CHAPTER XXXV.
THE APPROACH OF THE SHADOW.
Heaven only knows what complexion Cecil’s thoughts took during the journey, but he was graver and grimmer than ever when he got down at the door of the villa to help his affianced bride to alight.
The marquis’ valet received them with surprise, tempered by satisfaction.
“I am glad you have come, my lord, though I did not like to take the responsibility of wiring for you. The marquis is much worse. Oh, yes, decidedly much worse.He is asleep just now, but it is quite as well that you came.”
“I will see him at once,” said Lord Cecil.
“And I, too,” said Lady Grace, slipping her arm within his.
The valet led the way upstairs.
The old man was lying apparently asleep, but as Lord Cecil bent over him he opened his eyes, and after a few seconds said, in a feeble voice and with the old cynical smile:
“Oh, it’s you, Cecil, is it? And is that you, my dear?” turning his eyes in the direction of Lady Grace.
“Yes, it is I, dear marquis,” she murmured.
He started.
“Oh, Grace, is it?” he mumbled. “I thought it was she.”
“She? Who, dear marquis?” she demanded.
He smiled.
“No matter. And so they have sent for you, have they? They think I am in danger. You have come on a fool’s errand, both of you. I”—grimly—“I don’t mean to die yet, Grace.”
“Oh, I hope not! Pray, don’t talk of anything so dreadful,” she responded with a false smile. “Why, you know,” and she bent lower, with a fine affectation of modesty, “you are to dance at our—our—wedding, dear marquis.”
“Ah, yes!” he said, wearily, and with none of the enthusiasm she had expected. “Yes, yes, of course. You are going to be married; you and Cecil. Yes, I remember. I’ll make haste and get better. In a day or two——” his eyes closed and he turned his face away.
“He may last for weeks, months, even years, my lady,” said the doctor, of whom Lady Grace made inquiries with a scarcely concealed impatience. “Marvelous constitution, you see, and with care——” and he waved his hands deferentially.
The days passed in what her ladyship declared to be a tediousness almost insupportable. She had the best rooms of the best hotel, but they were not grand enough for her fine London taste, and, as for the scenery, Lady Grace would have exchanged the whole Alpine range for aquarter of a mile of Hyde Park. She would have been happy enough if Cecil could have spent every minute of his time with her, but this Cecil could not do. In his present condition of mind, the society of his engaged wife nearly drove him mad, and he spent most of his time either beside the marquis’ bed or at the villa.
“Surely you do not intend to play the part of sick nurse, my dear Cecil!” Lady Grace remonstrated when, on the third morning after their arrival, he told her that he could not go out riding with her, because he had promised to sit with the marquis.
“Not exactly that, Grace,” he replied, quietly. “But I am naturally anxious about him and wish to be with him, more especially as, strange to say, he seems to desire my presence.”
“He must have changed to an extraordinary extent!” she retorted, with something like a sneer on her exquisitely carved lips.
Cecil nodded.
“Yes,” he assented, simply. “He has changed—for the better. I suppose we shall all feel the approach of the Great Shadow! Poor old man!”
She stared at him, then laughed, a cold laugh of amusement, almost of mockery.
“Really, you are the most forgiving of men, Cecil!”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, stifling a sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t go with you, Grace.”
“Oh, I dare say you will be happier with the marquis!” she retorted, as she turned to the glass to arrange her riding hat. “I only hope and trust that the marquis will soon get better, and allow us to leave this place. I was never in a duller hole in my life.”
“They call Pescia pretty, too,” he replied, absently, as he followed her out and helped her to mount.
Then he lit a cigar, and was going across to the villa, his mind heavy with thought, when suddenly Percy Levant stopped in front of him and raised his hat.
Cecil’s face reddened for an instant; then, as he responded to the greeting, he said:
“I had expected to see you before this, Mr. Levant. Will you walk upstairs?”
Percy Levant declined the offer.
“What I have to say will take but a few minutes,” he said, gravely. “We neither of us desire a prolonged interview.”
“I am at your service,” returned Lord Cecil, with a slight bow.
Percy Levant eyed him with a strange expression, scarcely that of resentment as of dull, heavy sadness.
“I presume, my lord, you conceive that I am here to demand from, or offer, you the satisfaction which an appeal to arms would afford both of us—both of us!” he added, grimly.
“I can only say that I am prepared to accept any proposal you may have to make, Mr. Levant,” said Lord Cecil. “But I am obliged, in honor, to say this: I don’t want you to take it as an apology; great Heavens, no! But I’m bound to say that the words you heard me address to Miss Marlowe the other evening were uttered in complete ignorance that her word was plighted to you or any other gentleman.”
Percy Levant bowed.
“Were you in ignorance that your word was plighted to another lady?” he said, in a low voice.
Lord Cecil’s face flamed, then grew pale, and he sprang from his lounging attitude against the mantel-shelf to an upright position; but, with a palpable effort, he restrained himself.
“That is a rebuke which I have deserved and must submit to, Mr. Levant,” he said, grimly. “It is true that I am engaged to Lady Grace Peyton, and that I had no right to address Miss Marlowe as I did, but”—he turned his face away for a moment—“but I think if you knew all the circumstances of the case, you, even you, would feel more inclined to pity than to condemn me. But I don’t appeal to your consideration. As I said”—with a touch of hauteur—“I am at your disposal, in any way, and at any time.”
“You mean, of course, that you are ready to fight, my lord?”
“You interpret my meaning,” replied Lord Cecil, calmly. “I have no doubt you feel aggrieved. I shouldif I stood in your place. I have no doubt Miss Marlowe”—his lips quivered—“has told you of our past—our past relationship——”
“Miss Marlowe has told me nothing, but I have drawn my own conclusions. I have been content to accept Miss Marlowe’s silence—complete silence—respecting the past.”
“Ah, yes,” said Cecil, with a repressed sigh. “What does it matter to you, who have the priceless boon of her present and future love?”
The words were wrung from him, and he would have recalled them if he could have done so, when he saw the effect they produced upon Percy Levant, whose face grew white, and whose eyes flashed.
But he, too, seemed to be striving for self-restraint.
“I am afraid you do not know all, my lord,” he said. “But to come to the business which brought me here! Miss Marlowe and I are to be married on the sixteenth!”
Lord Cecil bit his lip and nodded.
“So soon?” he said, almost inaudibly. “Well, sir, why do you tell me this?”
“Because I have to make a proposal to you, my lord. You expect a challenge from me?”
“I have expected it for the last three days, Mr. Levant.”
“Will you, my lord, permit me to withhold that challenge until the sixteenth?”
Lord Cecil stared at him.
“Till the day of your marriage?” he exclaimed.
“Exactly,” returned Percy Levant. “Such a request astonishes you, no doubt. It is only natural that you should demand my reasons for this delay, but I shall ask, as a favor, that you permit me to keep them to myself until the sixteenth! I have another request to make, which, I fear, you will deem as strange as those which have preceded it.”
“Go on!” said Cecil, knitting his brows.
“I shall be glad if your lordship will permit me to call at the Villa Vittoria, Lord Stoyle’s residence, at four o’clock on the sixteenth. I shall have an explanation to make, which you may consider an ample excuse for accepting any challenge I may offer.”
Cecil, after a moment’s perplexed consideration, turned to him.
“I haven’t the least idea of your motives in these requests, Mr. Levant,” he said, with a quiet dignity, “but I don’t think I can do anything else than grant them. After all, I have no claim for satisfaction from you; the offense lies with me.”
“Just so, my lord,” said Percy Levant, taking his hat. “I wish you good-morning. On the sixteenth you and I shall understand each other more easily.”
“I hope so,” said Cecil, grimly. “One moment,” he added, hesitatingly, as Percy Levant turned to leave the room. “Is—is Miss Marlowe in Pescia?” he asked, in a low voice.
“Miss Marlowe is in Pescia, my lord,” replied Percy Levant, looking at him steadily.
Cecil’s face grew hot.
“Will you tell her that—that I knew nothing of her engagement? No! tell her nothing!”
“I think that is far the better course, my lord,” said Percy Levant, and with another bow he went.