"Esther," said Mr. Tremain a few hours later, as they sat together in the library, just before the time for the tea-tray and the return of the other visitors, who, at Dick Darling's suggestion and under her guidance, had goneen masseto deal out tobacco and small sums of money to the old salts at Snug Harbour, "Esther, did you know Patricia was to be here, when you asked me to come?"
His voice was more stern than reproachful, and Mrs. Newbold, glancing up at him furtively, thought how cold and impassive was his face. She paused a moment before answering him, and the flames from the pine-logs on the wide hearth, leaping high, revealed a half-anxious, half-hesitating expression in her blue eyes and about her delicately-cut mouth. She held a screen of scarlet Ibis feathers, as she sat in a low chair, to shield her from the heat, and her hand trembled just enough to set the scarlet feathers moving, like so many vivid fire-tongues. She answered somewhat evasively:
"And if I did, Philip, what then? Is the old wound so deep it cannot be healed, and do you, a Hercules among men, shrink from the light touch of a woman's fingers?"
"We are but courageous," he made answer, "according to time and opportunity, and the weakness or strength of the temptation. A woman's hand has been the cause of a man's undoing ever since the world began, Esther. I have no desire to become another sacrifice on the altar of a woman's vanity."
"What do you fear, Philip?" she asked, presently, turning the feather fan round and round in her fingers, and watching him intently as she spoke.
"What do I fear? Everything and nothing. You, who know the whole miserable old story, must also know the bitterness of its ending. What do I fear? I fear Patricia; I fear the light coming and going in her eyes; I fear the grace and beauty of her motions; I fear the subtle witchery of her voice; I fear the sweetness of her smile, the studied trick of her down-drooped mouth, the soft lingering pressure of her hand; I fear—but there, why fight against shadows? I have the remedy in my own hands—I can leave you, Esther. Even you cannot compel me to see her."
He had risen as he spoke, and moved about restlessly, stopping half-unconsciously at a table that stood in his path, and fingered absently the several articles ofbric-à-bracupon it.
Esther followed his movements with her eyes, a look of pity and yet triumph on her face. As his voice grew passionate, she dropped the feather-screen, and clasping her hands across her knee, drew a quick long breath; but when he came towards her again, she sank back into her former listless attitude. He stood up tall and straight before her, resting one arm upon the chimney-shelf, and looked down at her with dark excited eyes, which the slight smile upon his lips failed to counterbalance.
"Did you ask her here with some deep-laid plan of reconciliation? Esther, was that your motive? Did you think, knowing me since your girlhood—not so many years ago, Esther—and finding me fairly good-natured and forgiving, as men go, that you would take the spindle of fate into your own hands, and like Atropos of old, cut the tangled skein of my life, in the vain hope of reuniting it with hers? It was kindly meant, Esther, but—it cannot be."
Mrs. Newbold stopped him with an upward gesture of her hand.
"Philip," she said, slowly, and looking at him steadily, "does it not strike you—do you not think—you are taking her acquiescence rather too much as a matter of course? Has Patricia no right to repudiate you, before even you endeavour to reclaim her?"
He paused before he answered, and the lines about his mouth and eyes grew sterner and more defined. When he spoke he took his arm from the chimney-shelf, on which he had been resting, as though disdaining that slight support, and his voice sounded harsh and uncompromising.
"Has she that right, Esther? Has she not rather by her own actions cut herself adrift from the usual consideration granted to women? Did she consider me, when she cast me off so lightly? And for what, forsooth? Because I was a too eager and too rustic a lover; because my outward appearance offended her hypercritical eyes; because she was but a butterfly of the hour, as vain and frivolous as the frailestcigaleof a summer's hour; and because her world, before which she shone as a bright particular star—and oh, what a little, trifling world it was!—and over which she reigned as a queen, repudiated me. I was not of their mode; I was not asuper-chic; I could not speak theirargot, or join in their light impertinent persiflage. I was too honest, Esther, for her world—too honest and too brutally straightforward, and so—she threw me over."
"She was young, Philip," pleaded Mrs. Newbold, "young and flattered and spoilt. Cannot you now make allowance for her surroundings then, and understand how terrible and impossible poverty, imperious poverty, seemed to her? You, who so well appreciate the luxuries of life now, cannot you put yourself in Patricia's place, and judge from her standpoint, and see with her eyes, what it meant, when you asked her to fling her old life behind her, and start on a new and untried one, with you alone, and you only as recompense and compensation?"
"If she had loved me," broke in Mr. Tremain, "she would not have considered, she would not have hesitated; my love and my devotion would have weighed heavier with her than all the baubles and gewgaws of her fashionable life."
For all answer to this Mrs. Newbold laughed, throwing back her pretty head, and throwing out her pretty hands dramatically.
"Ah," she cried, "for wholesale, downright vanity commend me to a man! It's no use looking savage, Philip; I cannot help it, I must have my laugh out; your cool assumption of the be-all and end-all of Patricia's existence is too irresistibly funny. It's very man-like, and very characteristic. You never take into consideration, you lords of creation, the up-bringing, education and surroundings of a girl of the world. You forget that the very trifles you stigmatise as frivolities are the daily small necessities of her life: she knows nothing different. It is as natural to her to have pretty clothes, artistic surroundings, and dainty employments, as it is for you to go to a crack tailor and smoke an irreproachable cigar. She cannot understand another sort of world where these elements are not: she accepts them as a matter of course, and could not fashion her day without them. Then comes some untoward fate, in the shape of a lover from that unfamiliar world, whose habits, manner of life, occupations, are all opposed to hers—as opposite as the luxurious civilisation of Europe is to that of the heart of Africa. What she deems necessities, he calls luxuries; her natural pastimes become frivolities; her occupations, idleness; her unconscious acceptation of all that money brings, worldliness; and her hesitation, when her lover and her love demand the sacrifice of all this, pusillanimity and calculativeness. And what does the man offer in exchange?—for luxurious comfort, straitened means; for dainty clothes, the resuscitated dresses of last year; for society—a tired harassed husband; and for recreation—perhaps a cheap place at some theatre, two or three times a year."
"You are painfully frank, Esther," said Mr. Tremain, stiffly.
"Yes, and I mean to be," continued Mrs. Newbold, "because it is a subject I have very much at heart, and because it is the fashion of the day to cry down the worldly maiden, and cry up the poor, but self-sacrificing lover. Had you anything better to offer Patricia, than what my words picture? Was there any brighter prospect for her? Did you not make the sacrifice as great a one as possible, and could you honourably and reasonably have expected the change in your fortunes, when you urged Patricia's choice, and left her no alternative between poverty with you, and her accustomed luxury without you? Do you not understand her position somewhat better, Philip, sinceyouhave become a man of luxury and wealth?"
"You should qualify as a special pleader, Esther," was Mr. Tremain's reply; "but you are in a manner right, a woman's motives are always beyond a man's fathoming;" and then with half a sigh she heard him add, under his breath, "poor Patty, poor pretty wilful Patty!" and she smiled at the inconsequent words, and nodded her pretty head at the dancing flames, while the lurking look of triumph in her eyes shone out defiantly, and drove away the droop of apprehension from her lips.
Then came Long, and the tea-tray, and little Marianne, and Mrs. Esther was very gracious and sweet, and full ofpetits soinsfor Mr. Tremain's comfort, and withal so winsome and so subduedly elated, that Dick Darling—who returned presently with all her volunteers in outrageous spirits—declared she was "the daisyest thing out, and quite too superlatively lovely!"
"And how did you find the old salts, Dick?" asked Esther, when every one had been served with tea, and little Marianne was particularly happy, forcing some scalding milk down the luckless throat of "Trim," herfidus Achatesin terrier-dog form.
"Oh, as fresh as paint, and as delightfully greedy and selfish as it behoves all old men to be. They minutely inspected the 'baccy,' and one of them told me, ''tweren't his sort, but shiver his timbers if he could expect a young leddy ter know the difference atween "old virginny," and "honey dew";' and another one spat rather unpleasantly upon the new silver dollar I gave him, and expressed his rather blasphemous opinion, as to its being a 'Blaine dollar,' and only worth ninety cents! Oh, my dear, they are a most edifying old crew, and their simplicity and naturalness is only worthy of that respectable old party, and his residence, known familiarly as 'Davy Jones's locker.'"
"Dick, you are incorrigible!" laughed Mrs. Newbold, and that young lady, on whom the afternoon's expedition seemed to have acted as champagne, began again.
"There was one most particularly refreshing old hero; he said he had been all through the civil war, and got his promotion, and his leg bowled off, at Gettysburgh——"
"Oh, but I say, Miss Dick," here broke in Freddy Slade, "he couldn't do it, you know, not there, because Gettysburgh was a land battle, and how could your old man-o'-war's man be there?"
"He said Gettysburgh, I am perfectly sure he did," answered Dick, "because I quite well remember how he winked at me when he said it, and—yes, I did, I couldn't help it, it must have been capillary attraction, Esther—I winked back at him, and then he spun a tremendous yarn, all about his gory wounds, and bloody hurts; mixed up, you know, with reefing topsails, and belaying mizzen-masts, and setting fore and aft sheets, and rolling in the scuppers, and weltering in his own gore, and piping up the dog-watch, and losing his leg, and fighting for his country, and scoffing at its rewards; and I am sure, yes, very sure, he said it was at Gettysburgh it all happened. But really now, when you come to think of it, thingswerea little mixed, and I am not responsible for the geography of this country."
At this there was another laugh, in which Dick joined, and then in the silence that followed, Marianne's shrill treble made itself heard:
"I do quite think with Perkins, mumsey, Miss Dick's the gal for my money!"
At which astounding revelation Esther gasped, and the rest of the company fell into renewed shouts of laughter.
"Come here, Mimi," said Mr. Slade at last, putting out his hand, and catching hold of the child and the dog, and drawing them towards him, he lifted Marianne on to his knee, causing Trim to stand in perilous fashion on his back legs, since his little mistress refused to release him.
"Now, Mimi," Mr. Slade continued in the hush of a breathless silence, "you are a most interesting little girl, and what you have just told us has made Miss Dick very happy, only we should like to know a little more. Can you remember anything else said by the ingenuous Mr. Perkins?"
"He isn'tMisterPerkins, 'cept to Sarah," said Marianne, very proud of her position, and rather consequential in consequence; "he's her young man, and he comes under her window sometimes, and sings 'Sally in our Alley,' real beautiful, and that'sher, and I heard her tell Jane, and she's my very own nursery-maid, that he said 'that there wasn't no one could hold a candle to Miss Dick, and she was the gal for his money; he wouldn't mind putting a fiver on her, 'cause she'd run straight; but he wouldn't go much on that there pal of hers, Miss James, 'cause she was a shifty one.'"
"Oh, Marianne, Marianne!" cried out Esther, trying vainly to cover the confusion caused by Miss Newbold's parrot-like revelations, "come here to me." Then as Mimi struggled down from Mr. Slade's detaining arms, and danced over to her mother, she said, reprovingly:
"What were you doing, to hear all that senseless gossip? Where was Mdlle. Lamien?"
"Poor Lammy had a 'cruciation' headache," lisped the little girl, standing first on one foot and then on the other; "so I was just put off on to Jane, 'cause nursey was out, and so she and Sarah did their work together and I helped 'em, and they were having 'a crack' over the company. Is you sorry, mumsey?" the little thing asked suddenly, noticing the look of annoyance on her mother's face. "Was I naughty?"
"Yes, I am very sorry," answered Mrs. Newbold, emphatically; "my little daughter, you must not listen to such nonsense. You must get your dolly next time, or come to me, when Mdlle. Lamien has a headache."
"Poor Lammy!" echoed the child, "she was cross, too, and said Sarah was very wrong, every one wasn't made with Miss Dick's bright face and sweet temper; but I could make myself like her if I tried to always say a kind thing and not a horrid one, though the horrid one might be cleverer."
There was a moment's unbearable awkwardness as Mimi's sage remarks fell upon the burning ears of her audience; then Esther made a move, quickly followed by the other ladies, and the party broke up, each glad to escape the embarrassment of the moment. Esther alone noticed Miss James's face, flushed with passion and mortification, and sighed involuntarily.
She had reason afterwards to remember that look, and her sigh.
For the next week but little was talked of at the Folly, save the forthcoming theatricals.
The morning hours grew strangely silent. Gone was the light laughter, banished the echo of gay voices, the quick coming and going of youthful feet; indeed, to any one entering suddenly and unknowing, the air of the house was so changed and transformed they might well exclaim, "The place is haunted!"
And haunted it certainly was, but with fair ghosts in modern raiment, who, if they moved about at all, did so with tragic step and abstracted gaze, or with comic gesture and exaggerated action, accompanied by eagerly-moving lips, from which, however, no sound proceeded, while each and all held, tightly clasped and closely scanned, one of those thin yellow paper books which Mr. French has made so happily familiar to all of us.
Indeed, as Dick Darling remarked, with a piteous shake of her head, and a twisting up of her round mouth, "There wasn't such a thing as a 'rise' to be got out of any one of them, since the craze for acting had descended upon them."
Now and then George Newbold, in honour of whose birthday all this commotion was undertaken, would come upon a solitary group of two—always a girl and a man—who evidently considered learning in couples the quickest way, and who would scowl upon him distractedly when he approached them, or seem wrapped in contemplation of the other's genius as, with halting speech and flushed face, he or she repeated their respective lines.
Mr. Newbold had been heard to declare more than once within the safe precincts of the smoking-room, in language more forcible than polite, that for his part, he should be glad when the "shindy" was all over; and as to its having anything to do with him, or his birthday, it was a—lie. He didn't see where his fun came in, since he took no part in it.
"Paying the bills, old man," replied Jack Howard, lazily, to this outburst; "what more can you ask? Isn't that the proud position and boast of the typical American husband?"
To which grim comfort George only replied by lighting a very large and disreputable-looking pipe, and smoking furiously.
Miss James was among those who elected to studyà deux, and had undertaken, in this way, Jack Howard's education, who, much to Baby Leonard's chagrin, had become in some manner, the clever Rosalie's slave. Baby, with tears in her eyes, marked his defalcation from her ranks, and with a feeling of self-pity and wounded vanity, sought compensation in Freddy Slade, and absorption in her rôle.
Between Miss James and Dick Darling coolness reigned. These once fast friends were now almost declared enemies, for even Dick's proverbial good-nature was not proof against the continued and unbending anger of her whilom friend. Miss James had neither forgotten nor forgiven little Marianne's unfortunate revelations, and she visited her annoyance and jealousy upon Dick, who at least was guiltless of all wish to offend; and from brooding over Mr. Perkins' plain and unvarnished words, Rosalie grew to forget they were the utterance of a servant, and magnified their consequence until she fairly hated Dick, and longed to see some evil befall her.
Perhaps the keenest sting of all lay in the fact of her humiliation before Mr. Tremain, for, with an unreasoning confidence, she had made out to herself that Philip was attracted to her, that he found in her a mind superior to the general run of young ladies, and that consequently he might, in time, come to fully realise and appreciate her abilities, and so, perhaps, would be solved the enigma of her future; for Miss James was no longer ajeune ingénue, and the thought of continued single-blessedness troubled her not a little.
It was therefore very bitter to be humiliated in his presence, and to see the lurking smile gather about his lips at Marianne's reckless disclosures. Mr. Tremain, be it remarked, was innocent of any co-operation in Miss James's schemes; he did not even give her a second thought beyond the necessities of every-day life; and the fact that they were often thrown together created no suspicion in his mind, as to any ulterior hopes being built upon his words and manner. Though, indeed, Philip had that courteous and deferential bearing towards women which made his smallest service an appeal, and his lightest word a caress—as Dick Darling said, "When he asked one to have sugar in one's tea, it was with such an assumption of intimacy and entreaty, one might well imagine he was suing for one's heart and hand."
Perhaps Miss James built upon this manner, and though so clever in ologies and ethics, failed to read aright the signs of this man's heart, and raised foundations on sand in consequence.
And still Patricia did not come. Each day Mr. Tremain looked for the old familiar witching face in the circle of "fair women" who gathered at tea-time in the pleasant library; where the wide fireplace, never empty of smouldering pine-logs, was very attractive in the chilly spring mornings and evenings. But he looked in vain. The faces were constantly changing—for Mrs. Newbold was a great favourite, and had many guests—and they were fair enough, too, but none so fair as Patty's, as he remembered it, ten years ago, and not so winsome or so full of grace.
He was too proud to ask news of her; ever since his conversation with Esther, his heart had gone forth more and more to his little wayward love of a decade ago, and though he turned his thoughts resolutely from all remembrance of her, and sternly told himself that he had been right in his judgment of her, she was but a frivolous butterfly, and as such more unsuited than ever to him in his graver years, still there would come unbidden a lurking memory of her sweet mutinous face, the wilful lips, the flashing eyes, the silks and laces that surrounded her lithe form, the faint sweet odour of violets that always accompanied her, and he would pull himself up with a start to find his heart and mind gone captive to the ghost of his old love.
"Ten years ago!" he said, half unconsciously to himself, "ten years ago! It is ten years since we parted; why, Patty must be past herjeunessenow; she was nineteen then, she is nine-and-twenty now, and what woman keeps youth's fairness or freshness when so close on thirty? Patty thirty! Patty grown out of wilful, petulant girlhood; Patty with suffering and change written on her face; nay, with perhaps a wrinkle or two, or even a gray thread in the soft brown darkness of her hair!"
Impossible! He could never think of her save as when they parted, when she was in the full flush and arrogance of her young beauty, surrounded by every luxury, and flattered by the gay homage of her little court, triumphant, sparkling, inaccessible. To picture her in any different guise, was to wilfully take down his idol from its pedestal.
He sauntered into the library one afternoon, at the accustomed hour of tea, and found the room full of people. Mrs. Newbold was pouring Indian Hyson into faultless cups of royal Worcester, which Jack Howard passed about, followed by Dick Darling with what she called "the trimmings,"i.e.sugar and cream.
An animated discussion was going on, so Philip's entrance was unnoticed save by Miss James, who beckoned to him to take the empty chair beside her. Nothing loth to escape introductions, he fell into her scheme and made her supremely happy; for they sat a little withdrawn from the general group, and this made Mr. Tremain's position all the more marked. Miss James was never quite content unless what she called Philip's "attentions" were fullyen évidence.
Dick Darling's bright eyes spied him out presently, and she brought him a cup of tea, handing it to him with a shrug of her shoulders and an absolute wink of her eye, at which Miss James coloured and cast an angry look after the retreating culprit.
"And when is Miss Hildreth coming?" were the first words that caught Mr. Tremain's ear, and riveted his attention at once.
"Not until the very day of the play," replied Mrs. Newbold. "It's rather provoking of her, isn't it? But really, you know, Patricia's so spoiled, and it doesn't very much matter. She's quite perfect in her part, and we can have a dress rehearsal before evening ontheday, if necessary."
"And who acts Henri de Flavigneul's part?" asked another voice.
"Oh, Mr. Tremain," replied Mrs. Newbold again. "You need have no fear, Mrs. Beverley. Mr. Tremain issans reprochein his character."
"Do you mean Philip Tremain," the lady persisted, "the clever Mr. Tremain, who has such bijou chambers and who is so unapproachable? But surely, won't that be a little awkward? Wasn't he once engaged to Miss Hil——?"
But here Dick Darling managed to upset the brass water-kettle, and in the confusion which ensued the question was never completed.
Soon after the guests took their departure, and as the house party stood about the fire waiting for the dressing-gong, Esther said:
"I am sure it is high time we had a rehearsal; we shall never be ready if we go on in this lazy fashion. I have sent for Mr. Robinson, of Wallack's Theatre, to coach you all, and he will be here to-morrow; so I call a rehearsal for that afternoon, and I advise you to study up well, for he's a perfect martinet regarding correct lines, and thinks nothing of reducing one to abject misery by his sarcasm."
"But who will take Miss Hildreth's part?" asked Baby Leonard. "It's no use our rehearsing if the Countess isn't here—it will beHamletwith Hamlet left out, and no mistake."
"Baby is thinking of her grand scene," murmured Miss James aside to Philip. "Her part is nothing without the Countess as a foil."
"Some one might read the lines of her rôle," suggested Freddy Slade, who, as De Grignon, thought very little of any other character. "It won't matter very much if one only gets one's proper cues."
"Oh, but it matters a great deal, thank you," cried Baby, quite roused from her usual lethargy. "Who wants to act to bare cues, I should like to know? And how is one to work up into anything, if one hasn't the proper assistance?"
"You are quite right, Baby," said Esther, when she could make herself heard, "and you shan't be put in any such dampening position. Mdlle. Lamien has offered to be Patricia's substitute, and she knows the lines by heart. I think it's very good-natured of her."
To which there was a general assent, only Miss James whispered again to Mr. Tremain:
"You will have no temptation to draw you from your allegiance to your Baby-ish sweetheart, Mr. Tremain. Mdlle. Lamien can scarcely offer any counter attractions, as the Countess, to Baby, as Léonie."
Then with a quick upward look and the least perceptible halt: "How would it be, I wonder, if our capricious leading lady were here in person?"
The glance she gave him was brief; but in the second that her eyes scanned his face, she noted the blood steal slowly into his cheeks, and the lines deepen about his mouth, and with an angry impotent throb at her heart she realised his secret, and the hopelessness of her plans and desires. She turned away however, as the gong sounded, with a light laugh, despite the dull heavy sense of her own impuissance.
Mr. Tremain was not long in completing his toilette that evening, and when he came downstairs and made his way to the library in search of a book, it was with the purpose of half an hour's quiet reading before dinner. He crossed the room to the low book-cases that lined one side, and selecting his volume turned back to the fireplace, where a low reading-lamp on the sofa-table made an inviting resting-place.
He had thought himself quite alone, and was consequently not a little surprised to see within the shadow of the chimney recess, opposite to him, the dark quiet figure of Mdlle. Lamien. He put down his book with a half-sigh, and approached her; not even at the sacrifice of his dearest self-indulgence could Mr. Tremain be discourteous to a lady, still less to a stranger and a dependent. Moreover, he acknowledged to himself that Mdlle. Lamien exercised a distinct and strange kind of spell over him, reminding him in some occult mysterious way of Patricia, though why and wherefore he was at a loss to explain.
It was not that these two women—who had so little in common, whose lives were as wide apart as the poles, and whose interests were as diversely opposite as well could be—had ever met; and yet—such is the strong personal magnetism of certain natures—Philip, though he had spoken but twice to Mimi's governess, felt the sense of her power over him; a power so subtle, and yet so strong as to amount almost to physical force; while always with the sense of this domination came the thought of Patricia.
Mdlle. Lamien was sitting where first he remembered seeing her, well within the shadowed recess; her face, even in the subdued light of the single lamp, looked paler than ever, perhaps because its waxen pallor was touched by a shade of red in the cheeks; the kindly shadows hid the painful mark that disfigured one of them, but the light, catching the silver of the wavy hair beneath the falling lace folds, played about it, and across the dark sombre eyes, and thin hands that lay clasped with a sorrowful droop on her knees.
As Philip drew near to her, some polite words of salutation on his lips, she suddenly raised her head, and turning it more fully towards the light, smiled at him. It was wonderful, the effect of her smile; in a moment, as it flashed across her face, it transfigured it wholly, and restored, once more, somewhat of the youth and beauty of bygone days.
Mr. Tremain stood spell-bound; once again there swept across him that strange intangiblesomething, that reflex of Patricia, that evanescent likeness, gone as soon as caught, yet so tantalising in its reality. As he stood silent, amazed, and yet in a manner fascinated, by the singular metamorphose wrought by a smile, two lines of an unpublished poem, written by a dear dead friend, rose unbidden to his lips. He repeated them, half unconsciously, below his breath:
"Light my path thro' Stygian darkness,By the splendour of thy smile."
"Light my path thro' Stygian darkness,By the splendour of thy smile."
Such indeed must have been the light that glowed upon the face of Cleopatra, when Anthony called her his
"Glorious sorceress of the Nile."
"Glorious sorceress of the Nile."
As Philip gazed upon the face before him, and no word was spoken, he felt a sudden thrill of life and fire pass through him; the blood leapt in his veins and flew to his face, he put out his hands entreatingly, drawing nearer to her; he felt the subtle essence of her being wrapping him around, enervating his mind, his will; and yet he had no power, no desire to combat it. For it was not Mdlle. Lamien he saw, it was not her white, wan face, with its disfiguring scar, that enchanted him, it was not her burning eyes that held his, it was not even the present he was conscious of. No, he was back again in the past, ten years ago, and he was looking his last upon his sweet girl-love, seeing the mocking smile upon her lips, the trembling hands, the piteous, defiant eyes.
"Patricia," he cried, "Patricia!" And as he called her name, the spell was broken, the glory faded, the past fell from him, and he found himself alone; and only the light rustle of a silken gown, the faint click of a closing door, gave evidence of a departing presence.
"Good heavens!" he said at last, drawing a deep breath, and looking about him uncertainly, "who and what is this Mdlle. Lamien, that she is so like, and yet so unlike Patricia? And what spell does she own to trick me into such hysteric emotion?"
Then the door opened, and Long came in, followed by Perkins, and the wax candles were lit in the brackets and sconces, and the room from semi-darkness and mysterious shadows, leapt into vivid, brilliant life. Then came Mrs. Newbold, bringing a touch of this world's goods in her latest importation of a Wörth gown, full of joyful content and well-being, fastening her gloves and jingling her jewelled bangles, and looking very much surprised to find Mr. Tremain in advance of her.
And so the hour passed and the spell faded, and Philip gave no further thought to Mdlle. Lamien or, strange to say, to Patricia.
Miss James scored several points that evening in her own estimation, and felt almost feverishly anxious to have the preliminaries over with, and her engagement to Philip recognised asun fait accompli.
Meantime the preparations for the theatricals went on rapidly. Mr. Robinson came down the next day, and found his amateur troupe duly drawn up for inspection. Not one of them, however, was word-perfect, in spite of their diligent study, singly or in couples, except Mdlle. Lamien and Mr. Tremain, to neither of whom did the text present any difficulties.
Much to Philip's surprise, Mdlle. Lamien proved but an indifferent actress; she recited her lines without a mistake, but that was all that could be said in praise of her. She was dull, apathetic, heavy, made no effort to throw life or emotion into her part, and was, indeed, so studiously indifferent, that Mr. Robinson took no trouble to either remonstrate with or contradict her, knowing her to be but a substitute, and feeling perfectly sure of the real impersonator, who had been trained untiringly by him, and had made herdébutas his favourite pupil.
Mdlle. Lamien made it so very apparent that she only appeared in obedience to Mrs. Newbold's request, that Philip found acting up to her not only laborious, but ridiculous, and consequently shirked his scenes with her as much as possible, though not without wondering at the strange contradictions of which her character seemed formed.
The days were drawing on now, and only three remained before that one which, as Dick Darling remarked, "they were to so appropriately celebrate—George's birthday, with George left very much out of it." Now that Philip knew Patricia was not expected until the very morning of the all-important day, he put away from him all thought of meeting her, and, with a suddenly developed gaiety, joined heart and soul in the frivolities of the hour.
The day before the great event, however, something happened which threatened to deprive the company of Henri's personation, and which for the moment, threw even the theatricals in the shade. A letter written by Mr. Tremain to his one intimate man friend best explains the situation:
"The Folly,"April, 188—."Dear Mainwaring,"Here I am with a strained wrist and a halo of heroism. The first is uncomfortable, the second undeserved. No doubt you will receive a garbled account of what has occurred, and a highly-coloured report of my 'heroic action and wonderful presence of mind'—the words are Miss James's, not mine. Well, then, to save your brain a shock, and your friendship a blow, I send off these somewhat unintelligible lines. I don't want you repeating the tale, with mock heroics, at the club and about town, and I know your fondness for a good story."Let me say then, as a premise, that whatever of bravery or heroism was displayed, at a somewhat critical moment in a commonplace incident, belongs solely to Mdlle. Lamien, Mimi's governess; and, by-the-bye, I don't know but that it is just at these commonplace times that one's nerve and resolution are most often put to the test."Here are the facts: Mrs. Newbold has a pair of new ponies, George's latest gift, and her last fad; she drove me up with them the day I arrived, and I didn't care for their style particularly, they pulled too hard, and had an obstinate trick of catching at the bit that might prove nasty. Esther's groom on these occasions is Tony, elected, presumably, because of the smallness of his stature. You have seen Tony, and therefore know that he is mostly hat."Very well, this morning being bright and cool, Mrs. Newbold decided to take little Marianne and Cissy Beverley for a drive; it was in vain both George and I pointed out to her that the ponies had not been exercised for the last two days, and would therefore be very fresh and too great a handful for her, she would not listen—her sex never will, you know, when advice runs against inclination—and woman-like, she must play with her latest toy."So off they started, the children tucked in beside Mrs. Newbold, and Tony perched up behind. The little brutes were fresh enough, but Esther had them well in hand, and drove off in true workmanlike style. They had their drive, along the upper road, and round by the Bay, and so through the town to Beverley's house. Here Mrs. Newbold got out, letting Marianne hold the reins, with Tony at the ponies' heads. She lifted Cissy down, and was just turning to give a word of caution, when a cat, followed by Beverley's setter pup, ran out from the kitchen garden and flew directly under the ponies' heads."Then came a sudden shying movement, the light carriage swayed dangerously, and then, with tossing heads, the little brutes broke loose from Tony's hold, took the bits between their teeth, and in a second were off on a dead run."You will admit it was not a pleasant situation for Esther. She has since told me that her first intimation of danger was the sight of her darling's bright sunny hair and frightened blue eyes being borne away in the rocking, swaying carriage, as it sped down the drive, drawn by horses wild and young."They passed the gate safely, and started off down the Terrace at a full gallop. And now my part comes in. I was walking leisurely up from the post-office when, as I neared Snug Harbour, I saw the ponies dashing towards me; in a second I recognised them; in that second they were past me. I started after them, but with a feeling of hopelessness, for who could hope to come up with their flying feet? And though the road was broad and open for several miles, little Marianne—whose piteous white face caught my eye as she was borne by me—might at any moment loose her hold and be dashed out, or dragged in the trailing reins."I put on what speed I could, and as I reached a slight curve in the road, beyond which the ponies would be lost to sight, a woman flew through an open gate and threw herself directly in front of the frightened animals."Thus checked for a second, I saw her measure the distance with a glance, then jump and catch the bridle with one hand, flinging all her weight upon it and never letting go, though the little brutes dragged her several rods. To reach her side and add my strength to hers was but the work of a moment; the ponies, easily tired, submitted to my soothing voice and hand, while little Marianne, who throughout had behaved like a heroine, now covered herself with glory, by stepping deliberately out of the carriage and throwing her arms about the tall, dark figure beside her."I turned then to face my brave companion; it was, as I suspected, Mdlle. Lamien, who stood there, calm and unmoved, the heavy lace of her veil concealing whatever emotion her face might have revealed. It was she, and no other, who had risked her own life to save the child; and yet, Mainwaring, I declare to you solemnly and in all calmness, it was not of her I thought as we stood together side by side; it was not her personality that seemed so near me, nor her spirit that had carried out so brave a rescue. Laugh at me if you will, suggest hysteria and nerves; so be it, I accept the taunt, and repeat again, it was not Mdlle. Lamien who made captive my admiration and esteem—it was Patricia Hildreth. Explain it as best you can. I do but repeat, it was Patricia who dominated me then; Patricia who seemingly stood so close, I had but to put out my hand to touch her,—and yet—it was Mdlle. Lamien who replied coldly to my inquiries, and who walked swiftly away, leaving me with Marianne, and the now quiet horses."Strange to say, neither she nor the child have received any injuries, and I have escaped with a strained wrist—my left one—which will not incapacitate me for to-morrow; indeed, a Henri de Flavigneul with a sling will be a new departure, and ought to prove what Miss Darling would call 'very fetching.'"By the way, you come down, I believe, for the play; did I tell you Patricia will also be here? I think in many ways this place grows dangerous, and I shall return to my own den, as soon as the theatricals are over."As ever, old friend, yours faithfully,"Philip Tremain."
"The Folly,"April, 188—.
"Dear Mainwaring,
"Here I am with a strained wrist and a halo of heroism. The first is uncomfortable, the second undeserved. No doubt you will receive a garbled account of what has occurred, and a highly-coloured report of my 'heroic action and wonderful presence of mind'—the words are Miss James's, not mine. Well, then, to save your brain a shock, and your friendship a blow, I send off these somewhat unintelligible lines. I don't want you repeating the tale, with mock heroics, at the club and about town, and I know your fondness for a good story.
"Let me say then, as a premise, that whatever of bravery or heroism was displayed, at a somewhat critical moment in a commonplace incident, belongs solely to Mdlle. Lamien, Mimi's governess; and, by-the-bye, I don't know but that it is just at these commonplace times that one's nerve and resolution are most often put to the test.
"Here are the facts: Mrs. Newbold has a pair of new ponies, George's latest gift, and her last fad; she drove me up with them the day I arrived, and I didn't care for their style particularly, they pulled too hard, and had an obstinate trick of catching at the bit that might prove nasty. Esther's groom on these occasions is Tony, elected, presumably, because of the smallness of his stature. You have seen Tony, and therefore know that he is mostly hat.
"Very well, this morning being bright and cool, Mrs. Newbold decided to take little Marianne and Cissy Beverley for a drive; it was in vain both George and I pointed out to her that the ponies had not been exercised for the last two days, and would therefore be very fresh and too great a handful for her, she would not listen—her sex never will, you know, when advice runs against inclination—and woman-like, she must play with her latest toy.
"So off they started, the children tucked in beside Mrs. Newbold, and Tony perched up behind. The little brutes were fresh enough, but Esther had them well in hand, and drove off in true workmanlike style. They had their drive, along the upper road, and round by the Bay, and so through the town to Beverley's house. Here Mrs. Newbold got out, letting Marianne hold the reins, with Tony at the ponies' heads. She lifted Cissy down, and was just turning to give a word of caution, when a cat, followed by Beverley's setter pup, ran out from the kitchen garden and flew directly under the ponies' heads.
"Then came a sudden shying movement, the light carriage swayed dangerously, and then, with tossing heads, the little brutes broke loose from Tony's hold, took the bits between their teeth, and in a second were off on a dead run.
"You will admit it was not a pleasant situation for Esther. She has since told me that her first intimation of danger was the sight of her darling's bright sunny hair and frightened blue eyes being borne away in the rocking, swaying carriage, as it sped down the drive, drawn by horses wild and young.
"They passed the gate safely, and started off down the Terrace at a full gallop. And now my part comes in. I was walking leisurely up from the post-office when, as I neared Snug Harbour, I saw the ponies dashing towards me; in a second I recognised them; in that second they were past me. I started after them, but with a feeling of hopelessness, for who could hope to come up with their flying feet? And though the road was broad and open for several miles, little Marianne—whose piteous white face caught my eye as she was borne by me—might at any moment loose her hold and be dashed out, or dragged in the trailing reins.
"I put on what speed I could, and as I reached a slight curve in the road, beyond which the ponies would be lost to sight, a woman flew through an open gate and threw herself directly in front of the frightened animals.
"Thus checked for a second, I saw her measure the distance with a glance, then jump and catch the bridle with one hand, flinging all her weight upon it and never letting go, though the little brutes dragged her several rods. To reach her side and add my strength to hers was but the work of a moment; the ponies, easily tired, submitted to my soothing voice and hand, while little Marianne, who throughout had behaved like a heroine, now covered herself with glory, by stepping deliberately out of the carriage and throwing her arms about the tall, dark figure beside her.
"I turned then to face my brave companion; it was, as I suspected, Mdlle. Lamien, who stood there, calm and unmoved, the heavy lace of her veil concealing whatever emotion her face might have revealed. It was she, and no other, who had risked her own life to save the child; and yet, Mainwaring, I declare to you solemnly and in all calmness, it was not of her I thought as we stood together side by side; it was not her personality that seemed so near me, nor her spirit that had carried out so brave a rescue. Laugh at me if you will, suggest hysteria and nerves; so be it, I accept the taunt, and repeat again, it was not Mdlle. Lamien who made captive my admiration and esteem—it was Patricia Hildreth. Explain it as best you can. I do but repeat, it was Patricia who dominated me then; Patricia who seemingly stood so close, I had but to put out my hand to touch her,—and yet—it was Mdlle. Lamien who replied coldly to my inquiries, and who walked swiftly away, leaving me with Marianne, and the now quiet horses.
"Strange to say, neither she nor the child have received any injuries, and I have escaped with a strained wrist—my left one—which will not incapacitate me for to-morrow; indeed, a Henri de Flavigneul with a sling will be a new departure, and ought to prove what Miss Darling would call 'very fetching.'
"By the way, you come down, I believe, for the play; did I tell you Patricia will also be here? I think in many ways this place grows dangerous, and I shall return to my own den, as soon as the theatricals are over.
"As ever, old friend, yours faithfully,"Philip Tremain."
But if Mr. Tremain was inclined to treat thus lightly his share in Marianne's rescue, the others refused to look at it in so trivial a light. Esther, with tears in her eyes, took both his hands and thanked him with a tremulous smile.
"I shall never forget it, Philip, never," she said, and turned away to hide the falling drops.
George Newbold, proverbially a man of few words, wrung his friend's hand in the grip of a giant, and muttered an incoherent "Old fellow, can't thank you; it was splendidly done."
And then came Dick Darling, her laughing face sobered for a moment, and a look of true admiration in her eyes, as she said:
"Mr. Tremain, you are a brick; it was awfully tip-top of you! I tell you what; for downright bravery you 'take the cake!'"
But from no one did Philip receive such delicate and subtle flattery as from Miss James. That young lady fairly glowed with the magnitude of her admiration. She went about with raised eyelids and drooped lips, as though always contemplating, mentally, his past danger, and returning thanks for his deliverance. She was also always meeting him at odd times, and in out-of-the-way corners, and asking with solicitude after his "poor injured wrist," offering to bind it up for him, or write his letters, or read to him; which last, as Dick said, "was palpably absurd, since Mr. Tremain's eyes and brains were not injured, or out of working gear."
Philip, hating all fuss, and especially fuss in which he deserved so small a share, made the most of his strained wrist and kept in the smoking-room, or his own chamber, the rest of the day, and there nursed his rancour against Miss James for being a fool herself, and making him appear an equal one; and his resentment towards Mdlle. Lamien, who had passed him by almost without recognition, drawing the falling laces closer about her face, and not heeding the eager hand he put out to detain her, or the alert tone in which he asked after her health. She had paused just one brief instant, as though about to speak, and then, evidently changing her intention, drew herself up and passed down the stairs, not once looking back, or replying by a word to his courtesy.
There was a full-dress rehearsal called for that evening, and Philip, as he sat moodily in his own room, smoking his cigar, felt a half savage delight in the knowledge that Mdlle. Lamien must appear for it, and respond in a somewhat less chilling and uncomfortable manner to the requirements demanded by his rôle.
A little before tea-time he heard voices in the corridor outside, which he recognised as Dick Darling's and Baby Leonard's.
"Only think; she has actually come," Miss Leonard was saying, "and a day before she promised!"
To which Dick briefly replied, "Who?"
"Why, Miss Hildreth, of course; who else are we all waiting for? Really, Dick, you grow very dense!"
"Oh, do I?" returned Miss Darling, unmoved. "And so Patricia has come at last? Patricia the beautiful, Patricia the inconstant, Patricia the slayer, Patricia the conqueror! Well, I agree with you, Baby, 'tis something to be sure of her, for Miss Patty is but kittle cattle at best!"
Here the two girls walked down the passage, their voices growing fainter and then sinking into silence. So Patricia was come. For a long time Mr. Tremain sat very still, not heeding his outward surroundings, immersed in retrospect; his cigar went out, the fire died on the hearth and fell into little heaps of white ashes, the day darkened, the hours drew on to evening, and the shadows came out of their hiding-places in the large room, creeping up from indistinct corners, and from behind the heavy furniture, shaking themselves free from the window draperies, and drawing nearer, nearer, until they wrapped him all about in their impalpable obscurity, and he became a part of them, as unreal and intangible as they.
Patty was come! Patty! And he must see her again, must look into her eyes, and touch her hand, and watch the smile come and go upon her lips, just as he had known it all, and loved it, ten years ago.
And now a strange thing occurred; at least it seemed strange at the time, and Philip could never quite shake off the indefinable feeling of the supernatural that then enveloped him, whenever in after years he recalled that evening.
His rooms were situated in what was known as the "bachelor wing" of the Folly, though not separated from the main corridor, as were the other apartments of that class. He knew that next to his chamber was what was called the Green Room, occupied by Miss James and Dick Darling, while on the other side was the dressing-room belonging to his suite, and used by his man-servant; the remaining rooms beyond were bachelor apartments, separated from the main part of the house by a heavy baize door, that cut off all sound. He also knew that the fair occupants of the Green Room were at that hour sipping tea and scandal in the library, and his man flirting with the maids in the hall. To all intents and purposes he was absolutely alone, as no sound of arriving guests could reach him, the greater spare rooms being situated in the west wing. Marianne and Mdlle. Lamien's apartments were in the main corridor, but a storey above. All this flashed across Mr. Tremain's mind in a second, though it has taken somewhat long to explain.
As he sat brooding in the chill dim shadows, conjuring up the ghosts of bygone years, and speculating moodily upon the fate that had marred his life, and the strange, inconsistent, unwilling homage he even yet bore for the woman who had played the part of a gay mocking Cassandra to him, and with a dreary pessimist philosophy accepted his destiny as inevitable, he became suddenly aware of a faint subtle perfume, that stole over his senses imperceptibly, which he recognised physically to be the odour of violets. And as this sweet scent swept over him, there came before him vividly, a sudden sharp remembrance of the past, while the words of the poet rose unconsciously to his lips:
"—I think of the passion that shook my youth,Of its aimless love and its idle pains,And am thankful now for the certain truthThat only the sweet remains."
"—I think of the passion that shook my youth,Of its aimless love and its idle pains,And am thankful now for the certain truthThat only the sweet remains."
He was no longer Philip the successful, resting in his easy-chair, the idol of the hour at the Folly; but he was Philip the ardent, and the impecunious; Philip in a badly made coat, heated and travel-stained, hurt and angry; standing in a room that was dainty in its luxury of flowers and half lights, with a vision of a drawing-room beyond, brilliantly lighted, softly coloured, and from whence came the echo of gay laughter, and bright voices.
And now from out that room came slowly, ah, how slowly, to his wildly beating heart, a tall slight figure, clad in softest silks and laces, with a breast-knot of violets; and as the vision advanced nearer and stood half within the shadow of the outer room, he could see the soft fair face, crowned with its dead-brown hair, and wearing a look half frightened, half pleading in the sweet eyes, and on the arched and trembling lips.
Slowly, slowly the figure drew nearer to him; now it was but a few paces off, he could almost touch it with his hand, he could see the violets rise and fall with the lace upon her bosom; their scent came to him strong, and sweet, and pungent. He sprang from his chair, and held out his hands.
"Patty!" he cried, "Patty, have you come to find me, my little Patty?"
But even as he spoke the vision faded; there came one clear loud whisper, calling his name, "Philip! Philip!" and then, even as he looked, the shining lights were gone, the gaily echoed voices silent, the figure grew indistinct and unreal, and then vanished, and Philip found himself standing in the middle of the room, gazing on vacancy, with only the sad perfume of violets left on the air.
He sank back into his chair, bewildered, exhausted, and as he did so, a strain of saddest music reached his ears, and a voice that was almost a monotone, and yet that struck an answering chord of misery in his heart, said, rather than sang, some words that ran in this wise: