; -and in their letters they wrote freely and confidently of -their future—a happy time that seemed certain now—the -future that had once been but as the mirage that Chute -had often beheld on the march in the sandy deserts of -Aijmere. -</p> - -<p> -'Clare—I shall see her again!' he muttered to himself; -it was a great thought, a bright conviction, that to him she -was no longer a dream but a reality; thus in his heart he -felt 'that riot of hope, joy, and belief which is too -tumultuous and impatient for happiness, but yet <i>is</i> happy beyond -all that the world holds.' -</p> - -<p> -Objectless till he saw her again, after Sir Carnaby and -Lady Evelyn had left him for England, he lingered in -Northern Germany; but Jerry Vane had accepted Lady -Evelyn's written and actually reiterated invitation for -Christmas with very mingled feelings indeed. -</p> - -<p> -Since the day he had left Carnaby Court so abruptly he -had never exchanged a word, verbally or in writing, with -Ida. -</p> - -<p> -In going there now he would do so with a deadened -sense of sorrow, disappointment, and bitterness in his heart -and the wretched doubt as to whether he was wise to throw -himself into the lure—was it snare?—of her society again; -even with the intention of showing, as he thought, poor -goose, how bravely he could resist it, and seek to convince -her that he had effaced the past and forgotten to view her -amid the halo in which he had once enshrined her. Were -they, then, to meet in a state of antagonism? -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute's brave rescue of Sir Carnaby Collingwood -had, as a story, preceded his return to town, with many -exaggerations; the clubs rang with it, and it actually stirred -the blood in what 'Ouida' calls 'the languid, <i>nil admirari</i>, -egotistic, listless pulses of high-bred society.' -</p> - -<p> -But time was creeping on now, and the Christmas of the -year drew near at hand. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap20"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XX. -<br /><br /> -CARNABY COURT. -</h3> - -<p> -The baronet's country seat was popular among his 'set,' -and in the county generally. The ladies were attractive, Sir -Carnaby was fond of society, and was undeniably hospitable: -the preserves were good, the corn-fed pheasants were among -the best in the land, and partridges abounded in the coverts -and thickets; the stud and cellar were good, and his French -cook was a genius. The oak-studded chase, where the deer -lay deep amid the fern, showed trees that were of vast -antiquity—remnants, perhaps, of the days when Bucks was -all a forest, as old historians tell us. -</p> - -<p> -The Collingwoods had been lords of Collingwood ever -since tradition could tell of them. They were, it was said, -old as the chalky Chiltern Hills and the woods of Whaddon -Chase, and stories of their prowess had been rife among the -people since the days when Edward was murdered at -Tewkesbury, when 'bluff King Hal' burnt Catholics and -Protestants together with perfect impartiality at Smithfield, -when Mary spent her maudlin love on Philip, and Queen -Bess boxed the ears of her courtiers: all had figured in -history somehow; and everywhere, over the gateway half -hidden by ivy, in the painted oriels, on the gables, and on -the buttons of the livery servants, were three eels wavy on a -bend, indicating a heraldic portion of the tenure by which -they held their land, like the lord of Aylesbury in the same -county—'By the sergentry of finding straw for the bed of -the Defender of the Faith, with three eels for his supper, -when he should travel that way.' -</p> - -<p> -Built, patched, and repaired in various ages, the Court is -one of the most picturesque old mansions in the county. -In one portion, chiefly inhabited by crows and bats, there -was a half-ruined remnant left by the Wars of the Roses, on -which the present Tudor, or, rather, Elizabethan mansion, -with its peaked gables, oriel windows, and clustered -chimney-stacks—square, twisted, or fluted—had been -engrafted. Hawthorn, holly, and ivy grew out of the clefts of -the ruinous portion; and there in childhood had Clare and -Ida made baby houses; and there they had devoured in -secret many a fairy and ghost story, and thrilled with joy -over that of the 'Ugly Duckling.' The terrace balustrades -were mossy and green, and though Carnaby Court had an -old and decayed aspect, there was a lingering grandeur -about it. -</p> - -<p> -The plate in the dining-hall was famous in the county for -its value and antiquity, though many a goblet and salver had -gone to the melting-pot when King Charles unfurled his -standard at Nottingham. -</p> - -<p> -We have said that stories had been rumoured about of a -figure seen in the garden and elsewhere; and Sir Carnaby, -who loathed scenes, excitement, worry, 'and all that sort of -thing,' as he phrased it (though he had undergone enough -and to spare), was intensely provoked when the old butler -gave him some hint of the shadowy addition to the family -at the Court. -</p> - -<p> -'A ghost!' he exclaimed, with his gold glasses on his -long, thin nose. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, sir—so they say.' -</p> - -<p> -'They—who? Stuff! If this absurd story gets abroad, -we shall find ourselves a subject for the speculation of the -vulgar here and the spiritualists everywhere; and the house -may be beset by all manner of intruders. And what is it -like?' -</p> - -<p> -'Nobody knows; a tall man in black, I have heard,' -replied the butler. -</p> - -<p> -'Black! How do ghosts or spirits get clothes?' -</p> - -<p> -'I don't know, Sir Carnaby.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of course you don't, how should you? <i>Your</i> spirits are -in wood,' chuckled the baronet. 'I have heard of tables -spinning about, of bells ringing, banjos playing, of sticks -beating on a drum-head by unseen hands, and even of -people flying through the air at <i>séances</i>, but I'll have none of -that nonsense at Carnaby Court. It's bad style—vulgar—very! -We'll send for the disembodied police, and have -your ghost taken up as a rogue and impostor.' -</p> - -<p> -Quite a gay party had assembled for the Christmas -festivities at the old Court; there were Major Desmond, -and two of his brother officers, with his intended, one of -the belles of the last season at Tyburnia, Colonel and Lady -Rakes, Lord Brixton, and many more, including old Lord -Bayswater and Charley Rakes, a mere lad, steeped already -in folly or worse, yet very much disposed to lionise and -patronise the pretty Violet. -</p> - -<p> -When Trevor Chute and Vane first arrived they were both -shocked—the latter particularly so—to find a great and fatal -change had come over Ida, and it had come suddenly too, as -Clare asserted. Jerry had begun to feel the sweetness of -cheated hope, but this was fading now. She seemed in a -decline apparently; large dark circles were under her eyes, -and their old soft sweetness of gaze was blended with a weird -and weary look of infinite melancholy at times; and when -Clare had expressed to Sir Carnaby a hope that she might -yet wed Jerry out of pity— -</p> - -<p> -'Let her wed him for anything, for—by Jove, this sort of -thing is great boredom,' sighed or grumbled the baronet. -</p> - -<p> -'The idea of you, Captain Chute, eloping with our new -mamma,' said Violet, when she met him. -</p> - -<p> -'That led to my being of service to your father, Violet—to -my being here to-night,' he added, in a tender whisper to -Clare, as the ladies left the dining-table, and Sir Carnaby -changed his seat to the head of the table. -</p> - -<p> -'Ugh!' said he, in a low voice, 'unless poor Ida brightens -up a little, a doleful Christmas we are likely to have of it; -but I am glad to see you, Vane—the wine stands with you—pass -the bottles, and don't insult my butler by neglecting -to fill your glass.' -</p> - -<p> -With all his affected breeze of manner, his desire to -appear juvenile before Lady Evelyn, and all his inborn -selfishness, both Vane and Chute could perceive that the -failing health of his favourite daughter had affected him. -The unwelcome crow's-feet were deeper about his eyes; his -general 'get-up' was less elaborate; his whiskers were out -of curl, and like what remained of his hair, showed, by an -occasional patch of grey, that dye was sometimes forgotten. -</p> - -<p> -The first quiet stolen interview of Clare and Trevor -Chute was one of inexpressible happiness and joy. They -were again in the recess of that oriel near which he had -first said he loved her, and she had accepted him. The -moon shone as bright now as then, but in the clear and -frosty sky of a winter night, and the flakes of light threw -down many a crimson, golden, and blue ray of colour on -the snowy skin and white dress of Clare, as she nestled her -face on Trevor's breast, while his arm went round her. -</p> - -<p> -Clare loved well the woods of the old Court—the lovely, -leafy woods—with trees round and vast as the pillars of a -Saxon cathedral—loved them in their vernal greenery, their -summer foliage, and their varied autumnal tints of russet, -brown, and gold, for there had Trevor told her again and -again the old, old story, the story of both their hearts, hand -locked in hand; and there she had first learned how sweet -and good our earthly life may be, how full of hope, of -sunshine, and glory to the loving and the loved; but never did -she love them as when she saw them now, though standing -black and leafless amid the far-stretching waste of snow -that gleamed in the distance far away under the glare of -the moon, for Trevor was with her once more, and never -to be separated from her again! -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Trevor, Trevor! I thank kind Heaven,' she whispered -for the twentieth time, 'that you and papa are friends -now—and such friends! Lady Evelyn has told me again -and again all the debt we owe. If the poor old man had -perished——' -</p> - -<p> -'Had I saved a nation, Clare, my reward is in you,' said -he, arresting effectually further thanks or praises. -</p> - -<p> -He had dreamed by day of Clare, and loved her as much -as ever man loved woman; he had undergone all the -misery of separation, of hopelessness, doubt, and even of -groundless jealousy; and now, after all, she was his own! -For the most tranquil time of all his past life he would not -have exchanged the tumultuous and brilliant joy of the -present; yet that joy was not without a cloud, and that -cloud was the regret and perplexity caused by Ida, for whom -he had all the tenderness of a brother. -</p> - -<p> -On the day after his arrival he was writing in the library, -and had been so for some time, before he discovered that -Ida was lying fast asleep in an easy-chair near the fire, her -slumber being induced either by weariness and languor, or -the cosy heat of the room, with its warmth of colour and -its heavy draperies, which partly hid the snowy scene -without. For a few moments he watched the singular -beauty of the girl's upturned face, the purity of her profile, -and the sweetness of her parted lips, as her graceful head -reclined against the back of the softly cushioned chair, over -which, as they had become undone, bright masses of her -auburn hair were rippling. -</p> - -<p> -Suddenly she seemed to shiver in her sleep, and to -mutter, as terror and sorrow hardened the lines of her -face. She was dreaming; and starting with a low cry, she -awoke, and sprang almost into the arms of Chute. Her -lips were white and parched—white as the teeth within -them; her eyes, with a wild, hysterical, and overstrained -expression, were fixed on the empty air, while the veins in -her delicate throat were swollen; and then she turned to -Chute, who kissed her forehead, caressed her hands, and -besought her to be calm. She drew a long, gasping sigh, -and said, while swaying forward, as if about to fall: -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Trevor, Trevor! I have had a dream of Beverley—and -such a dream! Hold me up, or I shall fall!' she -added, pressing her tremulous hands upon her thin white -temples. 'In this dream, Beverley said—said——' Tears -choked her utterance. -</p> - -<p> -'<i>What</i> did you think he said?' asked Chute, tenderly. -</p> - -<p> -'Think? I heard him as plainly as I hear you!' -</p> - -<p> -'Well, do speak, Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -'He said, "We are never to be parted, Ida, even by -death. Fate has linked my soul to yours for ever; and -though unseen, I am ever near you." Then a cry escaped -me, and I awoke. Had you not been here, I should have -fainted.' -</p> - -<p> -'This is—heavens! what shall I call it—morbid!' -exclaimed Chute. 'Such dreams——' -</p> - -<p> -'Come to me unbidden—uncontrolled,' continued Ida, -sobbing heavily. 'There seems to be a strange, half sad -and sweet, half fearful and subtle, influence at work around -me! I am sure that there is a world beyond the grave—an -unseen world that is close, close to us all, Trevor.' -</p> - -<p> -As she spoke, Chute, who was regarding her with the -tenderest sympathy, became deeply pained to see the grey, -death-like hue that stole over her lovely face, and the -droop that came into her—for the moment—lustreless -eyes; and as he gazed he almost began to imbibe some -of her wild convictions. 'It is a matter of knowledge,' -says a writer, 'that there are persons whose yearning -conceptions—nay, travelled conclusions—continually take the -form of images which have a foreshadowing power: the -deed they do starts up before them in complete shape, -making a coercive type; the event they hunger for or -dread rises into vision with a seed-like growth, feeding -itself fast on unnumbered impressions. They are not -always the less capable of argumentative process, nor less -sane than the commonplace calculators of the market.' -</p> - -<p> -'Whenever I <i>think</i> of Beverley, I seem to feel that he is, -unseen, beside me; and this startling and oppressive -emotion I can neither control, analyze, or conquer,' said Ida, -wearily, as Chute led her to another room. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="chap21"></a></p> - -<h3> -CHAPTER XXI. -<br /><br /> -CHRISTMAS EVE. -</h3> - -<p> -It was not in the heart of honest Jerry Vane to harbour -much of doubt when pity was wanted; and, so far as Ida -was concerned, it fully seemed wanted now. -</p> - -<p> -The change that came over her health had been rapid and -unexplainable. Her nerves were evidently hopelessly -unstrung; she seemed to be pining and passing away in the -midst of them all. Her temperament was entirely changed; -she could see the light emitted by a magnet in the dark, and -always shuddered at the touch of one. The doctors shook -their heads, and could only speak of change of air when the -season opened, and so forth; while poor Jerry Vane hung -about her in an agony of love and anxiety, hoping against -hope that she might yet recover and be his dear little wife -after all; but when Clare hinted at this, the ailing girl only -shook her head and smiled sadly. -</p> - -<p> -It was just shortly before Christmas Eve, however, that -Jerry felt himself lured and tempted, with his heart full of -great pity for the feeble condition in which he saw the -once brilliant Ida, to speak to her again of the love he bore -her. -</p> - -<p> -The jealous shame that he had a rival—another who might -have won her when he had failed—the lurker whom -Desmond and himself had seen—was all forgotten now; and -though her bloom was gone, her complexion had become -waxen, her beautiful hands almost transparent, her eyes -unnaturally large and bright, he seemed to see in her only the -same Ida whom he had loved in the first flush of her beauty -ere it budded, and whom he had wooed and won in happier -and unclouded times, in the same old English home where -they were all gathered together. -</p> - -<p> -She approached the subject herself, by saying to him, -when they were alone: -</p> - -<p> -'Forgive me, Jerry, if I spoke hastily to you when last -we parted.' -</p> - -<p> -'Forgive you!' he exclaimed, in a low voice. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes; surely that is not impossible.' -</p> - -<p> -'Oh, Ida! forgiveness is no word to pass between you -and me.' -</p> - -<p> -'Especially now, Jerry; but though I treated you -ill—very, very ill—in the past time——' -</p> - -<p> -'Let us not talk of that, Ida.' -</p> - -<p> -'Of what, then?' -</p> - -<p> -'Our future,' he whispered, while, drawing near, he took -her passive hand in his, and longed to kiss, but dared not -touch her, while great love and compassion filled his -heart—the love that had never died; but as he held her hand -she shivered like an aspen leaf. -</p> - -<p> -'Future—oh, Jerry, I would that I were at rest beside -mamma in yonder church!' she said, looking to where the -square tower of the village fane, mantled in ivy and snow, -stood darkly up in purple shade against the crimson flush of -the evening sky. -</p> - -<p> -'Can it be that your illness is such—your weakness—oh, -what shall I term it!—is such that you are indeed tired of -life, Ida?' he asked, with an anxiety that was not unmixed -with fear. -</p> - -<p> -'Life is only a delusion. What is it that we should desire it?' -</p> - -<p> -'You are very strange this evening, dearest Ida,' he urged -softly. -</p> - -<p> -'My health is shattered, Jerry—my spirit gone! hence, -though you love me, no comfort or joy would ever come to -you through me.' -</p> - -<p> -There were tears in the man's eyes as he listened to her. -She was pressing his hand kindly between hers, but there -was a weary wistfulness in the gaze of Ida which bewildered -him, and he thought how unlike was this sad love-making to -that of the past time. -</p> - -<p> -'Poor Jerry!' she resumed, after a long pause, 'I don't -think I shall live very long; a little time, I fear, and I shall -only be a dream to you, but a dream full of disappointment -and pain.' -</p> - -<p> -'Do not say so, Ida—my own beloved Ida!' he exclaimed, -as the last vestige of mistrust in her was forgotten, and -sorrow, love, and perplexity took its place. 'Ida,' he -continued, in a voice that was touching, passionate, and -appealing, 'young, beautiful, and rich, you shall yet be well and -strong; your own gay spirit will return with the renewed -health which we shall find you in another and a sunnier -land than ours. Oh, for the love I bear you, darling, do -thrust aside these thoughts of gloom and death!' -</p> - -<p> -But she answered him slowly and deliberately, in a voice -that was without tremor, though her eyes were full of -melancholy, and with something of love, too, but not earthly -loving, for that passion had long since departed. -</p> - -<p> -'The thoughts of gloom come over me unsought, and -will not be thrust aside; and to dread or avoid death is -folly, and to fear it is also folly; for that which is so -universal must be for our general good; hence, to fear that -which we cannot understand, and is for our good, is greater -folly. Moreover, it puts an end to all earthly suffering and -to all earthly sorrow. But leave me, dear Jerry, now; I am -weary—<i>so</i> weary.' -</p> - -<p> -Then Vane, with his eyes full of tears, pressed his lips to -her pale forehead as she sank back in her chair and closed -her eyes as if to court sleep; and he left her slowly and -reluctantly, and with a heart torn by many emotions, and -not the least of these was the aching and clamorous sense of -a coming calamity. -</p> - -<p> -It was Christmas-tide, when, from all parts of the British -Isles, the trains are pouring London-ward, laden with turkeys, -game, and geese, and all manner of good things; when the -post-bags are filled with dainty Christmas cards that express -good and kind thoughts; when the warmest wishes of the -jocund season are exchanged by all who meet, even to those -whose hands they do not clasp, though eye looks kindly to -eye; when the sparrows, finches, and robins flock about the -farmyards, and the poor little blue tomtits feel cold and hungry -in the leafless woods and orchards; Christmas Eve—'whose -red signal fires shall glow through gloom and darkness till -all the years be done'—the season of plum-pudding and -holly, mistletoe and carolling, and of kind-hearted generosity, -when the traditional stocking is filled, and the green branches -of the festive tree are loaded with every species of 'goodies,' -for excited and expectant little folks; and 'once a year,' the -eve that, of all others, makes the place of those whom death -has taken seem doubly vacant, and when the baby that -came since last Christmas is hailed with a new joy; the eve -that is distinguished by the solemnity of the mighty mission -with which if is associated; and when over all God's -Christian world, the bells ring out the chimes in memory of the -star that shone over Bethlehem; and even now they were -jingling merrily in the old square English tower of -Collingwood church, from whence the cadence of the sweet -even-song, in which the voices of Clare and Violet mingled with -others, came on the clear frosty breeze to the old Court, the -painted oriels of which were all aflame with ruddy light, that -fell far in flakes across the snow-covered chase. -</p> - -<p> -One voice alone was wanting there—the soft and tender -one of Ida, who was unable to leave the house and face the -keen, cold winter air. -</p> - -<p> -She alone, of all the gay party assembled at the Court, -remained behind. -</p> - -<p> -Anxious to rejoin her, the moment the service was over -in the little village church—the altar and pillars of which -Clare and her friends, with the assistance of the gardener, -had elaborately decorated: with bays and glistening -hollies—Jerry Vane slipped out of his pew and hastened away -through the snow-covered fields to where the picturesque -masses of the ancient Court, with all its traceried and tinted -windows gaily lighted up, stood darkly against the starry -sky. -</p> - -<p> -Unusual anxiety agitated the breast of Jerry Vane on this -night; the strange words and stranger manner of Ida had -made a great impression upon him. -</p> - -<p> -That she respected him deeply he saw plainly enough; -but her regard for him, if it existed at all, which he often -doubted, at least, such regard as he wished, seemed merely -that of a sister; and every way the altered terms on which -they now were seemed singular and perplexing; and yet he -loved her fondly, truly, and, when he thought of her -shattered health, most compassionately. -</p> - -<p> -On entering the drawing-room, which was brilliantly -lighted, he saw Ida within an arched and curtained alcove -that opened out of it; the blue silk hangings were festooned -on each side by silver tassels and cords. The recess was -thus partly in shadow, and, within, Ida reclined on a couch, -near which lay a book, that had apparently dropped from -her hand. -</p> - -<p> -Her attitude, expressive of great excitement or of great -grief, made Vane pause for a moment. Her figure was in -shadow, but her lovely auburn hair glittered in light as she -lay back on the couch, with her white hands covering her -eyes, pressing, to all appearance, hard upon them, while -heavy sobs convulsed her bosom and throat. -</p> - -<p> -Vane was about to approach and question her as to this -excessive grief, when his blood ran cold on perceiving the -figure of a gentleman bending tenderly and caressingly over -her—the man of the arbour. -</p> - -<p> -His form was in shadow, but his face was most distinct; -it was handsome in contour, though very pale; his eyes, -that were cast fondly down on Ida, were dark, as Vane could -perceive, and his thick moustache was jetty in hue. -</p> - -<p> -What could he have to say to Ida that agitated her thus? -And who was this stranger who seemed to avail himself of -every conceivable moment she was alone to thrust himself -upon her?—if, indeed, he were not, as Jerry's jealousy began -to hint, but too welcome! -</p> - -<p> -How many times had he been with her, unknown to all? was -the next bitter thought that flashed upon him. -</p> - -<p> -He resolved to bring Chute to the spot, for Chute had -never believed the stories of Ida and her mysterious friend -or admirer; so, instead of boldly advancing and intruding -upon them, he softly quitted the room, and met the Captain -in the entrance hall. -</p> - -<p> -'Where is Clare?' he asked. -</p> - -<p> -'Gone to take off her wraps,' replied Chute. -</p> - -<p> -'Quick!' said Jerry, in an agitated voice; 'come this way.' -</p> - -<p> -'What is the matter?' -</p> - -<p> -'You shall see. The honour—oh, that I should speak of -it!—the honour of Ida is dearer to me than life,' said Vane, -in a voice which indicated great mental pain; 'yet what am -I to think, unless her brain is turned?' -</p> - -<p> -He leaned for a moment against a console table, as if a -giddiness or a weakness had come over him. -</p> - -<p> -'Jerry, are you unwell?' asked Chute, anxiously. -</p> - -<p> -'I don't know what the devil is up, or whether Ida—with -her face lovely as it is, and pure as that of a saint in some -old cathedral window—is playing false to me and to us all!' -</p> - -<p> -'False!' exclaimed Chute, astonished by this outburst, -which was made with great bitterness. -</p> - -<p> -'Yes, false.' -</p> - -<p> -'Ida—why—how?' -</p> - -<p> -'Because that mysterious fellow is with her now.' -</p> - -<p> -'Where?' -</p> - -<p> -'In the arched alcove off the drawing-room. I know not -what he has been saying to her, but the effect of his presence -is to fill her with grief and agitation; these are manifest -enough, whatever may be the secret tie or sympathy between -them.' -</p> - -<p> -They were for the present alone, Chute and Vane. -</p> - -<p> -The gentlemen had all gone unanimously to the smoking-room, -and the voices of the ladies were heard merrily talking -in the upper corridors, in anticipation of a ball on the -morrow, for which the gayest and richest of toilettes that -Paris and Regent Street could produce were spread on more -than one bed to be exultingly contemplated. -</p> - -<p> -Trevor Chute gave Jerry a grave and inquiring glance, -and with soldierlike promptitude stepped quickly towards -the drawing-room. -</p> - -<p> -'She declined to go with us to the evensong, and <i>this</i> is -the reason why!' resumed Vane, bitterly. 'There—he is -beside her still!' -</p> - -<p> -Ida now reclined with her face upward, and the pure -outline of her profile could be distinctly seen against the dark -background of the alcove, as also the dazzling whiteness of -her hands, which were crossed upon her bosom. Over her -hung the stranger, with his face so closely bowed to hers -that his features could not be seen. -</p> - -<p> -'She is asleep or in a faint,' said Jerry, as they paused. -</p> - -<p> -'This man's figure is familiar to me—quite,' said Chute; -'<i>where</i> have I seen him before? -</p> - -<p> -As he spoke, the stranger raised his head, and turning to -them his pale, now ghastly, face, gazed at them for a -moment with eyes that were dark, singularly piercing, and -intensely melancholy; there was something in their -expression which chilled the blood of Vane; but for a -moment only did he so look, and then the face and figure -melted, and in that moment a thrill of unnatural horror ran -through the heart of Trevor Chute, who stood rooted to the -spot, and next, as a wild cry escaped him, fell senseless on -the carpet, for he had beheld the visual realization of that -which he had begun to fear was Ida's haunting spirit—the -face and form of Beverley, or of a demon in his shape. -</p> - -<p> -And ere he sank down where he lay, even when the eyes -of this dread thing had turned upon him, there stole over -his passing senses, quickly, the memory of the hot air of -that breathless Indian morning, when the notes of the -réveille seemed to mingle with the last dying words of his -comrade—his farewell message to Ida! -</p> - -<p> -All this passed in the vibration of a pendulum. -</p> - -<p> -Vane was in equal terror and perplexity, all the more so that -the name of 'Beverley' had mingled with the cry of Trevor -Chute. -</p> - -<p> -'Beverley!' he thought. 'My God! can we look upon -such things and live!' -</p> - -<p> -Like Chute and many others, he had ever prided himself -on his superiority to all thoughts of superstition and vulgar -fears; he had ever scoffed at all manner of warnings, -dreams, visitations, and spiritual influences, believing that -the laws of nature were fixed and immutable; and here, -amid the blaze of light, he had been face to face with the -usually unseen world! He was face to face with more—death! -</p> - -<p> -His beloved Ida was found to have been dead for many -minutes. Her heart was cold, her pulses still, and when -the cry of Chute brought, by its strange and unnatural -sound, all the household thronging to the room in alarm -and amazement, Vane was found hanging over her, and -weeping as only women weep, and with all the wild and -passionate abandonment he had never felt since childhood. -</p> - -<p> -Had she seen, as they had at last, this haunting figure, -whose vicinity caused that mysterious icy chill and tremor -which nevermore would shock her delicate system and -lovely form? Had the—to her—long unseen been visible -at last—that pale, solemn face with its sad, dark eyes and -black moustache? -</p> - -<p> -It almost seemed so, for terror dwelt on her still features -for a time, then repose, sadness, and sweetness stole over -her beautiful face—still most beautiful in death. -</p> - -<p> -Had she died of terror, of grief, or of both, inducing -perhaps a rupture of the heart? The pressure of her hands -upon her breast would seem to say the latter, but all was -wild and sad conjecture now in the startled and sorrowing -household. -</p> - -<p> -So ended the <i>haunted life</i>! -</p> - -<p> -But the doctors discussed the subject learnedly, and her -nervous thrills or involuntary tremors were accounted for -by one who asserted 'that such an emotion was producible -in persons of a certain nervous <i>diathesis</i> by the approach -alike of an unseen spirit or the impingement of an electric -fluid evolved by the superior will of another.' -</p> - -<p> -It was urged by some that anything supernatural could -only be seen by a person who was under an extraordinary -exaltation of the sensuous perceptions, and certainly this -was not the case with either Desmond, Vane, or Chute; -thus it was deemed doubly strange that such men as they -should have seen this singular and terrible presence, when -she, whose system was of the most refined and delicate -nature, and rendered more spiritual by her sinking health, -should only have felt that something unseen was near her, -until, perhaps, that fatal night. -</p> - -<p> -What miracle, <i>diablerie</i>, or spiritualistic horror was -this? speculated all, when the story came to be sifted around the -couch whereon the dead Ida lay, like a marble statue, with -her skin soft and pale as a white camellia leaf. -</p> - -<p> -Can it be, they asked, that 'his solicitude cannot rest -with his bones,' far away in that Indian grave where Trevor -Chute had laid him? Was that grave not deep enough to -hide him, that his spiritual essence—if essence it is—comes -here? -</p> - -<p> -It was a dark and sorrowful Christmas Eve at Carnaby -Court; guests who came to be gay, and to rejoice in the -festivities of the joyous season, departed in quick succession. -</p> - -<p> -Jerry Vane never quite recovered the death of Ida or the -manner of it, and some time elapsed before the gallant -heart of Trevor Chute got the better of the shock of that -night; but he could never forget the expression of the dead -eyes that seemed to have looked again into his! -</p> - -<p> -He could recall the fierce and sudden excitement of -finding himself face to face with his first tiger in India, and -putting the contents of both barrels into him, just as the -monster was in the act of tearing down the shrieking mahout -from his perch behind the ears of his shikaree elephant in a -jungle where the twisted branches had to be torn aside at -every step; and the nearly similar emotion with which -he speared his first wild hog—an old boar, but too likely to -turn like an envenomed devil when hard pressed and the -pace grew hot; he could recall its glistening bristles that -were like blue steel, its red eyes, and its fierce white tusks, -as he whetted them in his dying wrath against a peepul -tree; he could recall, too, the shock of the first bullet that -took him in the arm, the vague terror of a barbed arrow -that pierced his thigh, and which, for all he knew, might be -poisoned; but never was mortal shock or emotion equal to -the horror that burst upon him that night in the -drawing-room of Carnaby Court, when a grasp of iron seemed to -tighten round his heart, 'when the hair of his flesh stood -up,' the light went out of his eyes, and he sank into oblivion. -</p> - -<p class="t3"> -* * * * * -</p> - -<p> -Brighter times come anon. -</p> - -<p> -None can sorrow for ever; though that of the inmates of -Carnaby Court did not pass away with the snows of winter—nay, -nor with the sweet buds of spring or the roses of -summer, when they climbed round the oriels and gables of -the grand old mansion. Thus it was not for many months -after that night of dread and dismay—that most mournful -Christmas Eve—that the merry chimes were heard to ring -in the old square tower of the Saxon church for the marriage -of Clare and Trevor Chute, who passed, with chastened -looks and much of tender sorrow, amid their long-deferred -happiness, the now flower-covered garden of the gentle -sister who had been indirectly the good angel who brought -that happiness to pass. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> -THE END. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t4"> -BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD AND LONDON. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HAUNTED LIFE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law 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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