The following morn is bright and glorious, the mountains, ah! the grandeur of them, their peaks in changing hues as the sun's breath grows warmer, cut the azure of the heavens, and rest there; one involuntarily feels on a morning like this one cannot love nature intensely enough; and now, Old Sol, giving his brightest beams to the Italian, who loves him, shines into every corner of the Eternal City, from the King in his palace, and the Pope in the palace of the Vatican, to the peasant stretched on his door-step; for the good king Victor Emmanuel is sick, and the bright beams shining through his window, cheer him; and he thinks of his people who are poor and ill, and also welcomes the sunbeams for their sake. And his gentle Holiness, Pius IX, in walking past the great painting of the Transfiguration, thinks "how glorious it looks in the sun's rays," and he too was glad. And the lazy peasant lying in the sun, stretched himself and was glad, for surely many noble ladies and gentlemen would be abroad in the sweet warm air, and he would beg manysoldiand buy macaroni.
Vaura, usually an early riser, but not having slept until dawn, was only awakened an hour ago by a sunbeam opening her eyelids, so that it was luncheon hour ere she made her appearance in the aesthetic little morning-room, whither Lady Esmondet had ordered it to be brought; on entering kissed her god-mother, and giving her hand to Lionel, her eyes drooping under his long gaze,
"You look quite yourself, god-mother mine, after your nights rest," she said.
"Yes, I am feeling very well to-day; but your roses are of a pale tint, how is that?"
"Whose roses could bloom with undimmed lustre surrounded by flowers of such brilliant colouring?" she answered, evasively, indicating by a gesture the floral beauties filling the vases and jars, not wishing to own before Lionel her sweet sleeplessness of the night.
Captain Trevalyon's man now brought letters from the post-office.
"Ah," said Vaura, taking her share, "one from Haughton Hall in the handwriting of madame, and to me."
On opening it a very well-executed photograph of the Hall fell to the floor, which Lionel picked up, while Vaura read aloud as follows:
"I enclose you a photo of the Hall as I have made it. It was a perfect barracks when I saw it first; see what money can do. The American eagle is a great bird, eh? You must marry money. I shall have a gentleman here at Christmas with lots of land and a title. The Duchess of Hatherton would sound well."
"Abete noireof yours," said Lady Esmondet.
"Yes," said Vaura, carelessly, with a shrug of shoulders, going on with the letter.
"I must also settle Blanche this coming season. You observed, I suppose, how, much flesh she had; well, she loses weight every month; secret pining I expect for that naughty"—and Vaura stopped short as she saw the name, a curl of contempt coming to her lip as she read silently—"Trevalyon. She thought by his attentions that he loved her, poor thing; but the Colonel and myself would or could never hear of such a match, as he has a snug little wife hid away somewhere. I have Major Delrose a good deal with me. Your uncle doesn't care for him, neither would you; but the Colonel, dear man, is considerate, and don't expect everyone to be cut after his cloth; and as you will never be able to come north in the cold weather you won't meet him. Give my love to the willowy Marchmonts. We are the gayest of butterflies.
"Your frolicsome,"KATE HAUGHTON,"Haughton Hall, Surrey, England.
"MISS VERNON,"The villa Iberia,"Rome, Italy."November, 1877."
To Delrose at Haughton madame, after mailing above, had said:
"I have settled Miss Vernon at all events; she will not show up at Christmas. I know she hates the Duke of Hatherton so I told her he is coming, and I don't know as yet whether he is. It takes a woman to outwit a woman."
"I cannot see," Delrose had answered, "why you don't want her, Kate."
"Because you are blind, you goose; if she came Trevalyon might, and you don't want him; and I don't want her, and so I please you, you ungrateful man."
To Trevalyon by same mail came:
"My own idol, come to me and Delrose shall go; I have written Miss Vernon that he is here, because Idon't wanther freezing ladyship. Everyone says you are so naughty in having a hidden wife; they will cut you I am sure; but Ilove you all the more for your naughtiness; only come to yours evermore.—KATE HAUGHTON."
Trevalyon, giving a weary sigh on reading above, tearing it in two, tossed it into the fire; now opening one from his cousin Judith, he read as follows:
"DEAR COUSIN,—Father is not at all well; the trip across, as I feared, has been too much for him; the suburbs of New York, our home, suited him better than foggy London; however, dear father was obliged to come on business, as he has informed you when last able to write. He wishes me to enclose to you a scrap from the 'society' columns ofoneofourNew York newspapers. 'We give a tid-bit of scandal (from a London paper), in brief, as the hero is a nephew of our Sir Vincent Trevalyon, of ——. Capt. Trevalyon (of the Towers, Northumberland), a gay society man, fascinating and handsome, is about to bring from her seclusion, his hidden wife; some years ago he had eloped with a friend's spouse, friend now has shuffled off mortal coil; outcome, my Lady Trevalyon, who will be the sensation of the coming season.' Father says to tell him on you honour, what truth there is in above—and I am,
"Yours very sincerely,"Judith Trevalyon,"The Langham, London, Nov. 77.
"Capt. Trevalyon,"The Villa Iberia,"Rome, Italy."
On reading above, Trevalyon, with sudden impulse, and craving for sympathy, handed it to his old friend.
"Too bad, too bad, Lionel; how grieved I am for you."
At the same time, Vaura, who had turned again to her lines fromMadame, on reading over, said as she discussed her luncheon.
"This bit of duck will be a palatablemorceauas compared with my letter from Haughton; Madame does not write to please, she merely pleases to write."
Seeing Trevalyon very grave and silent, she said with kindly intent, and to change the current of his thought. "I suppose, god-mother, you have sketched out your plans for the day long before I joined you."
"No, we could come to no decision, so have left it for you to arrange."
"Tres bienif so, from the glimpse I have through the window, I suggest that our first trip be to the gardens."
"Happy thought; Lionel, will you ring the bell like a good fellow?"
Somers answering, her mistress said:
"Bring me suitable wraps for the garden, please, and tell Saunders to do likewise for Miss Vernon."
The maids now appear with out-door robings; Lady Esmondet is made comfortable, when Lionel goes to Vaura's assistance; 'tis a pretty red-riding-hood and cloak attached, and contrasts charmingly with her soft gray cashmere gown, her short brown hair and sweet face look well coming from the warm red setting of the hood.
"Never mind it; it was never meant to fasten," she says, seeing his grave eyes on her face, instead of the fastening; he does not speak but only thinks, "My enemies will not let me call her mine;" she is sure he can see the colour come and go in her face as her heart beats irregularly, and says gently, putting up her soft hands, "never mind it;" for answer he allows the hook and eye to fasten holding her hands for a moment in his. They then followed their friend through the French window down the few stone steps to the gardens. There were many flowers in bloom and the green of the orange and lemon trees was as rich as when the year was young. The villa of white marble was built on a gentle rising knoll, prettily wooded, at the foot of which running through a glade was a tiny streamlet clear as crystal, which with its ripple and the singing of the birds lent music to the air. On the highest garden site was built a tower from whence an extensive view of the city is gained, with its spires and palaces, together with the violet sea, and the ever changing majestic mountains. The lower part of the tower is an arbour covered with roses and vines. The orchard was on the high plateau on which the villa stood, laying in part at the back and side of the mansion; the lawn and flower garden were separated from the orchard by a smiling wood nymph and grim satyr who each held an end of a chain of silver.
"The laughing nymph looks as if bent on making the grim satyr give way to mirth," said Vaura.
"It is a pretty idea," said Lady Esmondet, "the having one's orchard so laid out as to be an ornament to one's grounds, instead of as we do, merely as a place to grow fruit."
"Yes, I think so," said Lionel, "and at my place the lawn is strewn by acorn, apple and the pear."
"The apple blossom is beautiful," said Vaura; "but whom have we here," catching sight of a statue through the trees.
"None other," said Lionel, "than the powerful Populonia who protects the fruit from storms."
"And placed high enough!" said Vaura "to see the storm a brewing, with us it would be a great dogversusa small boy."
They now descend terraced steps arched by trellised roses and come to a fountain fed by a spring down in the deep cool dell.
"Shall we drink from the brook by the way?" half sang Vaura, and stooping, picked up from a small projection a silver goblet, filling she handed to Lady Esmondet; there was another which, taking herself, said, "and now for my toast, 'May the absent Marquis, who has an eye for the beautiful in Nature and Art be always surrounded by both.'"
"Amen," responded Trevalyon, "which is the best I can do, seeing DelCastello did not remember me in providing two goblets only."
"Dual solitude," said Vaura in low tones, her god-mother having gone on.
"The very mention of it makes my heart throb," he whispered.
"What delightful gardens," said Lady Esmondet returning "beside this fountain, under the shade of olive trees, it must be delightfully cool the hottest of summer days, and a favourite spot, if one may judge from the number of seats about."
"'Tis another Eden," said Vaura, "from the mountains yonder to the green shade of myrtles, olives, and orange trees, lit up by the pink and red blossoms at their feet."
"You will revel here in the early morning,ma belle, if you have the taste of your childhood."
"You remember me, then?" and the dark eyes look up from under the red hood.
"I have never forgotten," he says, quietly.
"Don't you think, Vaura, dear?" said Lady Esmondet, "we had better return to the villa and decide what we shall do with the rest of the day."
"Yes, I suppose so, dear; though one would fain linger here longer."
As they retrace their steps, Trevalyon, decided for them, that the air being delightfully warm and balmy, a drive up and down the Corso, would be pleasant. The fresh air and new scene dispelled all Vaura's languor, and heightened the spirits of her companions.
"The Corso is even gayer than usual," observed Lady Esmondet.
"And with its best bib and tucker on, if I am any judge ofla toilette," said Lionel.
"To receive threedistinguestravellers," laughed Vaura; "I wonder who society will jot us down as in her huge note book."
"As the Briton abroad," said Lady Esmondet, "to revel in the sunbeams, which our gold cannot buy from our leaden skies."
A carriage now passed, in which were seated two ladies, evidentlyEnglish, who bowed and smiled to Lady Esmondet and Trevalyon.
"Who are your friends?" enquired Vaura; "I have seen them somewhere, but forget when and where."
"They are the Duchess of Wyesdale and her daughter, the Lady Eveline Northingdon," answered Trevalyon, as Lady Esmondet bowed to other acquaintances.
"The little Duchess, who is insane enough to think Lionel in love with her," thought his friend, remembering gay Mrs. Wingfield's gossip, and that her name had been coupled with Trevalyon's; it was only that she was a foolish little woman, and let society see that she had a penchant for Captain Trevalyon. At that time the Duke was alive to bear the title and represent the estate in Wiltshire, the Scottish moors and shooting box, with the town house in London; very useful in that way, so his Duchess told herself, and in truth, only in that character, did the fair, frivolous Lady Wyesdale appreciate her easygoing fox-hunting spouse.
"You can run the season very well without me," he would say, "while I do a little shooting; you are just cut out for London, while the conventionalities bore me."
And so it came to pass, that at their London house, Irene, the Duchess, (or, as she was commonly called, Posey, from her maiden name of Poseby, and from her habit of posing on all occasions), reigned in her own way. In the autumn of '76, the Duke had been called to his long home; he had been knocking down birds on the Scottish moors. Coming home late one night to dinner in high spirits, and exultant over his full bag, he found a telegram from his friend, Gerald Elton, a keen sportsman, asking him to "telegraph himimmediatelyat Edinburgh, if he was at the 'Bird cage;' if so, he would join him at once." "Bless my life," said poor Wyesdale to a friend with him; "Elton is the very man we want, no end of a shot, and rare fun; but I must send my telegram off at once, or I'll lose him; but how am I to come at pen and ink in the 'cage' is more than I know; oh, yes, I remember when I came down last, Posey would have me take pen and ink (and a great bore it was) in order to telegraph her of my return; don't know why women are such a bundle of nerves, they oughtn't to be nervous at the return of a husband; but where did I put it, hang me if I know; if I find it the boy can ride over with it, if not I must go myself; oh! I remember, it's in the other room on a shelf with collars and cuffs; birds are not particular, so I never wear 'em;" without a light he went in, feeling along the shelves with his hand, unluckily for him overturning the inkstand, knocking the penhandle against the wall, and the rusty pen full of ink, into the palm of his right hand, where it broke; he and his friend extracted most of it, putting sticking plaster over the wound. He would not trust a verbal message to his sleepy keeper, now full of beer; so soon on horseback and away.
Elton arrived in due course, to find his friend with his arm in a sling, swollen and painful.
"You'd better have a surgeon, old fellow, or you'll not fill another bag this October."
Not until his arm had turned black would he consent; then the surgeon was called, he looked grave, saying that a great part of the pen had not been extracted; that ink, pen, and rust had done their work, and to save his life the arm must be amputated. This the poor fellow refused to do, saying he would rather die than sever his good right hand from his body.—If he could not hold a gun, nor ride Titan with the hounds he would go. He would be sorry to leave Evy, but Posey could do very well without him, and breathing a prayer for his soul, Harold, Duke of Wyesdale, was gone.
And now after her year of fashionable mourning, his widow is pluming herself in colours, and Dame Rumour hath it that the somewhat fair, slightly faded dowager Duchess having buried her dead, will not say nay to another wooer. She was, as usual, posing in a corner of her carriage, and priding herself on her slight, girlish figure; wore no wraps; looking blue and chilly, for when one was driving the air was just fresh enough for something warmer than a gown of pale blue silk.
"Why will women go about looking as if Jack Frost had just given them a chilly embrace?" said Lionel, his gaze dwelling admiringly on Vaura's warm beauty, arrayed in short, tight-fitting black velvet jacket, small white plush bonnet, scarlet feathers and scarlet and white strings tied at one side of her pretty chin.
"The azure heavens framing fair angels; quite a sufficient robing, and appropriate; oh! grumbler," laughed Vaura.
"She is no amazon, and should wear other than silken armour,ma belle."
"Cupid's darts can easier penetrate," said Vaura, gaily.
"Not through a chilled heart, as compared with a warm one," he answers, quietly.
"Can one be cold in Italia. I do believe Old Sol pauses over us in his chariot, and smiles love-warm smiles upon us all," she continued.
"What a shame to see such pretty beasts in harness, Lionel, as those attached to our landau," observed Lady Esmondet.
"Yes, they are a fine pair and well matched."
"The one with a mane a trifle the longest," said Vaura, "reminds me ofOriole that I used to ride when a girl at Haughton."
"Yes," said Trevalyon, "I was just going to ask you if you noticed it. What merry rides those were! what would I not give to (with my dearly bought experience of life) commence over again from those days."
"I remember feeling quite the woman in the scamper across country with you and dear uncle in my long habit; neither of you knew how I hated to don my short frock on my return."
"You were always a charming little hostess; and a few yards more in a draper's shop, instead of about your ankles detracted nothing from your charms."
"I did the best I could in taking time by the forelock, to be able to put in a word or two with your lordship and Uncle Eric; I read old periodicals and new, ancient history with modern philosophy and science notes."
"And they have you now, Vaura dear," said her godmother. "A womanly woman, every inch of you."
"You are partial, dear; yet I did in those days long for an Ovid and a metamorphosis."
"Do you remember the day I extricated you and Isabel in the Tower?"
"Yes," she said, a warmer rose coming to her cheek, "but my knight promised to blot that page from his memory.
"And so he endeavoured; but to no purpose."
"My brave knight was also an unmerciful tyrant."
"In the fines he levied," he said, leaning towards her; "they were the sweetest he ever had."
A soft light came to Vaura's face, as leaning into her corner she gave herself up to thoughts of the bygone. And she smiled now her woman's smile in the eyes that were on her face. And yet sighed as she thought of the jealousy of her boyish lovers of bygone days, for Roland Douglas and Guy had rebuked her for so often in the tales she wove for their amusement, having Lion Heart as the favoured knight.
"My girlish days at Haughton Hall were very, very happy," she said, quietly.
"And yet you would not go back to them and leave the dear present," said Lionel, looking into her eyes with his mesmeric look, and holding her hand tight as he assisted her from the carriage after Lady Esmondet, at the door of the villa.
"How know you, my brave lion-heart; you belong to those days, but I am content."
They had been luxuriating for about four weeks in the art treasures collected in the Eternal City. Their eyes feasted on so much of loveliness in gazing upon living marbles and speaking forms on canvas that Vaura was often moved to a feeling akin to pain as she thought:
"Oh, the pity of it; the pity of it, that the gods among men, living, breathing men, who created these soul-stiring things should be themselves dead!"
On returning from a long ride one morning Vaura and Lionel found a gay party of callers chatting with Lady Esmondet; amongst them was Vaura's old friend, Robert Douglas. The Duchess of Wyesdale was also there; come with the avowed purpose of calling upon Lady Esmondet and making the acquaintance of Miss Vernon, but in reality to see Captain Trevalyon, whom she had watched for in vain, having expected him to call since the day they had met on the Corso. But "he cometh not," she said, was still the burden of her song, so she determined to "beard the lion in his den," though she would be obliged by so doing to become acquainted with Miss Vernon, and she was one of those women who, invariably envious of a more beautiful sister, keep them at arms' length. She could not but own to herself how beautiful Vaura was. The men raved of her, and she, the faded little dowager duchess, disliked her accordingly. She had already outstayed the bounds of politeness, but being determined to gain her point said, languidly, to her hostess:
"I really must trespass upon your kindness a little longer, dear LadyEsmondet, I wish so much to meet Miss Vernon."
So that, as it was late when Vaura and Lionel returned, it came to pass that Saunders met her mistress at the hall door with a request from Lady Esmondet that she would come immediately to the morning-room without waiting to change her habit. So Vaura entered, gay, radiant, and with a fresh bloom upon her cheek, engendered partly by gentle caresses of the invigorating air, partly by the warmth in the looks and words of the handsome man by her side.
She made her way in answer to a look from her god-mother at once to her side, where the introduction took place.
"Her complexion is very well got up," thought thepetitefaded Duchess, as she bowed carelessly, and who had used tints and washes ever since her sixteenth year. "I wonder whose wash she wears," and with a conventional word or two she turned withempressementto Lionel, greeting him warmly, as Vaura crossed the room to where her old playmate sat, giving only a passing word to acquaintances.
Lady Esmondet thought, as she glanced at the Duchess of Wyesdale, roused almost to animation in her reception of Captain Trevalyon, "Lionel is the magnet that has drawn her here; she has not forgotten her old penchant for him."
On seeing his hostess disengaged a young Frenchman, wearing the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour, won by a brave act in the Franco- German war, stepped to her side; he held in his hand a volume he had been admiring,—views of the lovely lake scenery of the British Isles.
They were soon discanting warmly upon their respective beauties, and became so interested that Lady Esmondet scarcely noticed that she was bidding adieu to the fashionable butterflies who had been killing time in her presence for the last hour or two. At last they are all gone with the exception of the Duchess, who has risen to make her exit, and Robert Douglas, who is remaining to luncheon. The Duchess is just saying to Lionel:
"Oh, you aresureto be here, and you won't refuseme, Iknow; I'd rather be Juliet to your Romeo in my tableaux than—. But, oh, dear, the others have heard us, and I did so hope it would have been a little secret betweenus, you know."
And Lady Wyesdale affected a childish look of terror as she turned to her hostess, saying:
"You won't think us very dreadful, Lady Esmondet?"
"Oh, dear, no; there's nothing dreadful in a pictured love scene."
But in reality she felt annoyed that this silly woman should pretend to an understanding between Captain Trevalyon and herself.
"And you won't tell Miss Vernon," she continued, beseechingly, "I want her to be surprised."
Vaura and Rev. Robert had joined the group as Captain Trevalyon was saying, laughingly,
"I cannot promise you, Lady Wyesdale, I am in Lady Esmondet's hands; if, as I expect the 12th of January sees her at Haughton Hall, I cannot possibly be with you, unless my photo in the garb you wish will suit."
"Of course he will say so before them," thought the Duchess, aloud, she says tapping him on the arm with her cardcase, "Come to my box at the Theatre to-night, I want to consult you about something, since dear Harold died," and a corner of her handkerchief went to her eyes, "I often feel so alone."
"Thanks, I shall wait upon you as early as possible; to-night I go to the Quirinal."
"So sorry," and making her adieux she added "I cannot have you."
"Yes, Emmanuel is Victor to-night," said Vaura gaily.
The butler announced luncheon, and Priest Robert gave his arm to MissVernon, saying:
"And that is a woman! how are we of the clergy ever going to waken a throb of life into the soul of such!"
"Were you in the pulpit at this moment, Robert, I am inclined to think you would discourse as St. Paul on idle-wandering-about-from-house-to- house-women; he was severe on my sisterhood,"
"They were not your sisterhood, you have no part with such."
"There would be a double lecture from St. Paul," said Lionel as he took the end of the table, "could he enter the Russell Club, Regent Street some day what a Babel of tongues, what tid-bits of gossip would electrify him."
"Yes," said Robert Douglas, "a men and women's club would scarcely agree with his views of what our human nature should live for."
"I hear it is extremely difficult for a pretty woman to become a member of Eve's she is as a rule black-balled; so a fair face does not always win," said Lionel.
"I think it would be extremely stupid to belong to an exclusively women's club; so much of gossip would kill me," said Lady Esmondet.
"I don't know," said Vaura, "whether either of you gentlemen are aware of how by a cleverruseour gay friend Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, notwithstanding her good looks, became a member of Eve's. She told my godmother and I of it soon after the occurrence."
"I have never heard of it," said Robert Douglas.
"Pray tell us," said Lionel.
"'Tis a long story," said Vaura, "in fact a three-volume one, but you shall only have a page or two. Between the President of Eve's the Hon. Miss Silverthorne and Mrs. Eustace Wingfield, there is an old feud dating from their school days."
While at school Mrs. Eustace, then May Raynor, was the very incarnation of fun and mischief, Silverthorne being extremely plain and severe in style. The Wingfield estate bordered on the school property. Eustace, prospective heir to his uncle, often ran down from London, much to the dismay of the lady principal, for he was no end of a flirt. May Raynor's pretty face attracted him from the first, but Silverthorne had a soft spot in her heart for him. Jealous of May she reported her to the principal; for revenge Wingfield cast languishing glances at Silverthorne in church. She never having had a lover actually informed the principal that, when he came to her to sue for her hand, she, as her guardian, was to say him yea. On May being married and out of the school-room, to her adored, she, Silverthorne, vowed revenge, if ever in her power, so that, when two seasons ago, Mr. Wingfield bet May a box, duringlaBernhardtsaison, against an embroidered dressing gown that she would be black-balled at Eve's, on Mrs. Clayton proposing her, the president, looking black, declared, on its being put to the vote on the following afternoon, she should have her two black balls, Mrs. Clayton informed May. "Now, what shall, be my card," exclaimed May, "for my bet shall be won. I have it," and staining her face yellow with green glasses and unbecoming attire, she attended a woman's right meeting at which her enemy was chairman. Seated immediately in front of the platform, Miss Silverthorne gloated over her changed looks. She was made a member. Her enemy saying to Mrs. Clayton, "How hideous she has become; how he will hate her!"
"What a green-eyed monster is jealousy," said Reverend Robert.
"But our gay friend won her bet and a stare at the Bernhardt, in spite of everything," laughed Trevalyon.
"But I fancy gay Mrs. Wingfield would not often be found at 'Eves;' such an army of plain women would be too many for her," said reverend Douglas.
"Oh! no," said Vaura, taking his arm back to the sunlit morning-room, "she only goes occasionally to throw a white ball for a pretty woman."
"I have sometimes come across her with Wingfield at the 'Abermarle'; she likes a little bass mixed with the treble of her life," said Trevalyon.
"She is right," said Vaura, "one would grow weary of continually piping to the same key."
"Isabel tells me they are very gay at Haughton," said Reverend Robert.
"Incessant revelry seems to be a necessity in the life of Madame," said Lady Esmondet.
"Tastes differ, god-mother dear, the wild game of life that suits her palate would suit ours as badly, as (what she would consider) our tame game would suit her," saying which she joined Lionel, a little apart at a table strewn with music which he wished her to select from.
"Do you believe in presentimentscara mia?"
"Yes; but I am wondrously content and don't want eyen to think of presentiments."
"I don't either,ma chere," he said, a little sadly, leaning his elbows on the table, his head for a moment upon them, "but I have one now that the Fates are putting black threads on their distaff for me."
"Don't look so sorrowful or you will affect me."
"Did you and I live in Pagan times,ma belle, I should be tempted to offer incense at their shrine, so pleasing, that their black threads would give place to gold and silver."
"Your incense would be flattery; they are but women, what would they more," she said smilingly.
"There are women, and woman," he said absently, the grave look still in the eyes resting on her face.
"There is something more than usual troubling you; share it with me, do, and then you know you will only have half to bear," and for one moment her soft hand is on his arm, her eyes full of sympathy on his face.
"It is only a presentiment,ma belle," and his hand is laid on hers.
But now there is a tap at the door, and his servant says:
"Telegram from England, sir."
"My presentiment," he says, in same low tone.
"Face it bravely, it is not, I trust, bad news."
"It is," he says gravely, "for I must leave you."
Vaura turned pale, and Lady Esmondet said:
"No bad news I hope, Lionel?"
"Yes, dear friend, it is from Judith, and states that "Uncle Vincent is no better and wishes to see me," but she does not say at once, or if there be any danger."
"I am sorry, Sir Vincent is no better, but every cloud has its silver lining; you may not really be obliged to go; he may rally," she said kindly.
"Yes, that is true, I shall telegraph my cousin to know if I must go at once; if not, you will be leaving Italy so soon we may yet journey together."
"I hope so," continued Lady Esmondet.
"But 'tis hard for her," said Vaura, "a stranger in a strange land; can I do anything for her, write some of our friends to call upon her, anything, only tell me, the Claytons, are kind," and she is beside him in a moment.
"You are very thoughtful, but Judith is extremely self-reliant."
"Do not give way to depression, Trevalyon," said Reverend Douglas; "our paths cannot all be those of pleasantness."
"Don't go, Robert, I want you to dine with us at seven; only theMarchmonts."
"Thank you, Lady Esmondet, I shall be with you, but for the present,au revoiras I have even-song."
"I am grieved at this," said Lionel sadly, "for something tells me I shall have to go; I have known very little of Uncle Vincent; you are aware, dear Lady Alice, that he and my poor father were not friendly; my cousin is independent; and as I said before self-reliant to the last degree."
"It will not be so hard for her in that case," said Lady Esmondet.
"I am selfish enough to regret we have anyone to dinner, if I am obliged to leave you on to-morrow."
"I was just thinking so," said Lady Esmondet, "our evenings together have been perfect, but alas for changes; and Vaura, dear, the landau is at the door, you know we arranged for a drive."
"Yes, I remember, but let it wait."
"We may not have another opportunity, Lionel, for private converse; you will write; and Vaura and I shall (D.V.) be at London on the 4th or 5th; and shall meet you again at Haughton Hall."
"Yes, I shall meet you there," he answered thoughtfully; "my plans are not yet matured, but I want you to becertainto telegraph me of your return; I shall meet you at London."
"Fate is cruel to send you away, and at Christmas, but I am forgetting your poor uncle," said Vaura kindly.
"I shall telegraph of our return without fail, Lionel; and now about yours to your cousin, had you not best run away and attend to it, we shall only take a short drive, and be here as soon as you."
"Come with us," said Vaura, "it will save time."
"So it will, and to kill the time I feel that is left to me with you, would be a Sacrilege."
"What route do you take, Lionel?" enquired his friend.
"You are aware I have a commission for Clayton, at Florence, so must first go thither, thence to Bologna, then to Turin, Paris, Calais, Dover and London."
"Shall I ring for Somers, godmother dear, to bring your cloak and bonnet, while I go and don my wraps?"
"Thank you, yes."
Trevalyon, now going quickly to do his friend's side, said:
"I have but a moment, but I want you to know that this mischief is brewing for me at the Hall, and it has rapidly fermented; 'society,' tasting of its bubbles."
"I was sure of it, Lionel, and it is the brew of that woman and MajorDelrose."
"Yes; and their aim is so to damage my reputation that I cannot gain the woman, and the only one I have ever longed for as my own loved wife."
"Heaven grant that there machiavelian manoevres may end in failure."
Here the sweet face and small white plush bonnet, scarlet strings and feathers appear at the door, so a truce to confidentials.
"I shall be so lonely if Fate takes me out of your life even for a short time," and Vaura's hand is tightly clasped as he assists her into the landau.
"We shall be lonely also."
"I hope so."
"I must say our lives have been very complete at the villa," said LadyEsmondet; "our cup of content has been full."
"To the brim;" and his eyes turn at last from Vaura's face as he says, "you had better drop me here, at the telegraph office while you turn into the Corso," and stepping from the landau, lifting his hat he was gone.
"I wonder," said Vaura, "should poor Sir Vincent die, if MissTrevalyon will return to New York."
"I am sure of it; Lionel tells me his cousin dislikes English life as much as she likes that of her ain countree."
Vaura fell into a reverie; after some moments, waking to herself, said:
"I did not show you the interesting epistle I received from Mrs. Haughton, in which she says, 'society' hath it that Capt. Trevalyon rejoices in a 'hidden wife.'"
"A pure invention got up to hurt him."
"But why?" she asked with assumed carelessness.
"Because he is not at a certain woman's feet, she has joined herself with black Delrose, his enemy of years, is my surmise, and I think thedenouementwill prove me correct."
"Poor dear uncle; his life is not an idyl."
"His mistake, Vaura,ma chere, is a weight of care to me, that I try in vain to shake off;" and something very like a tear glistened as she spoke.
The friends were unusually silent in the drive home. Arrived there they separated to dress for dinner; Vaura threw herself on her lounge to rest and think. "Poor, uncle Eric, what a woman he has put on the shackles of matrimony for; and now her attempt to injure our friend; poor Lion, my heart is full of pity for you and you do not know it, because you cannot speak until the "difficulty" is overcome; ah! me, what a world of lies it is, for that this 'hidden wife,' is a myth, and an inspiration from Lucifer to Madame, I am quite sure of. But alas! should their be one grain of truth in the bushel of lies, and that he cannot prove to 'society's' satisfaction that 'twas only a grain of youthful folly, that his manhood in its nobility had nothing to do with it. If he cannot do this, then he will never ask me to be anything more to him than what I shall always be, his friend; poor darling, what with his father's grief at his misguided mother's frailty, he has drank deep of the waters of bitterness; the unruly member set in motion by scandal, envy, hatred, or malice as motive power, is more to be dreaded as agent of evil, than dynamite in any form. But I must ring for Saunders and dress for dinner."
"Here are some roses, Mademoiselle; the Captain cut them before he went out and bid me keep them fresh for you."
"Very well, Saunders, I shall wear them this evening; that is, the yellow ones; put the others in a vase, or give them to me, I shall, while you get out my ruby velvet; I am pale; it is high waist and no sleeves; take out my gold ornaments and bracelets—the plain gold bands; an old lace collar, with roses, shall be my neck-gear; hand me my vinagrette; I have a slight headache; and please comb my hair gently, it will be pleasant, yes; that will do."
"Your hair is a fortune to you Mademoiselle, so long and thick."
"Yes, it is, but I like it best because of its fluffiness; it is no trouble; weatherproof and waterproof.
"So it is, Mademoiselle."
"Now for my gown."
"It fits beautiful, Mademoiselle."
"Yes, I am quite satisfied with it."
And well she may be, for the robe might have grown on the perfect form, every curve and roundness of figure being followed by the close clinging velvet; and the arms, bare to the shoulder, fit models for a sculptor, shone fair as the flesh of a child-blonde against the rich ruby of the velvet, The perfumed bath had refreshed her, and though a trifle pale, from heart emotion as to Lionel's probable leave-taking; her lips always wore a "pretty redness," her eyes had a tender look, while the fluffy bronze hair had its own beauty as it shaded the brow.
"You are looking charming,ma chere," said Lady Esmondet, whom Vaura met in the hall.
"Thank you, dear, your eyes are partial, I fear."
"No, no, not as you imply."
As they entered the drawing-room, Robert Douglas came from a comfortable corner where he had been studying a small work of Thomas a Kempis, which he quietly returned to his pocket saying smiling:
"You see I am here to welcome you; I made myself at home and came here immediately at the close of even-song."
"We feel complimented that you prefer our society to those very ecclesiastical looking quarters of yours," said Lady Esmondet.
"And where the ancient fathers look from the walls in wonderment at the priest of to-day, as he pores over printed records of their bygone lives."
"Why, Vaura, how did you know that the pictured fathers grace the walls of my humble retreat?"
"From Isabel."
"Ah, I wondered, for my study is never entered by a strange foot, it is my rest."
"Is not your rest a misnomer, Robert? for from all I hear, you literally rest nowhere," inquired Lady Esmondet.
"In my opinion, Lady Esmondet, a priest of the church should never rest, but always have his armour on, for there is 'so little done, so much to do.' Thank God we are waking up at last; look at the priest of to-day (I say it in all humility) as compared with the priest of fifty years ago."
"True, true," answered Lady Esmondet, "but, don't you think that the zealous Low Church clergy are doing as much for the human race as you are?"
"Undoubtedly, for the human race; but not for the church, for their people often lapse into dissent."
"I don't believe in extremes; I respect the man who is thorough," said Vaura, seeing that Capt. Trevalyon had entered and seated himself beside her god-mother, evidently wishing to talk with her, and so, to help him, taking up the thread of the argument herself.
"But Vaura," said the priest, "don't you think that in the Ritualist, you have the man who is thorough?"
"Not exactly, he is extreme; the man who is thorough has no uncertain sound; he neither culls from Rome her vestments, nor from Dissent her hymns; both Rome and Dissent are thorough, why shouldn't he. But a truce to argument, a gentleman's trap stops the way," she said smiling, "is even now at the steps; his back is this way, so I cannot name him; he talks to his servant, in bottle green livery, who has a decidedly Hibernian countenance."
"Oh," said Capt. Trevalyon, starting to his feet, "Lady Esmondet, it must be an Irishman, an acquaintance of mine, Sir Dennis O'Gormon, who wanted very much to make the acquaintance of the ladies of the villa Iberia. I had forgotten all about my asking him for to-day."
"It makes no difference, Lionel, 'tis little wonder you forgot such a small matter in the many more important you have had."
Here a servant announced Sir Denis O'Gormon.
"Ah, O'Gormon, glad to see you. Lady Esmondet, permit me to present to you Sir Dennis O'Gormon. Miss Vernon allow me to introduce Sir Dennis; Douglas, I believe you and O'Gormon have met before."
Lady Esmondet and Miss Vernon shook hands with and welcomed their guest, Lady Esmondet saying graciously, "Any friend of Captain Trevalyon is always welcome."
"Thank you, Lady Esmondet, but by my faith, Trevalyon's a lucky fellow, and one whom I have always envied but never more so than now," he continued laughingly, "when with all my fascinations I am only welcomed by two charming women for his sake."
Mrs. Marchmont and Miss Marchmont were now announced. The two ladies floated in the most approved style towards their hostess, who rose to welcome them. They were ethereal in every respect, clad in a thin material of pale green, neck bare and elbow sleeves, and looking more like sisters than mother and daughter. Sandy of complexion, blue eyed sharp of feature; the mother having the advantage in flesh, the daughter being all the angles joined in one.
"I hate a thin woman," was the whispered criticism of Sir Dennis toTrevalyon, with a suppressed emphasis on the word "hate."
Trevalyon smiled, giving a side glance at Vaura's rounded form, as she bent gracefully with extended hand in welcome.
"Faith, you may well look in that direction," remarked the Irishman, detecting him. "She's fair enough to seduce a look from His Holiness himself."
Here Lady Esmondet introduced Sir Dennis O'Gormon to the Marchmonts;Trevalyon and Douglas having met them before.
The butler now announced dinner, when Lady Esmondet taking the arm of Sir Dennis assigned Mrs. Marchmont to Trevalyon, when Douglas handed in Vaura and Miss Marchmont.
Lady Esmondet found Sir Dennis a pleasant neighbour, who devoted himself equally to Vaura on his left and to his hostess at the head of the table. As usual the table was decorated with the rarest of flowers, which sent forth their delicate perfume from a large stand, the design of which was an imitation of the famed terraced gardens of Semiramis: the shrubs and trees represented in miniature by the most delicate ferns and mosses; the whole a triumph of nature and art. Choice flowers stood in a tiny bed of moss in front of each person. Many delicate desert dishes were not only tempting to the palate, but pleasing to the eye, while the wines in the cellar of the noble Don Ferdinand were well known and appreciated.
"Del Castello has a snug place here, Lady Esmondet," observed SirDennis.
"Extremely so, Sir Dennis. We are much more comfortably placed by the kindness of the Marquis than we should have been at an hotel."
"He is a fine generous soul, always remembering that he is not the only member of the human race," said Sir Dennis (who had met him).
"It is a charming little winter home," said Vaura. "I shall regret to leave it."
"You won't, I hope, leave for some time yet?"
"Yes; much as we love it," she answered; smiling, "we go north ere spring has thawed the sceptre out of the frozen hand of winter."
"I am sorry to hear that. But you don't surely go as soon as my friendTrevalyon?"
Vaura hesitated a moment, not wishing to be a messenger of death at a dinner table, when Trevalyon came to her aid, cutting Mrs. Marchmont short in a dissertation on the merits of shaded wool versus plain, by saying,
"Pardon me, Miss Vernon. I may be obliged, O'Gormon, to leave forEngland sooner than I expected; if so, it will be alone."
"One of the penalties of bachelorhood, Trevalyon; by my faith, 'tis a lonely loneliness."
"I thought most of you glory in the freedom of winging your flight when you please, without having to say, by your leave," said Vaura, gaily.
"Not always," said Trevalyon, quietly.
"What do you say, Lady Esmondet. Don't you think a fellow is happier and less lonely when he cuts bachelor life?"
"Depends on the cards in his hands, and how he plays them, SirDennis," answered his host, laconically.
"True, Lady Esmondet, and if the cards are his, the game is won, the difficulty over," said Trevalyon, with a glance at Vaura, "and bliss secured."
"Faith, you're right, Trevalyon."
Here Miss Marchmont's shrill voice was distinctly heard above the general hum, in animated discussion, saying,
"Oh, I'm sure he comes from the East."
The Rev. Douglas was evidently much amused and disputing the point;Miss Marchmont continued,
"The dear creature has such a beautiful colour—so bronzed."
"I'll lay any wager 'the dear creature' means a soldier," saidTrevalyon to Vaura.
Vaura smilingly assented.
"A soldier," exclaimed Mrs. Marchmont in horror; "oh no, Capt.Trevalyon, nothing so naughty; it's Miranda's last pet."
"But we women are given to petting the red-coats, Mrs. Marchmont," said Vaura with a laugh in her voice.
"They're too wild for dear Miranda," said Marchmont mater; "the pet you mean is the last sweet insect you have collected; is it not, my dear child?" she said, anxious for the fair fame of the owner of the fine exhibit in elbow and collar bone.
"Yes, mamma, you are right, but I am so sorry Mr. Douglas is not at one with me; I feel convinced the dear potato bug comes from the east; he is of brilliant colouring and luxurious habit."
Rev. Robert Douglas laughingly shook his head, and Sir Dennis said:
"Miss Marchmont, you cannot imagine the wager Capt. Trevalyon was laying when you talked about the 'bronzed beauty;' he wanted some one to take him up at ten to one you meant a dashing cavalry man, or a 'go-as-he-please' infantry."
"Order! order! O'Gormon," interrupted Trevalyon, laughing.
"Oh! I'm shocked, Capt. Trevalyon," cried Miss Marchmont seriously, "that my dear potato bug, with all his innocent ways, its care of its eggs,—."
Here a general laugh went round the table, except from Marchmontmere, who tried in vain to catch the fair Miranda's eye, who continued bravely, "should be taken for anything so wild as a soldier, who doesn't do anything so useful. But I must convert you, Mr. Douglas," she continued, returning to the siege; "it would be such a sweet study for a clergyman; I shall lend you Cassels' Natural History, and you must promise to read it for my sake," she said gushingly.
Meanwhile, Trevalyon tried in vain to catch the drift of conversation between Vaura and her neighbour, but no, Mrs. Marchmont, though inwardly afraid of this squire of dames; and of his intellect, determined to appear at ease, and so talked on the one engrossing idea of her life; the last conundrum in fancy work, the last fashionable incongruity in the blending of colours. And poor, victimized Lionel longed to breathe in Vaura's refreshing breadth of thought; on his tormentor pausing to recover breath, it was not as balm to a wound to hear Sir Dennis say pleadingly:
"The gardens of the Collona palace are looking lovely in their tints of emerald; it will transport me to my loved isle, Miss Vernon, if you'll walk with me there some day; though our damsels are not fair as the companion I desire, and her rich beauty would add grace to the spot."
"Come, come, Sir Dennis, no flattery, I am jealous for the beauty of those gardens, and do not want to hear, even in jest, my poor looks would add to their charm," she answered gaily, and evading his question.
Here Lady Esmondet, feeling for Lionel's torture, catching Mrs. Marchmont's eye, rose from the table, leaving the gentlemen to discuss the merits of bottles of no plebeian length of neck.
"How sweetly English the fire in the grate looks," observed Mrs.Marchmont.
"Yes, it does; but while at home we really require it to keep away cold, here it is more to remind us of the warm sun gone to rest," said Lady Esmondet.
"There's no doubt the dear Spaniard, the Marquis Del Castello, has an eye for luxurious comfort," said Vaura, as she sank into the corner of atete-a-tetesofa and fell into a reverie of Lionel's probable leave-taking.
While Mrs. Marchmont seated herself in an Elizabethan chair, Miranda placing herself on a footstool by her side and laying her head with its thin sandy curls on her knee.
"What a child you are still, Miranda," said her mother, sentimentally, as she fondled the high cheek-bone.
"You are quite companions," said Lady Esmondet.
"We are bosom friends; more than sisters since the departure of my dear husband."
"Mr. Marchmont has been dead some time, I believe."
"Yes, some twelve years; but, dear Lady Esmondet, Miranda will tell you that I always speak of dear Charles as departed, gone before; more as if he had gone out to buy me some new fancy work, you know; the word 'dead' upsets my nerves so," and the sandy head drooped and a hand was laid on the forehead.
"Yes; dear mamma has such refined feelings."
"Yes," said her hostess, absently, for she heard a messenger arrive, a tap at the door of the dining-room, and knew the message was for the temporary master of the house, an answer to his telegram, and wished the Marchmonts back to their own quarters, so that the complete little trio were alone; but she is forgetting Madame Grundy, so says:
"I believe you intend wintering in Italy."
"Yes, we have rented Rose Cottage to a friend of Mrs. Haughton's, aMajor Delrose, late of the —th Lancers."
"Oh, it'syourcottage he has rented," said Lady Esmondet, awaking to interest.
"Yes; Major Delrose took an awful fancy to it, and Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, took a good deal of trouble in making our arrangements; neither Miranda or myself are strong."
"Strong! What an odious word to apply to us. It smells of milk and milk-maids; we would be uninteresting without our pet ailments."
"Excuse me, my child, I know a zephyr could waft us away."
"Pull-backs would be rather in the way of the onward movement of the zephyr, don't you think?" inquired Vaura, ironically, and glancing at the figure of the speaker, who with her daughter wore, at the instigation of Mrs. Haughton (who laughed with her men friends at the objects they were), skin-tight chamois under-clothing, and with only one narrow underskirt beneath the dress, express the figure so that nothing is left to imagination.
"Ah! Miss Vernon, don't be severe; Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, says you have no pet sins, but if you will only wear tights, I shall send in my own name for them," she said coaxingly.
"Merci! madame," said Vaura lightly, "but Worth has not yet told me my pleasure in life would be enhanced by the encasing of my body in tights, so I shall content myself with myself, as you see me."
"I'm so sorry you won't."
"Yes; but I believe I interrupted you; you were saying something about Mrs. Haughton having kindly smoothed away difficulties in the way of your wintering in Italy;" this she said roused to interest for her uncle's sake, "and this Major Delrose, how was he mixed up with Mrs. Haughton?"
"Oh! yes, Miss Vernon, the dear tights put everything else out of my head; well, as I was saying, Major Delrose longed to be near the Hall, and as the Colonel does not take to him, you see he is a little attentive to Mrs. Haughton, and the dear thing likes him, dear Charles was just like the Colonel, if men have handsome wives they don't like men to admire them; so Mrs. Haughton, dear thing, hit upon this plan, and they both arranged it with us one day they were in, and we were not strong, I mean we were delicate, so we remain as long as the Major wants Rose cottage, then we go to London to my sister, Mrs. Meltonbury, for the season."
"Ah! I understand, quite a friendly arrangement," answered Vaura, a trifle sarcastically. Here a diversion was caused by the entrance of the gentlemen.
The fair Miranda raised her sandy head from her mother's knee and looked languishingly at the priest, who smiled as he took a seat beside her.
"I am so glad we have you in Rome during our stay," observed Mrs. Marchmont, gushingly, "you will be such company for Miranda while I am embroidering; the sweet child was saying she should so much like to go to you for confession."
"Confessing! who is confessing?" said Sir Dennis, as he entered, "faith for once I would not say no to playing priest where there is a lovely penitent to shrive," and he glanced at Vaura and was making for the sofa beside her, but Lionel with one long step gained their mutual goal, saying:
"Priest Douglas will not allow you to entrench upon his preserves,O'Gorman."
"Faith! you wouldn't either," said the Irishman with a side glance at the sofa.
"But tell me," continued Trevalyon, "confess, reverent Father, dost thou at confession bestow the gentle kiss of reconciliation?"
"You should not disclose the secrets of the confessional, Robert," said Lady Esmondet, coming to his aid.
"No! trust me," answered Robert, and Miss Marchmont hung her head and blushed.
"It would be a pleasant littledenouementwhen the penitent was a pretty woman," said Trevalyon laughingly.
"A proposof the confessional, did any of you ever come under the torture of that modern Inquisition, the 'Confession Book?'" said Vaura.
"Yes, yes," cried the gentlemen simultaneously.
"Oh! don't denounce them, Miss Vernon," exclaimed Miss Marchmont pathetically. "I could not exist without mine; it is so interesting to read aloud from at a picnic, tennis party, or five o'clock tea. Indeed, my confession book was one of the chief sources of pleasure at Rose Cottage, wasn't it, mamma?" and she stroked her mother's hand caressingly.
"It was, Miranda; and Miss Vernon must promise to write down all her secrets in your book on her return to England; Blanche Tompkins has it in charge; you will promise to write, Miss Vernon, won't you?" and the thin lips were pursed into a smile.
"The saints forbid," laughed Vaura, "that I should put the surgical knife, as it were, to my heart, and lay bare all its latent workings for the express delectation of five o'clock teas—and women!"
"Oh! do, dear Miss Vernon," said Miss Marchmont coaxingly, "your heart would be so interesting."
The gentlemen laughed.
"Nearly as much so as the potato bug," said Vaura in an undertone toTrevalyon; aloud, she said gaily:
"No, I rebel, and most solemnly affirm, that, as you tell me Mrs. Haughton says I cultivate no pet sins, and as she is your oracle, I abide by her decision; with no pet sins, what could I say? that, as to colours, Worth supplies me. That, though I be ostracised by Mrs. Grundy, I still have the courage left in me to affirm that I don't and won't climb the dizzy heights or flights, to pour incense on that shrine alone. And that, were I on the rack, I should gasp forth that the woman who invented torture-books has not my heart-felt love."
"Hear! hear!" said O'Gormon, clapping his hands, "'when found, make a note on,' Miss Marchmont, and you have Miss Vernon's confession."
"Yes now I should never have thought of that; you Irish think like lightning; let me see if I can recall what Miss Vernon said," and the sandy locks are thrown backwards as the blue eyes dwell on the painted ceiling.
"But, Miss Marchmont," said Trevalyon, in pretended earnest, "it would be unorthodox, and spoil your book, unless you extract a promise from Miss Vernon, only to pour incense at the feet of the brilliant Earl."
"Oh certainly, thank you, Capt. Trevalyon; pardon me, Miss Vernon," cried the owner of the torture-book, in great dismay, "excuse me, but everyone contributing to my book, must admire the dear Earl more than anyone departed or with us (Gladstone after, if you wish); of course," she added apologetically, "one does not care to remember he has Jewish blood, yet against that fact is, that he has never eaten pork, such a nasty, vulgar meat."
"Remember, Miranda sweet, that Miss Vernon, having spent so much of her life in France, cannot perhaps know that it is the fashion to worship the Earl."
"From Earl Beaconsfield to music is a long look, but let us take it," said Lady Esmondet; "Miss Marchmont, will you sing for us?"
As Miranda asked Rev. Robert what it should be, Vaura said in an undertone to Trevalyon:
"I do admire the clever Earl immensely, and not only because it is the decree of the god of fashion."
"I wish we had the evening to ourselves," he murmured, "what do you think of the Irishman?"
"He is lavish of the superlative degree; is good-hearted as his race; and for the time being, feels intensely," she answered.
Miss Marchmont, now asking her mother to join her in the duet, "Come where my love lies dreaming," they glided arm in arm to the piano, and now Miss Marchmont implored of some one to come where her love lay dreaming, in a shrill treble, while her mother repeated the request in a very fair alto.
O'Gormon challenged Vaura to a game at chess.
Lionel fell into a brown study of his future plans to undo the mischief done by a woman's tongue. The poor fellow often glanced at Vaura in all her loveliness, and a pain came to his heart as he looked, for he thought of how he was leaving her, not knowing if she loved him, and with other men about her; and of how, with the torture that he might lose her weighing him down, he was going out from her alone to find Sister Magdalen, and see if she would openly reveal all. She had been reticent and guarded for years, and he was not in a mood to hope much.
But now he hears the clear voice of Vaura cry, "checkmate," andO'Gormon leads her to the piano.
Vaura gave them a gem of Mozart's, then some gay opera airs, then, in response to their pleading for some song, gave "Il Bacio," in her full rich tones.
Sir Dennis stood by the piano and looked his admiration.
"You seem fond of music, Sir Dennis," said the fair musician, as she leisurely turned over the music with him in search for a song from "Traviata."
"Fond of it! I adore it, and sometimes the musician."
"A double tax on your powers of adoring," said Vaura, gaily, as Sir Dennis placed the song before her, but though her notes were clear and sweet as a bird's, her heart was sad at the thought of the parting between Lionel and herself, and just now she had no sympathy with the free-from-care spirit of the song "Gaily Thro' Life I Wander."
During the song Capt. Trevalyon was summoned from the room. It is a telegram, and runs thus:
"THE LANGHAM HOTEL,"LONDON, England, Dec. 24th.
"My father cannot live, and wishes to see you. Physician says come at once." JUDITH TREVALYON.
"Capt. Trevalyon,"Villa Iberia, Rome, Italy."
"Sims, this telegram calls me to England. You say there is an express at midnight. It is now 10.30, go at once and take some necessary refreshment; pack my luggage, leaving out my travelling gear; get your own box, and have them conveyed to the depot, express them through to London, to the Langham, and be ready to leave with me by the midnight train; and don't forget Mars."
"Yes sir; and what time, sir, shall I order the trap to take you to thedepot, sir?"
"At 11.30 sharp, Sims."
"Yes, sir."
Captain Trevalyon hurried back to the salons just as Vaura finished her song. He made his way to Lady Esmondet, in order to get a word in her ear, as Sir Dennis monopolised Vaura; but Mrs. Marchmont was full of a new folding screen Mrs. Haughton had ordered from London.
"The dear thing wanted something novel, so had the three 'Graces' painted on a sky-blue plush ground, suspended in the air; over them (as it were) hangs an open umbrella in rose-pink; oh! it's too lovely for anything, Lady Esmondet; you will be entranced when you see it, Captain Trevalyon," and she folded her hands and turned her pale blue eyes upwards.
To Captain Trevalyon's relief, Vaura asked him to sing something, and seeing it was hopeless just now, to have a word with Lady Esmondet, he hoped when his song was over and their glass of champagne drank, there would be a general exodus ere it was time for him to leave; so he moved towards the piano, and playing his own accompaniment, sang one of Moore's melodies, "Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour."
Vaura sat at a small table near the piano. Sir Dennis, with the sanguineness of his race, thought she was interested in his chit-chat and in a book of Italian views, but her thoughts were with Lionel, for she caught his eye, and "minds run in grooves," and he knew that she under stood, his silent farewell; she felt her heart ache, and would have risen and gone to him, but "men may suffer and women may weep," but the conventionalities must be attended to, or the mighty god, society, stares and frowns; and so Lionel sung parting words to the woman he loved, and to his friend; and surely Moore would have been moved to tears had he heard the depth of feeling thrown into his words. When he was singing, the silver chimes softly rang eleven o'clock, so knowing he had no time to lose, he quietly left the room.