CHAPTER VIII.
Reuel was greatly touched during the next three months by the devotion of his friend Livingston, whose unselfishness in his behalf he had before had cause to notice. Nor was this all; he seemed capable of any personal sacrifice that the welfare of Briggs demanded.
Before many days had passed he had placed the young man in direct communication with the English officials in charge of the African expedition. The salary was most generous; in fact, all the arrangements were highly satisfactory. Whatever difficulties really existed melted, as it were, before Aubrey’s influence, and Reuel would have approached the time of departure over a bed of roses but for the pain of parting with Dianthe.
At length the bustle of graduation was over. The last article of the traveler’s outfit was bought. The morning of the day of departure was to see the ceremony performed that would unite the young people for life. It was a great comfort to Reuel that Charlie Vance had decided to join the party as a tourist for the sake of the advantages of such a trip.
The night before their departure Aubrey Livingston entertained the young men at dinner in his rooms along with a number of college professors and other learned savants. The most complimentary things were said of Reuel in the after-dinner toasts, the best of wishes were uttered together with congratulations on the marriage of the morrow for they all admired the young enthusiast. His superiority was so evident that none disputed it; they envied him, but were not jealous. The object of their felicitations smiled seldom.
“Come, for heaven sake shake off your sadness; be the happy groom upon whom Fortune, fickle jade, has at last consented to smile,” cried Adonis. So, amid laughter and jest, the night passed and the morrow came.
After his guests had departed, Aubrey Livingston went to the telegraph office and sent a message:
“To Jim Titus,“Laurel Hill, Virginia:—“Be on hand at the New York dock, Trans-Atlantic Steamship Co., on the first. I will be there to make things right for you. Ten thousand if you succeed the first six months.“A. L.”
“To Jim Titus,“Laurel Hill, Virginia:—
“Be on hand at the New York dock, Trans-Atlantic Steamship Co., on the first. I will be there to make things right for you. Ten thousand if you succeed the first six months.
“A. L.”
It was noon the next day and the newly wedded stood with clasped hands uttering their good-byes.
“You must not be unhappy, dear. The time will run by before you know it, andI shall be with you again. Meanwhile there is plenty to occupy you. You have Molly and Aubrey to take you about. But pray remember my advice,—don’t attempt too much; you’re not strong by any means.”
“No, I am not strong!” she interrupted with a wild burst of tears. “Reuel, if you knew how weak I am you would not leave me.”
Her husband drew the fair head to his bosom, pressing back the thick locks with a lingering lover’s touch.
“I wish to God I could take you with me,” he said tenderly after a silence. “Dear girl, you know this grief of yours would break my heart, only that it shows how well you love me. I am proud of every tear.” She looked at him with an expression he could not read; it was full of unutterable emotion—love, anguish, compassion.
“Oh,” she said passionately, “nothing remains long with us but sorrow and regret. Every good thing may be gone tomorrow—lost! Do you know, I sometimes dream or have waking visions of a past time in my life? But when I try to grasp the fleeting memories they leave me groping in darkness. Can’t you help me, Reuel?”
With a laugh he kissed away her anxieties, although he was dismayed to know that at most any time full memory might return. He must speak to Aubrey. Then he closed her lips with warm lingering kisses.
“Be a good girl and pray for your husband’s safety, that God may let us meet again and be happy! Don’t get excited. That youmustguard against.”
And Reuel Briggs, though his eyes were clouded with tears, was a happy man at heart that day. Just that once he tasted to the full all that there is of happiness in human life. Happy is he who is blessed with evenoneperfect day in a lifetime of sorrow. His last memory of her was a mute kiss and a low “God bless you,” broken by a sob. And so they parted.
In the hall below Molly Vance met him with a sisterly kiss for good-bye; outside in the carriage satMr.Vance, Sr., Charlie and Aubrey waiting to drive to the depot.
Reuel Briggs, Charlie Vance and their servant, Jim Titus, sailed from New York for Liverpool, England, on the first day of July.
The departure of the young men made a perceptible break in the social circle at Vance Hall.Mr.Vance buried himself in the details of business and the two girls wandered disconsolately about the house and grounds attended by Livingston, who was at the Hall constantly and pursued them with delicate attentions.
By common consent it was determined that no summer exodus could be thought of until after the travellers had reached August, all being well, they would seek the limit of civilized intercourse in Africa. While waiting, to raise the spirits of the family, it was decided to invite a house party for the remainder of July, and in the beauties of Bar Harbor. Soon gaiety and laughter filled the grand old rooms; the days went merrily by.
Two men were sitting in the billiard room lounging over iced punch. Light, perfumed and golden, poured from the rooms below upon the summer night, and the music of a waltz made its way into the darkness.
“What an odd fish Livingston has grown to be,” said one, relighting a thin, delicate-looking cigar. “I watched him out of curiosity a while ago and was struck at the change in him.”
“Ah!” drawled the other sipping the cooling beverage. “Quite a Priuli on the whole, eh?”
“Y-e-s! Precisely. And I have fancied that the beautiful Mrs. Briggs is his Clarisse. What do you think? She shuddersevery time he draws near, and sinks to the ground under the steady gaze of his eye. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Deucedly odd! About to marry Miss Vance, isn’t he?”
“That don’t count. Love is not always legitimate. If there’s anything in it, it is only a flirtation probably; that’s the style.”
“What you say is true, Skelton. Let’s drink the rest of this stuff and go down again. I know we’re missed already.”
When they had swallowed the punch and descended, the first person they saw was Livingston leaning against the door of the salon. His face was abstracted and in dead repose, there lurked about the corners of his full lips implacable resolution. The waltz was ended.
Some interminable argument was going on, generally, about the room. Conversation progressed in sharp, brisk sentences, which fell from the lips like the dropping shots of sharpshooters. There was a call for music. Molly mentally calculated her available talent and was about to give up the idea and propose something else, when she was amazed to see Dianthe rise hurriedly from her seat on an ottoman, go to the piano unattended and sit down. Unable to move with astonishment she watched in fascination the slender white fingers flash over the keys. There was a strange rigid appearance about the girl that was unearthly. Never once did she raise her eyes. At the first sharp treble note the buzz in the room was hushed at stillness. Livingston moved forward and rested his arm upon the piano fastening his gaze upon the singer’s quivering lips.
Slowly, tremulously at first, pealed forth the notes:
“Go down, Moses, way down in Egypt’s land,Tell ol’ Pharaoh, let my people go.”
Scarcely was the verse begun when every person in the room started suddenly and listened with eager interest. As the air proceeded, some grew visibly pale, and not daring to breathe a syllable, looked horrified into each other’s faces. “Great heaven!” whisperedMr.Vance to his daughter, “do you not hear another voice beside Mrs. Briggs’?”
It was true, indeed. A weird contralto, veiled as it were, rising and falling upon every wave of the great soprano, and reaching the ear as from some strange distance. The singer sang on, her voice dropping sweet and low, the echo following it, and at the closing word, she fell back in a dead faint.Mr.Vance caught her in his arms.
“Mrs. Briggs has the soul of an artiste. She would make a perfect prima donna for the Grand Opera,” remarked one man to Molly.
“We are as surprised as anyone,” replied the young girl; “we never knew that Mrs. Briggs was musical until this evening. It is a delightful surprise.”
They carried her to the quiet, cool library away from the glaring lights and the excitement, and at her request left her there alone. Her thoughts were painful. Memory had returned in full save as to her name. She knit her brow in painful thought, finally leaning back among her cushions wearily, too puzzled for further thought. Presently a step paused beside her chair. She looked up into Livingston’s face.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked, gently taking in her slender wrist and counting the pulse-beats.
Instead of answering his question, she began abruptly: “Mr.Livingston, Reuel told me to trust you implicitly. Can you and will you tell me what has happened to me since last I sang the song I have sung here tonight? I try to recall the past, but all is confusion and mystery. It makes my head ache so to think.”
Livingston suddenly drew closer to her.
“Yes, Felice, thereisa story in your life! I can save you.”
“Save me!” exclaimed the girl.
“Yes, and will! Listen to me.” In gentle accents he recounted to her there in the stillness, with the pulsing music of the viols beating and throbbing in her ears like muffled drums, the story of Dianthe Lusk as we have told it here. At the close of the tale the white-faced girl turned to him in despair the more eloquent because of her quietness.
“Did Reuel know that I was a Negress?”
“No; no one recognized you but myself.”
She hid her face in her hands.
“Who ever suffered such torture as mine?” she cried, bitterly. “And there is no rest out of the grave!” she continued.
“Yes, there is rest and security in my love! Felice, Dianthe, I have learned to love you!”
She sprang from his touch as if stung.
He continued: “I love you better than all in the world. To possess you I am prepared to prove false to my friend—I am prepared to save you from the fate that must be yours if ever Reuel learns your origin.”
“You would have me give up all for you?” she asked with a shudder.
“Ay, from your husband—from the world! We will go where none can ever find us. If you refuse, I cannot aid you.”
“Pity me!”
She sank upon her knees at his feet.
“I give you a week to think it over. I can love, but cannot pity.”
In vain the girl sought to throw off the numbing influence of the man’s presence. In desperation she tried to defy him, but she knew that she had lost her will-power and was but a puppet in the hands of this false friend.