"It is time for me to go. Come down, Mrs. Arnold, and see whether you think Mr. Viennet as handsome as Kitty does."
She very reluctantly followed me downstairs, and waited in the porch to see us, and say good bye as we should pass out.
I found Victor and Mr. Shenstone talking. Victor, it seemed to me, treated his entertainer with several degrees more of reverence than I had imagined he could either feel or affect toward any one. Mr. Shenstone's manner was rather less tranquil than ordinary, though, it struck me. He accompanied us to the door, and looked very earnestly at Victor as we came into the stronger light.
"I shall hope for the pleasure of another visit before you leave the country, Mr. Viennet," he said slowly, as we parted at the threshold.
"I shall not fail to do myself the honor," returned Victor, in a manner less French, and more sincere than usual, bowing very low.
"Isn't he handsome?" I whispered, in a careless aside to Mrs. Arnold, as we passed her on the porch. But to my surprise, she had started back, with the same dilated, agitated look in her eyes, that she had worn upstairs, and the fluttering color coming and going on her face as she watched Victor, while her pale lips opened, but no sound passed them. I stared in wonder, but she drew back hastily, and disappeared in the house.
"You will have a pleasant walk," said Mr. Shenstone, thoughtfully, as he watched us down the path.
"I'm afraid not," muttered Victor, between his teeth, as at the gate Dr. Hugh joined us with a most affable bow. He proposed to accompany us on our way, he said, if agreeable to us. He was going as far as the Park, to see that delicate-looking young Mr. Wynkar, to whom he had just been summoned.
"Over-eaten himself, no doubt," said Victor, impatiently,
"Ah?" said the doctor, nodding intelligently, "is that his trouble? I fancied as much. Your pale, cadaverous-looking people generally are the very mischief among the provisions."
Victor's lip curled; I could see he chafed under this familiarity. Why does he endure it, I thought. His imperious temper brooks no annoyance from those around him; daily there is some new evidence of his self-will and determination; why does he so tamely submit to what, there wants no penetration to see, is galling him to distraction.
It was almost impossible to realize that this was my gay, sparkling companion of an hour ago. Pale and abstracted he walked beside me, answering, at random, the doctor's many questions—gnawing his lip at the occasional familiarities of his manner, but offering no affront or slight.
Our constrained and uncomfortable walk brought us to the house just as the Masons were getting into their carriage. The whole party stood on the piazza, and the approach for us was anything but a pleasant thing.
"Courage," whispered Victor, seeing me falter as every eye turned toward us. "Be as queenly as you can. You had a right to go; there was no intimation given you that there was to be company at lunch. It would be cowardly indeed to mindtheirslights."
Victor had touched the right chord; the color flashed back into my cheeks, and with as queenly a step as he could have desired, I advanced to meet the strangers.
"You must excuse my cousin," cried Grace, interrupting our rather formal greetings. "She never allows anything to interfere with her rural tastes, and as she is addicted to tête-à-tête rows and lonely rambles, we are quite cut off from her society."
The Misses Mason looked at me as if they were afraid of me, the Messrs. Mason as if they would have been, if they had not been such brave men. I do not know exactly what I said, it was all a kind of dream, I was so intensely worked up; but whatever my answer was, it must have been clever, and a good retort, for Victor's clear laugh rang in the air, and the young ladies tittered, and looked at Grace to see how she bore it, and the least ponderous of the two young gentlemen slapped the captain on the back with a low:
"By George! She's not to be put down! I like her spirit."
A month ago, perhaps, the interview that I had to go through with my aunt after the departure of the guests, would have made me quite miserable; but now, it was utterly powerless. We were openly at war, and no hostile message could alter the state of affairs. I could have laughed in her face, for all the impression that it made on me, but of course I preserved the external respect I owed her, and neither by look nor word betrayed how indifferent a matter it was to me whether she approved or dissented.
"A word with you, my friend," I heard the doctor say to Victor, passing his arm through his and leading him off toward the terrace. Victor set his lips firmly together, and his face darkened; there was a storm brewing; the wily doctor was going too far, if he did not wish to feel the wrath of it. For half an hour, I watched them from my window; they had gone to a retired walk in the shrubbery, where only at a certain turn I could catch sight of them. Victor's face, whenever I could see it, was white and passionate, and his gestures showed that he had dashed aside the restraint he had set upon himself. His was not an impotent and childish anger either; it was the strong wrath of a strong man, snared and trapped, exasperated and tortured by an enemy wily and powerful, with some secret hold upon his victim, that gave his weakness and meanness the strength of a giant. I watched, fascinated and terrified, for every glimpse of the two faces, as the two men strode up and down the alley. If Victor's tormentor had seen his face as I did, surely he would have paused. How could confidence and pride so blind a man as to make him insensible to the danger of rousing to such a pitch, such a fierce southern nature? They had blinded him, however, for Dr. Hugh's face expressed nothing but cunning and triumph, guarded and subdued by habitual self-control.
That night, as we were separating for our rooms, Victor announced carelessly that his pleasant visit was nearly at an end. He had that day received letters that made it necessary for him to sail in next week's steamer, and he should have to tear himself away from Rutledge in a day or two. The color went and came in my face as I met Mr. Rutledge's eye; Victor studiously avoided looking at me, and the others were too much absorbed in the announcement to heed me.
"Why, Victor!" exclaimed Phil, heartily, stung perhaps with some slight self-reproach for his recent neglect; "why, old fellow, we shan't know what to do without you! It's a shame to break up a pleasant party like this. Make it the next steamer, and stay over another week, and we'll all go together."
"Do, I beg of you, Victor," echoed Ellerton.
"And you couldn't go without that day's woodcock shooting we've been talking of," said the captain. "The law's up next week, you know."
"And you've forgotten the masquerade!" exclaimed Josephine.
"And the Masons' tableaux!" cried Ella.
"And my cousin's feelings," added Grace, slily.
"And what of your own, my pretty Miss Grace?" said Victor, carrying the war so abruptly over into her territory that she had no time to collect her wits for a retort. "My own heart is broken at the idea of leaving you. Are you perfectly unmoved at the sight of my sorrow? I shall never believe in woman again."
"I do not know," said Mr. Rutledge, "what other inducements we can hold out of sufficient power to detain Mr. Viennet longer. If there is anything so imperative as he suggests, however, I imagine that our persuasions will be thrown away."
"Quite thrown away, sir, I regret to admit," said Victor, with a low and significant bow. "I can enjoy your hospitality no longer than Wednesday morning."
"And as the dove, to far Palmyra flyingFrom where her native founts of Antioch beam,Weary, exhausted, longing, panting, sighing,Lights sadly at the desert's bitter stream,"So many a soul, o'er life's drear desert faring,Love's pure, congenial spring unfound, unquaffed,Suffers—recoils—then, thirsty and despairingOf what it would, descends, and sips the nearest draught."
"You are cruel," said Victor, in a low tone, as I followed the rest of the party into the library after dinner. "This is my last day, and you will not give me a moment."
"Who's for a ride? Mr. Rutledge wants to know," said Grace, coming in from the piazza.
"Not I, for one," exclaimed Ella, throwing herself back on the sofa. "I'm going to save myself for this evening."
"And you, too, Josephine, dear," said her mother, "had better not tire yourself any more. You will be perfectly fagged if you go to drive, and you want to keep yourself fresh for the Masons."
"Aren't you made of sterner stuff?" whispered Victor. "Aren't you equal to a drive and a party in the same twenty-four hours? It is heavy work, I know, but your constitution seems a good one."
"I think I'll venture," I said, following Grace into the hall. "There's Kitty on the stairs. Mr. Viennet, tell her to bring me my bonnet, please."
Kitty was only too glad to obey Mr. Viennet's orders at any time, and she flew to get my things.
"Get mine at the same time, young woman," drawled Grace.
Before Kitty had returned from her double errand, the horses were at the door.
"Our friends, the bays," said Victor. "But I think our host means to drive them himself. He has the reins in his hands."
"Are these all your recruits, Miss Grace?" said Mr. Rutledge.
"Yes. Josephine and Ella are afraid of their complexions, or their tempers, or something, and won't come, and I can't find Captain McGuffy or Phil."
Victor stood ready to hand me into the carriage; I immediately took possession of the back seat.
"This is a very selfish arrangement," said Victor, discontentedly, as Grace was about to follow me. "Miss Grace, you'd have a much better view of the country up there beside Mr. Rutledge."
"And Grace might drive," I added; "she's so fond of horses."
"As you please," she said, with a shrug. "I only go for ballast yet awhile, I know, and it's evident I'm not wanted here. Mr. Rutledge, doyouwant me?"
"Miss Grace, my happiness will not be complete till you comply with Mr. Viennet's disinterested suggestion;" and Grace mounted up beside him.
I had undertaken, in that drive, more than I was quite equal to. I had brought myself into the position that I had been avoiding all day, a tête-à-tête of the most unequivocal kind with a man whose devotion it was impossible to ignore, and I had gone too far to retract entirely. It was cruel to treat him with coldness, now that we were on the eve of a long separation, and to repel with indifference the tenderness that shone in his eloquent eyes and faltered in his low tones. Our companions left us entirely to ourselves; my awkward attempts to draw them into a general conversation were all frustrated by Mr. Rutledge's cool indifference, and Grace's cool impertinence.
The only time that Mr. Rutledge addressed a single remark voluntarily to me, was on our way home. We had driven around by Norbury, and were returning by way of the post-office. Suddenly drawing the reins, Mr. Rutledge stopped for an instant on the brow of the hill.
"Do you remember this?" he said, abruptly, turning to me, and fixing his eyes on my face.
Remember it? My cheek was crimson with the recollection then; the scene would never fade but with life and memory. It was just here, that, in the glow of the autumn sunset, he and I had parted on that ever-to-be-remembered evening, when my willfulness had led me into such danger. Hemlock Hollow lay dark and dense below us. Far off at the left, the mill and bridge that had served as a landmark then, gleamed in the setting sun. The forest foliage was greener and thicker now, but the picture was the same; I could never have got it out of my memory if I had tried; and yet, when Mr. Rutledge asked me that sudden question, a wicked lie, or as wicked a prevarication, rose to my lips.
"Yes, I think I remember it. Didn't we go this way to the Emersons' the day of the fête?"
"I think we did—yes," said Mr. Rutledge, with an almost imperceptible compression of the lips, as, bending forward, he startled the eager horses with a galling lash of the whip.
Grace was quite white with alarm as we reached the village.
"Mr. Rutledge, whydoyou drive so frightfully fast? I am terrified to death."
He drew the horses in a little, and, looking down at her, said:
"Were we going fast? I am sorry I frightened you; for my part, I thought we crept."
He paused a moment at the Parsonage gate. Mrs. Arnold was in the garden; Mr. Rutledge called out to her that he had brought Mr. Shenstone's letters and papers, but had not time to stop to see him. She approached the carriage, looking so lady-like and attractive, with her soft, white hair smoothed plain under her neat cap, and her clinging dark dress, that Victor said, involuntarily to me:
"What an attractive-looking person! I never saw a gentler face."
She was quite absorbed in attending to the message Mr. Rutledge left for Mr. Shenstone, and in her retiring modesty I do not think she ventured a look at us, till Victor, who had been watching her with interest, addressed some remark to her. She raised her eyes at the sound of his voice in a startled way, the same fluttering, frightened look transformed her quiet features, and trying in vain to command herself, she stammered some excuse, and turned away.
"Strange!" exclaimed Victor, as we drove on. "Did you notice the odd way in which that person looked at me, both now and the other day?"
"Itisstrange," said Mr. Rutledge, thoughtfully. "Can you account for it in any way?"
"In no way, sir. I do not think I ever enjoyed the happiness of meeting her before I visited this neighborhood; and since my residence in it, I cannot remember having done anything to have rendered myself at all an object of interest to her."
"Who's that bowing so graciously to you?" interrupted Grace.
"Oh! Ellerton's medical adviser."
"By the way, Mr. Viennet," said Mr. Rutledge, turning rather abruptly to him, "the doctor tells me he is an old friend of yours."
"Hardly a friend, if I understand the term aright," returned Victor, changing color slightly. "I knew him when he was studying medicine in the city two or three years ago. I lost sight of him entirely after that, and the renewal of our acquaintance has been attended with more zest on his part than on mine."
"I believe he is rather apt to presume," said Mr. Rutledge, briefly, and there the conversation dropped.
We were rather a taciturn party for the remainder of the way. Tea was waiting for us on our return, and after it, Grace and I had to make quite a hurried toilet for the party, the others being already dressed.
"Aunt Edith, be kind enough to let me accompany you," I said, hurriedly, following her into the carriage, as we all stood, ready to start, on the stone walk below the piazza. Victor, with a look of disappointment, closed the door upon Mrs. Churchill, Grace, Ella, and myself.
"Miss Josephine," I had heard Mr. Rutledge say, "it is such a lovely night, you will surely not refuse to let me drive you. It will be infinitely pleasanter than going in the carriage, I assure you."
It was a very long and a very silent drive for the inmates of the carriage, to Windy Hill; and when we arrived there, we found the gentlemen of our party awaiting our coming with some impatience. The curtain would be raised in a moment, Phil said; the tableaux had been retarded as long as possible on our account. Where were Josephine and Mr. Rutledge?
"Echo answers where," said Grace. "Taking the longest way, you may be sure, and making the most of this lovely moonlight."
Mrs. Churchill did not seem very uneasy, and after a little consultation in the dressing-room, it was decided that we should not wait for them, but should all go down to the parlor. Accordingly we descended the stairs and entered the roomen masse. It was quite full, and as they had only been waiting for our arrival, in a few moments the curtain rose.
The tableaux were very fine, no doubt; there were murmurs of applause and exclamations of admiration from all the company. All were enthusiastically received, and some were encored. I tried to attend, but my recollection of them is only a confused jumble of convent and harem scenes, trials of queenly personages, and signings of death warrants and marriage contracts; Effie Deans, and Rebekah at the well, the eve of St. Bartholomew, and the landing of the Pilgrims. I tried to attend, both to the tableaux and to Victor's whispered conversation, but there was "something on my mind" as Kitty would have said, too engrossing to allow me to succeed. Do what I might, I still found myself listening eagerly for the sound of carriage wheels outside. Victor noticed my abstracted and nervous manner, and turned away at last with a half sigh.
The curtain rose and fell many times, the audience admired, applauded and encored, with untiring enthusiasm, the little French clock above me on the mantelpiece, marked the departing minutes faithfully, and still they did not come. This was as unlike Josephine as it was unlike Mr. Rutledge. Something dreadful had happened, I was sure; something that would make the memory of this night forever terrible, and what a miserable mockery it was for us all to be laughing and talking so thoughtlessly. Mrs. Churchill was anxious, I could see, but she tried very faithfully to conceal it, and laughed and turned off all conjectures about them with her usual skillful nonchalance. Phil had walked the piazza as long as he could endure it, then throwing himself upon his horse, had galloped off in the direction of Rutledge.
At last the parlors were cleared of all the appurtenances of the tableaux, and the dancing began. I was standing by a window listening—oh, how eagerly!—for the sound of wheels, when Victor approached me, and asked for the next dance.
"Indeed you must excuse me, I cannot dance," I said almost impatiently, "ask somebody else."
The look with which he turned away would have cut me to the heart, if my heart had not been too selfishly miserable to mind the pain of others. He did not dance, but leaning against the window opposite gazed abstractedly out. The gay music and merry voices grated perhaps as cruelly on his mood as on mine.
I never had had less the command of myself; the persons who came up to talk to me, could make nothing of me; I could not talk, could not find a word of answer to their questions. At length a gentleman who had been standing near me for some minutes, said kindly:
"These rooms are too warm for you, will you come on the piazza for a little while?"
I gave him a grateful look, and taking his arm, followed him out into the fresh air. Several others were there before us, and accepting my cicerone's offer of a seat, I leaned against the vine-covered pillar, and looked intently down the road that led winding up from the lodge. My companion evidently understood and pitied my anxiety and did not attempt to make me talk.
At last! there came a distant sound of wheels, and as they rapidly neared the house, I involuntarily covered my face with my hands. What might they bring? What news might I hear in another moment?
"They are safe," said my companion, kindly. "Look, they are at the door."
I looked up. Josephine, with a light laugh, was springing up the steps. Mr. Rutledge, who had thrown the reins to a servant, was following her. Mrs. Churchill and a group of others hurried out to meet them.
"My dear," she exclaimed hurriedly, "what has detained you? We have been excessively worried about you."
"Why, mamma," laughed the daughter, lightly kissing her mother's cheek, "I knew you would scold, and I didn't mean to have been so naughty, but you know it was such a sweet evening, and Mr. Rutledge said that wild Hemlock Hollow looked so picturesque by moonlight, that we couldn't resist the temptation of going that way, and after we had driven—oh! I can't tell you how far—we suddenly came upon a huge old tree that had fallen across the road, and over it of course we could not get, and the woods were so dense on either side that it was impossible to get around it, so the only thing left for us to do, was to turn, and make the best of our way back."
"I assure you, Mrs. Churchill," said Mr. Rutledge, "I am very much annoyed at having caused you this anxiety. You will fancy me very careless, but it was a contretemps I had never dreamed of."
The whole party passed out of sight into the hall. A group who stood near us and had been watching the scene, also moved on toward the door, but as they turned away I caught the words from one of them:
"It looks very much like it, and it will be an excellent thing on both sides; but I never thought till lately, that he would marry."
"Will you go in," said my companion.
"Yes, if you please," and we followed the crowd.
"Ah! you look like a different person," he said, smiling as we went into the light. I saw as we passed a mirror that a bright spot was burning on each cheek, and my eyes were shining unnaturally. "I could see you were dreadfully anxious about your cousin, and indeed I could not wonder at it."
"For the last time," said Victor in a low tone at my side, "will you dance with me?"
I yielded, and in a moment we were on the floor. Not an instant after that did I stop to think. If I had, my cheek would have paled to have found at the mercy of what fierce hatred, resentment and jealousy, my unguided soul then was, and whither they were hurrying me. To others, I was only a gay young girl, revelling in her first flush of triumph, thoughtless, innocent and happy. God help all such innocence and happiness!
It was the last dance; the carriage was already at the door. Mrs. Churchill had limited us to five minutes; two or three were contending for my hand. Victor had hung around me all the evening, and I caught a gleam of his sad, expressive eyes. Josephine, on Mr. Rutledge's arm, passed us at the moment. Turning toward Victor, I said to the others with a smile, "Mr. Viennet says this will be his last dance in America. I think I must give it to him."
A flash of hope lighted up his handsome face. I trembled at what I had done as I took my place among the dancers. The words that I knew I must hear before we parted, I heard now. There was but a moment for the recital, but it sufficed. Was it that such homage soothed my wounded pride; or that, bewildered by this tempest of emotions, I had mistaken gratitude for tenderness, kind regard for love? Whatever may have been my motive or excuse, the fact remained the same. Before I parted with Victor Viennet at the carriage door, I had accepted his love, and promised myself to him irrevocably.
How hot and still the night had grown! I leaned my forehead on the carriage window to cool its burning. The horses seemed to creep over the smooth road; I clenched my hands together to quiet their impatience. My companions, leaning back on the cushions, slept or rested. This very tranquillity maddened me, and, holding my breath lest they should know how gaspingly it came, I wished and longed to be alone once more. I could not, did not dare to think till there were bolts and bars between me and the world. At last I caught sight of the welcome lights of Rutledge, and almost before the deliberate horses had stopped in front of the house, I burst open the carriage door, and flew up the steps.
"Have the others got home yet?" I asked of Kitty eagerly.
"No, Miss; but they'll be here in a minute. I see the lights of the barouche just by the park gate."
The other ladies paused in the parlor till the rest of the party should arrive; for me, I never stopped till I was within the sanctuary of my own room.
"No matter for undressing me to-night," I said to Kitty, who had followed me. "I can do all that is necessary for myself, and don't come till I ring for you in the morning; I am so tired I shall want to rest."
With a look of some disappointment she turned away, and I slid the bolt, with a trembling hand, between me and the outer world. But not between me and conscience, not between me and memory, not between me and remorse. I had thought, when once I am alone, this misery will vent itself in tears—this insufferable pain will yield to the relief of solitude and quiet. But I did not know with what I had to deal. I did not estimate what foes I had invoked—what remorse and regret were to be my comrades through the slow hours of that night.
With suicidal hand, it seemed to me, I had shut myself out forever from peace, forever from all chance of happiness. Nothing now but misery: the past, a sin and guilt to recall; the future, weariness but to imagine. The promise I had given was to me as irrevocable and sacred as the marriage vow itself; and self-reproach only riveted the fetters more hopelessly, as I remembered the manly love of which I was so unworthy. To draw back now, would but add perjury to my sins, and deal undeserved misery to the man I had deceived. No, hypocrisy became a duty now; he should never know the agony that I had wrestled with when I had first looked my engagement in the face. He should never know how the first hours of it had been blackened. But oh! plead repentance, I will bury this hateful secret in my heart; I will only live to serve him; I will make him happy; I will be a true and faithful wife.
True? questioned a voice within me; and with a miserable groan I hid my face, and owned that I must leave truth at the threshold of this new relation. I must enter it with a dead love in my heart, a false vow on my lips.
"Alas! I have nor hope nor health,Nor peace within nor calm around—* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *I could lie down like a tired child,And weep away the life of careWhich I have borne, and yet must bearTill death, like sleep, might steal on me."SHELLEY.
"How late you have slept, Miss!" said Kitty, as she hurried up in answer to my bell. "I have been expecting you would ring for the last hour. Did you know, Miss, they are all at breakfast?"
"It will not take me many minutes," I said, sitting down for her to braid my hair. Kitty was in a desperate hurry this morning; her fingers trembled so she could hardly manage the heavy braids.
"The other young ladies are down some time ago," she said, with a sharp look at me in the glass. "I suppose if they were tired, they would get up this morning out of politeness to Mr. Viennet, as he goes away at ten, and he might think rather hard of it if they didn't take the trouble to come down in time to say good bye to him."
Encouraged, perhaps, by the color that suffused my face, she went on: "As for him, he's been up since daybreak, walking up and down the hall, and on the piazza, and starting and changing color every time a door opened or any one came on the stairs. I don't believe he wants to go away very much."
"Kitty, you are getting my hair too low; you're not thinking of what you are about."
Kitty blushed in her turn, and said nothing more, but hurried on my toilet. It was soon completed. I would thankfully have delayed it, but there was no longer anything to wait for, no longer the least excuse, and, to Kitty's inexpressible relief, I turned to leave the room. Kitty did not suspect with what a beating heart it was, though, and with what a blur before my eyes. I hardly saw the familiar objects in the hall, hardly distinguished a word in the hum of voices in the breakfast-room, as I paused an instant at the threshold. But there was no time for wavering now. I pushed open the door and entered.
There was a momentary hush on my entrance: Phil made a place for me beside him, saying:
"It is something new for you to be late. Aren't you well?"
"Dissipation doesn't agree with you, I fear," said Mrs. Churchill. "You look quite pale this morning."
"Mamma!" exclaimed Josephine, in a tone mock-confidential, just loud enough for every one to hear. "That is unkind! Surely, you remember what happens to-day!"
"Come, come, that's not fair," said Phil. "I thought you were more considerate, Joe. Let your cousin have her breakfast in peace."
"Don't let me keep everybody waiting," I said, faintly.
"Well, if you'll excuse us," exclaimed Josephine, starting up. "We have all finished." Then with a wicked look, "Mr. Viennet, you've been through your breakfast some time. Don't you want to take a farewell promenade on the piazza?"
Mr. Viennet bowed, and expressed his pleasure in rather a low voice.
"Mr. Arbuthnot, you're not going to forsake me, are you?" I asked, as the others rose.
"Of course not," said Phil. "I am always your very good friend when you'll allow me to be."
Josephine little knew how much I thanked her for her manoeuvre; though done from motives the least amiable, it was the kindest thing she could have thought of.
"Don't take that strong coffee," said Phil, noticing how my hand trembled, and substituting for it a cup of tea; then putting everything within my reach, he sent the servant away, and began reading the paper himself.
If Phil Arbuthnot should ever prove himself my worst enemy, I never could forget the considerateness of that morning. He was tender-hearted and kind as a woman, and great, strong man as he was, there was a delicacy of feeling and gentleness about him, that suffered with everything weak and suffering, and strove, at all costs, to give aid and comfort. And aid and comfort, prompted by such a heart, could not fail to soothe. In his eyes, women were sacred; their influence over him unbounded. If he only had been thrown with those who could have elevated and purified, instead of narrowing and lowering his nature, how noble and large-hearted a man he might have been. He had sacrificed his profession, his prospects in life, and all that elevates and nerves a man, to his love for Josephine. How far she accepted it, how she meant to requite it, there is no need to say. I think she liked him; I think that she felt for him a tenderness that no one else could ever awaken in her heart. He had been her lover ever since they were girl and boy together, and in those young days, perhaps, she had fancied that the happiest thing in the world, would be to marry Phil. But such sweet romance had been scorched and shrivelled by the first breath of the world. Josephine had renounced such folly early; she was wise and prudent beyond her years, and she had been trained in a good school. Some wondered that Mrs. Churchill could trust her daughter so constantly with a man of as pleasing an address as Phil; cousins were so apt to fancy each other. "I have perfect confidence in Josephine," said Mrs. Churchill, proudly. It was not misplaced; Josephine Churchill might have been trusted with Cupid in person, if he had not been a desirableparti.
"What time is it?" I asked of Phil, in a low tone, after I had exhausted every device for prolonging my breakfast.
"Five minutes to ten," he answered, looking at his watch. "Shall we take a turn on the piazza, if you have finished?"
I followed him to the piazza. "It is too sunny for you," he said, as I screened my aching eyes from the light. "The parlor is pleasanter."
Ella was at the piano, playing some light air (very light, indeed, for the piano was not her forte), and chatting with Capt. McGuffy, who hung over her. Mrs. Churchill, Josephine, Grace, Ellerton, Victor and Mr. Rutledge were at the other end of the room.
"We shall miss you so much, Mr. Viennet," Josephine was saying, in a very charming tone. "Your place cannot be filled. Mr. Rutledge, cannot you manage to have him arrive at the station a few minutes too late?"
"Why didn't you suggest it a little sooner, Miss Josephine?" said Mr. Rutledge, with a smile, as he looked at his watch. "I think I hear the horses at the door now. Thomas will attend to your baggage—don't trouble yourself, Mr. Viennet."
"It is all ready, sir; I have nothing to do but make my adieux, and such painful work had better be short. Mrs. Churchill, I have many pleasures to remember during my residence in America, but none so great as those for which I am indebted to you. Will you accept my sincere thanks?"
I had not dared before to look at him, but I stole a glance at his face now. It was deadly pale, and showed but too plainly the pain and disappointment that he was trying to conceal.
The whole party now gathered round him; his parting with Josephine was very courteous, on her part very gracious; with Grace the same; a little less warm with Miss Wynkar, perhaps; but no one cared to revive old quarrels now. When he approached me, I gave him my hand, but my eyes were fastened on the ground. He held it for one instant, then dropping it, turned hastily away.
"Mr. Rutledge," he said, in a voice that trembled audibly, despite his manly efforts to control it, "I have to thank you for your hospitality. I shall not soon forget my visit here."
Mr. Rutledge's manner had less coldness than usual in it, as he bade his young guest good bye; there was no lack of warmth in the adieux of the other gentlemen.
And I, cruel and cowardly, stood rooted to the floor; I was afraid to acknowledge what I had not been afraid to promise; I was letting him go without a word of kindness, when I might never see him again; when I was, in the sight of heaven, affianced to him, when nothing could absolve me from my vow, shrink and falter as I might. He had reached the hall, and stood for an instant in the doorway as I raised my eyes. They met his; I sprang forward from the circle where I stood.
"Victor, I am not afraid they should know it now," I whispered, putting my hand in his.
I only knew the misery I had caused him, when I saw the change that came into his face, the light that hope lit in his eyes. He had but short grace to tell his love—a few brief minutes before we parted, perhaps for many years, yet nothing could have made me more certain of the depth and ardor of it, than those few moments did.
We walked once down the hall, then slowly back again,
"You must go now," I whispered, as we reached the door. "Good bye!"
For a moment he stood as if it were an effort rending soul and body to leave me; he held my hands tightly in his own, then, bending forward, pressed a kiss on my forehead, and was gone.
It was the seal of our engagement, that first kiss; I stood in the sight of what was all the world to me, tacitly acknowledging what I had done. I was parting from the lover to whom they all fancied I was devoted, but it was shame, and not love, that brought the blood into my cheeks to meet his first caress. I did not move or raise my eyes till the sound of carriage-wheels died away down the avenue. Then the treacherous color receded slowly from my face, and left it white as marble. Conquering as best I might the giddy faintness that came over me, I walked steadily into the parlor, where the whispering and amazed group of ladies still stood. Not heeding Josephine's, "Well, my dear, we weren't quite prepared for this! We didn't know how far things had gone," I went up to Mrs. Churchill and said:
"I should have told you of this before, Aunt Edith. I have accepted Mr. Viennet."
"I should have been gratified by your confidence if you had chosen to bestow it. However, you have my congratulations," and she gave me her hand, and touched her lips lightly to my forehead.
"I suppose we must all congratulate you," said Grace, with a laugh. "But, really, it tookmeso entirely by surprise, that I shan't be able to collect my wits for an appropriate speech under two hours."
"I will excuse you from it altogether," I said, turning away to the door. I stopped involuntarily as I passed Josephine.
"If it is a matter of congratulation at all, I hope I have yours, Josephine," I said, holding out my hand.
"Of course," she returned, awkwardly, accepting my hand. "Of course you have."
I looked at her for a moment; it was so strange that I should be so miserable and she so blessed. We, "two daughters of one race"—the same blood flowing in our veins—the same woman's heart beating in our bosoms—why was it that I was forbidden every good, tempted of the devil, driven into evil, and she, unfeeling and light-hearted, smiled down at me from her secure height of happiness, wore carelessly the love that I would have died to win, played thoughtlessly with it in my jealous sight, and made a jest of what was life and death to me.
She did not understand my strange and wistful look, and, with a smothered sigh, I withdrew my gaze, and turned away. Perhaps her mother could have interpreted it better; perhaps, if she had chosen, she could have told her daughter I was not the happy fiancée I seemed; and perhaps, if she had chosen, she could have told her to whom I owed the greater part of what I suffered.
I mounted the stairs with a slow and heavy step; Mr. Rutledge passed me coming down. He did not raise his eyes nor look at me, but in the glance I had of his face it seemed to me darker and moodier than ever, and his step heavier and more decided. He went toward the stables, and in a few minutes I heard his horse's hoofs clattering down the avenue.
If my head had ached twice as madly as it did, I should not have dared to stay away from dinner. As I entered the dining-room, it was with rather a doubtful feeling of relief that I found only ladies there. The presence of the gentlemen always proved something of a restraint upon the vivacious tongue of Grace, and Josephine was never in a good humor when there was no one upon whom to exercise her charms. Indeed, the whole table presented a significant contrast to its usual animation. Toilettes had been deferred till evening, I found. Josephine and Ella took no pains to conceal their ennui, and Grace revelled in impertinence. The gentlemen—i.e.Phil, Captain McGuffy, and Ellerton—were shooting woodcock, and Mr. Rutledge had gone off on business, and it was possible, he had left word, that he might not return till late.
"Let's have a glorious nap," said Josephine, as we left the table. "It will be time enough to dress just before tea-time. They will none of them be back sooner than eight o'clock."
Ella had been asleep all the morning, but she never objected to a nap; indeed, I believe sleeping was, next to the pleasure of dressing herself, the principaldivertissementof her life. Josephine and Ella went to their rooms, Mrs. Churchill followed them upstairs, Grace ran off to find "old Roberts" and get the key of the locked-up bookcases in the library, and I was left to myself.
It was a hot and sultry afternoon; not a breath moved the motionless leaves in the park, not a ripple stirred the lake; the insects hummed drowsily in the hot, hazy air, the declining sun abated neither heat nor power as he neared the horizon, but glared steadily upon the still parched earth. Too languid and miserable to find a cooler place, I sat on the piazza hour after hour, and watched listlessly the slowly-declining sun, the inanimate and sultry landscape.
Even nightfall brought no relief. The sun withdrew his light, it is true; but the sultriness that his reign had bred continued to brood over the earth; no dew refreshed it, no moisture wet the thirsty flowers. The stars, faint and dim, hardly shed a ray of light through the thick air. It was a night that, superstition and presentiment whispered, would prompt dark deeds. Under cover of its weird-like gloom, treachery and murder would steal abroad, and black sins would stain the souls of some of the sons of men before the light of day renewed the face of the earth.
None of us could help feeling the influence of it; dispirited and languid, the whole party dragged through the evening with an unwonted lack of vivacity. Music and dancing failed; the gentlemen pleaded fatigue, and the ladies were very ready to accept the excuse, and at an early hour we separated to our rooms. But I dreaded mine; I dreaded the sleepless hours that I must count before the dawning.
Once that night I slept, but it was a short sleep, and worse than waking. The nightmare of my fate was less horrible than the nightmare of my fancy, and, shuddering with terror, I paced the floor to drive away the chance of its recurrence; I pressed my clenched fingers tightly on my breast to drive away the chill of that Phantom Hand, that had frozen my very soul.
Why had that long-forgotten terror come back to haunt me now?
"Death is King—andVivat Rex!"—TENNYSON.
It was late on the following morning when I entered the breakfast-room; very fluttering and nervous, I anticipated the usual allusions to my pale looks, and Grace's amiable bantering, but quite a different scene from the one I had expected met me. Too much absorbed to notice my entrance, the whole group were clustered together, intent upon the newly-arrived paper. They had evidently devoured it, and now were commenting eagerly upon the news it contained, and referring constantly to it. Only Mr. Rutledge, with knit brow, leaning forward on the table, seemed to note my entrance.
"I never heard a more cool-blooded, revolting thing," said Phil.
"I suppose the whole country is alive with it now," remarked the captain. "The wretch can hardly escape detection, thanks to the telegraph, railroads, and police of this nineteenth century. The news, no doubt, has spread far and wide by this time."
"It will haunt me till the day of my death!" exclaimed Josephine. "I never read so horrible a murder."
"Oh," said Grace, coolly, "it's only because we knew him that it seems so dreadful. There are just as awful things in the paper every day."
"There has never been anything in this part of the country though, I fancy, that has caused as much excitement," said Phil. "Thomas tells me that the furore in the village is intense; the men do not think of going to their work, but stand in groups about, while most of them have formed themselves into a sort of vigilance committee, and swear that the murderer shall be tracked. The poor doctor, you know, was quite a popular man, and such a thing as this is so unheard of, that the country-people are entirely beside themselves about it."
"What is it you are talking about?" I faltered, leaning on the back of a chair for support, and trying to be self-possessed.
"Oh! Why, have you just come down?" exclaimed Grace, delighted to find a fresh auditor for the awful tale that she seemed really to enjoy relating. "Why, you must know that last night, a man coming from Norbury, late in the evening, discovered the body of Dr. Hugh lying at the entrance of a wood about four miles from the village, stabbed in four or five places, and quite cold. His horse and gig were tied to a tree close by, and the footprints on the ground beside where the body was found, show that the poor wretch did not yield to his murderer without a desperate struggle. His hands were"——
"You are making it unnecessarily horrible," said Mr. Rutledge, sternly, and starting forward, placed a chair for me, and poured out a glass of water.
"Why, she's going to faint!" exclaimed Ella Wynkar, staring at me with her dull, blue eyes, while Mrs. Churchill came forward ejaculating,
"What is the matter? Are you ill?"
"It is not at all strange that she should be shocked at hearing such a thing so suddenly," answered Mr. Rutledge for me. "You must remember, Miss Grace, we all had it more gradually: first my suspicions, then Thomas' report, then the morning paper; which is very different from hearing it all at a breath, and without any warning."
Mr. Rutledge tried to divert them from the theme, and save me from the faintness which his quick eye detected at each new disclosure or conjecture, but in vain. Nothing else could be thought or spoken of. How the murderer should be hunted down, what blood-thirsty and revengeful men were already on the track, how impossible was his escape; these were the pleasant topics of the morning Within those two hours I learned more self-command than all my previous life had taught me, for I had an awful dread at my heart, and I had to listen to these things, as if I were very indifferent to them.
Phil said, for the honor of the county, he supposed, Mr. Rutledge would do all in his power to ferret the thing out; and Mr. Rutledge rather reluctantly assented, and said he supposed it was his duty.
"And," added the captain, "from what you've said of some slight clue you thought you had to guide you, I suppose you may be of great service, and it's every man's duty to bring the perpetrator of such a deed to justice. By Jove! I wish I could help it along!"
"I suppose you are right," said Mr. Rutledge, with a sigh. "I am going to ride over to the court-house now. Thomas, has my horse been brought around?"
"He is at the door now, sir," said Thomas.
Mr. Rutledge, with a brief good-morning, left the room, and after a moment in the library, repassed the dining-room door with his riding-whip and hat in his hand.
I listened to his retreating footsteps in a kind of nightmare; I must speak to him before he started on his cruel errand; I must speak, and yet a spell sealed my lips, a horrible tyranny chained me motionless. That clue—what did it mean?—why did he look at me so strangely?—I knew but too well. I heard him pass down the hall slowly and pause at the door; in another moment he would be gone. I started from the room.
"Mr. Rutledge!"
He turned as I stood before him, white and trembling.
"What is it?" he said, regarding me with a kind of compassion. "What do you want to say?"
"I want to say—I want to ask you if you have no pity—if you have the cruelty to want another murder—if there is not blood enough already shed. Don't listen to what those men tell you," I hurried on, "don't believe them, when they say it is your duty. It is not! It is your duty to be merciful. It is your duty to leave vengeance to God. It is your duty to leave the miserable and the sinful to His justice, and not to hurry them before man's!"
He looked down at me with a pity in his eyes that was almost divine. "You need not fear me," he said, turning from me; and descending the steps mounted his horse and rode slowly away.
"There are a few things," I overheard Kitty say to Frances outside my door, "in which I should be glad if my young lady was more like yours. Now there must be some comfort in dressing Miss Josephine, she cares about things; but all my work is thrown away, sometimes I think. My young lady has no heart for anything, never looks in the glass after I've taken all the pains in the world with her, and is just as likely to throw herself on the bed after her hair is fixed for dinner, as if she had a nightcap on. For the last two days," Kitty went on in a low tone, for Frances and she were very good friends now, "for the last two days she has been so miserable, it makes my heart ache to see her. And as for the masquerade to-night! she don't carethatfor it. I've worked my fingers to the bone to get her dress ready, and like as not, she won't stay downstairs ten minutes after she gets it on. The whole house is thinking about nothing else, everybody is in such spirits about it, the young ladies are just crazy with their dresses and the fun they're going to have, while she, poor young thing, hardly knows or cares what she's to wear, and stays moping in her room all day by herself."
"It's a hard thing to have one's young man away," said Frances in her soft voice, and with a little sigh that told she knew just how hard it was. Kitty didn't answer. I was afraid she would, and would tell her how inexplicable she found her mistress's moods. But Kitty was true to me, though she did love a little gossip, and let mydouleurpass for what she very shrewdly suspected it was not, and soon reverted to the all-absorbing subject of the masquerade.
"Would you ever know the house!" she said, looking admiringly up and down the hall. "And doesn't the piazza look beautiful, and the hall. And just think how all those colored lamps will look when they're lighted. Really, I can't think what's got into master to take all this trouble, and turn the house inside out, to please a lot of young ladies that he doesn't care a straw for!"
Frances opened her eyes as if this were heresy. Kitty went on with energy: "Miss Josephine Churchill needn't flatter herself that she's ever going to be more at home at Rutledge than she is now. I don't know a great deal, but I know enough to know that."
"And I could tell you something perhaps," said Frances, "that might make you change your mind."
"I'd like to hear it!"
"Oh, but it wouldn't be right. I never talk about my young lady's secrets."
"But you might tellme," urged Kitty, artfully, "I've been so open with you."
"Come down to the laundry then, while I press out these flounces," and the two maids flitted downstairs to whisper over the secrets that their respective mistresses had fondly fancied were buried in the recesses of their own hearts.
And so each way I turned, there was a new dagger to stab me. No wonder that as Kitty said, I had no heart for anything, and only longed to be away and be at rest. Anxiety was added to the remorse and regret that I had first thought insupportable, and such an anxiety as made my nights sleepless, and my days a misery. No wonder that my white face, and the dark ring around my eyes bore hourly witness to the heaviness of my heart.
"Why so sad and pale, young sinner?" called out Grace that evening, as about an hour after tea we were dispersing to our rooms to dress for the all-important occasion. "I think you ought to appear as Mariana, and sing 'I am aweary, aweary;' don't you think so, Mr. Rutledge?"
"Miss Grace, I haven't given the subject enough thought."
"I would give worlds to know what you are going to wear, Mr. Rutledge!" exclaimed Josephine. "But IknowI shall detect you instantly. I should know your step and carriage under twenty dominoes, and among a thousand people."
"Pretty high figures those, Joseph! Phil, I shall know you by your stride, and you couldn't disguise your voice if you practised a year, and that bow is 'Philip Arbuthnot, His Mark,' all the world over!"
"The best way to disguise our voices," said Capt. McGuffy, "is to speak French. I think we had all better agree to do it."
"Ella will not object," said Grace, "now Mr. Viennet is not here to criticise."
"Hush, Grace!" cried her sister maliciously. "How can you be so thoughtless? Why do you continually harrow up your cousin's feelings. By the way, this is the day the steamer sails, is it not?"
"No, yesterday," said Ellerton. "The list of passengers will be in to-day's papers. Has the mail come yet, Mr. Rutledge?"
"There is Thomas with it now."
Thomas deposited the package on the hall table and withdrew. I was standing nearest of the group to it, and putting out my hand, took up the "Times."
The others approached and with great interest examined the letters. "Why my dear!" said Josephine pleasantly, "I'm astonished that there's none for you! Not a word since he went away. That doesn't look devoted!"
The color went and came in my face, but it wasn't the taunt that I minded.
"Never mind!" cried Grace, "don't break its heart about him! It shall have another lover, it shall have the big Mason, so it shall!"
"May I trouble you for the 'Times' one moment?" asked Ellerton Wynkar, "I want to look over the departures."
"According to my cousin," I said, tightening my grasp upon the paper, "I have the greatest interest in them, and I must beg the privilege of reading the list first."
"That's not fair!" cried Grace. "How do you know but we have lovers sailing in the 'Arago' as well as you? I must have that paper," and, springing forward, she grasped my wrists.
She could have overcome me in a moment, for just then I was as weak as a child; but Mr. Rutledge, in his firm, quiet way, released my hands, and, holding Grace's tightly in his own, said:
"You had better make your escape with it to your room; I cannot insure you if you stay."
With a grateful look and a forced laugh I ran upstairs, locked myself in my room, and, tearing open the paper, glanced hurriedly up and down the columns for the list of the "Arago's" passengers. At last I found it, and skimmed eagerly through it. It was as I expected; I was not disappointed nor shocked; but my hand trembled so I could hardly cut the paragraph out. Ringing for Kitty, I sent the paper down, with my compliments to Mr. Wynkar.
It was nearly nine o'clock before Kitty came back to dress me. I had rung twice, but received no answer. When she did come, I saw in a moment that the delay had been caused by some unusual and exciting cause. She was nervous and uneasy, and started at every sound. Whenever I caught her eye, it dropped quickly before mine, and she hurried on with less than her usual care, the dress on which she had bestowed so much pains and regarded with so much pride. When I was dressed, I looked at myself with some surprise; I was, indeed, effectually disguised. Over my white tarletan ball-dress, I wore a domino of white silk, trimmed with heavy white fringe, and instead of the ordinary hideous black satin mask, a silver gauze before the upper part of my face, and a fall of white lace concealed my features entirely. The heels of my white kid boots were made very high, and that, together with the long sweeping dress, made me appear so much taller than usual, that that one circumstance would of itself have deceived almost any one. I noticed, after I was all dressed, and ready to go down, that Kitty was a long time in adjusting, to her entire satisfaction, the cord and tassel that confined the domino at the waist. Just as I was leaving the room, I chanced to look down, and saw that there was a narrow blue ribbon knotted to one of the tassels.
"What's this, Kitty? Take it off, please."
"That? O, it's nothing, Miss. The tassel was a little loose, and I fastened it up."
"But all the rest of my dress is white—this spoils the effect. You'd better take a piece of white ribbon."
"Oh! Miss" (a little impatiently), "how particular you've grown! I thought you wouldn't mind the bit of blue, and it'ssolate. The carriages have been coming this half hour."
"Well, no matter then. I'll go down."
Kitty preceded me, stealing an occasional look around, to ascertain that there was no one in sight, then beckoned me across the hall, hurried me down the private staircase and through a labyrinth of pantries, to a door that opened upon the shrubbery.
"This way," whispered Kitty. "Follow me."
"O purblind race of miserable men,How many among us at this very hourDo forge a life-long trouble for ourselvesBy taking true for false, or false for true."TENNYSON.
I followed Kitty down the dark paths of the shrubbery, and, as far as I could tell, through the dazzling gauze of my mask, some distance across the park.
"Where are you taking me? There is no need of such precaution."
"O yes, indeed," she answered eagerly, "if you had gone right around the house and gone in, they would have known in a minute that it was somebody who lived there. Mr. Wynkar and the captain were on the steps, watching. I saw them."
She hurried me on till we reached a clump of trees too far from the lamps suspended to the branches of those on the lawn to be lighted by them; then pausing, she looked quickly around.
"Are you not tired, Miss?" she said, raising her voice. "Hadn't you better rest a minute here? We walked so fast."
"No," I answered, with slight impatience. "I want to go immediately to the house."
"Yes, Miss," she said, uneasily. "Just wait till this carriage passes."
It might have been fancy, but I thought I heard a step behind me, and starting forward, I called Kitty instantly to follow me. She could not but obey, and only left me where the lamps from the piazza threw too strong a light for her to venture. Whispering to me where I should find her if I wanted her during the evening, she slipped away, and I walked on.
The carriage reached the entrance, and the occupants of it alighted and disappeared within the awning before I arrived at it. There were several groups of masked figures on the piazza as I entered the inclosed walk from the carriageway, and, mounting the steps, approached the door.
"How spectral!" whispered one. "And look at that black shadow following so close."
I turned involuntarily at this; a black domino whom I had not perceived had entered with me, and I hurried forward into the house a little abruptly, to escape his companionship, and, crossing the brilliant and beautifully decorated hall, I entered the drawing-room. There was a temporary lull in the dancing, and I paused a moment to reconnoitre before I advanced to Mrs. Churchill. She was unmasked, and was to receive the guests; she stood at the other end of the room, and it was rather a formidable thing to cross to her, but remembering to disguise my step, I walked slowly and with some stateliness over to where she stood, made my devoirs, and turned away; but half a yard behind me was my black shadow. All eyes were upon us.
"What a ghostly pair!" exclaimed a vivacious peasant girl from the folding-doors. "I shall not be astonished if, when the masks are dropped at supper-time, a skeleton should step out of that black domino, and preside at the feast!"
"And a nymph of Lurley out of that white drapery," said "General Washington," approaching and offering me his arm. We made the tour of the rooms, admired the flowers, discussed the dresses, and tried to find each other out. I soon discovered my companion to be Mr. Emerson of the Grove, a fine, dignified old gentleman, whom I had always admired. His unconscious interest in, and admiration for, a tall brunette, whose black eyes sparkled even through her mask, betrayed her immediately to me as his daughter, Miss Janet Emerson. The Misses Mason were flower-girls of course; their mamma, by virtue of her literary proclivities and immense fund of sentiment, appeared as a sibyl, and told fortunes untiringly; the younger Mr. Mason wore an English hunting-dress, and the elder one escaped my observation among the crowd of greater strangers in the room. An Oxford student paid me marked attention, but discovering the unmistakable white eyelashes and feeble voice of my pet aversion, Ellerton Wynkar, I became discouragingly distant and severe, and he transferred his devotion to a pretty Greek dress, which I soon concluded must enshrine the indolent loveliness of my cousin Grace.
Beyond this, my penetration was entirely at fault; among the crowd of grotesque and graceful figures, I tried in vain to recognize any of our own party. There were half a dozen men of Phil's height, and as many of Mr. Rutledge's make; so many imitated the captain's military manner, that it was impossible to recognize the stork among the cranes. There were two Louis Quatorze costumes, that more than any others suggested Josephine and Ella, but I could not be positive; they were so exactly alike, that even when together one could not detect a shade of difference either in dress or manner. The powdered hair and masks, of course, concealed the diversity of color and complexion.
"Those two are the most distinguished-looking in the room," said General Washington, by way of small talk. "I suppose you have recognized them—Miss Churchill and her cousin."
"Which cousin?"
"The one who is engaged to the young Frenchman. Quite a pretty girl. I never saw her look so well as she does to-night."
"Which is Mr. Rutledge, do you know?" I asked.
"I have not made him out yet, but if you care to know the surest way will be to stay here, in the neighborhood of Miss Churchill: he will not be very far off!"
"Then let us sit here," and I sank down on a sofa.
"Your cavalier keeps a faithful watch upon your movements," said my companion. "He has followed you from room to room, and is just behind you now."
"Who is it that you mean?"
"The black domino—the gentleman who came with you."
And the black domino at that moment bent down, and, in a low, smothered voice, asked me if I would dance. I declined very quickly, and turned away my head.
"Miss Churchill, will you dance this set with me?" asked a gentleman, in French, approaching me.
Disguised as the voice was, there was something familiar in it. I gave him my hand, and we took our places at the head of the room. It very soon became evident that he had mistaken me for Miss Churchill, and I determined to keep up the character. It was not very difficult; we were exactly the same size, and I had always been a good mimic, so that, in five minutes, I was coquetting, twisting my fan, and taking off Josephine to the life. It was not so easy to find out who I was quizzing. He was evidently a master of the art of deception, disguised his voice, his step, his manner, and was never off his guard an instant. He did not answer to anybody's description exactly, though I was constantly convinced, by his familiarity with us all, that he was "one of us." I tried to bait him with allusions to all our acquaintance, but he was too wary to rise to any of them.
"How did you find me out so easily?" I said, with a laugh so like Josephine's that I was absolutely startled myself. "I thought I was disguised beyond all detection."
"Not from me."
"Ah, you are so clever!" I said, putting my head on one side, with an affectation characteristic of Josephine. "Now help me to discover some of the others. Who is our vis-à-vis in the Spanish dress?"
"Youshould not have to ask."
"Mais qui?"
"Mr. Arbuthnot,sans doute."
"Ah! my heart should have told me Phil! Which is the captain?"
"'Ivanhoe,' there by the door, talking with the 'Father of his Country.'"
"And oh! tell me, for I am dying to know, have you found out my cousin?"
"I do not think she is in the room."
"Impossible! Then she must be ill."
"Indifferent, more probably."
"Ah! perhaps. 'There is but one with whom she has heart to be gay!' But has nobody been up to see what has become of her?"
"No one, I fancy."
"Had I better go?"
"That's as you please," with a slight shrug.
"Well, I'll see, after this dance. Who is that black domino, pray?"
"That is more than I can tell you. He is the only man in the room whom I have not detected. He has not danced, nor spoken to any one, I think. I shall watch him closely and be near him when he unmasks."
"Yes, but that's rather uncertain. He may leave the room before then."
"That's very possible. He seems to be hovering near us. Suppose, after this dance, you draw him into conversation, and try to make him out? He seems to avoid me, and I am really very curious to know him."
"Very well, to gratify you, I will try to detect him; but my cousin—will you take that duty off my hands?"
"Yes, I will send a servant to inquire, and report the result to you."
"Thank you. Howkindyou always are! I should know that goodness of heart under twenty dominoes, and among a thousand people!"
My companion, bowing low, gave me a quick look from under the cowl of his monk's habit.
"You are too flattering," he said, and the dance ended.
The black domino was at my elbow, and nodding significantly to my partner, I turned abruptly to him, and said, still in imitation of Josephine's voice:
"Will you give me your arm? My partner has another engagement."
He bowed, and offered me his arm. His voice, when he spoke, was so low, and so studiously disguised, it was impossible to detect anything from that; his coarse black domino hung so long and amply about him, and the hood was drawn so tightly around his mask, that no one could possibly distinguish anything of his face, figure, or carriage. Before we had made the tour of the rooms, I began to repent my bargain. There was something in his manner that made me most uncomfortable. I determined not to give up my assumed vivacity, but it was like chatting with a ghost; and when I went with him into the punch-room, and raised a glass to my lips, bowing to him over it, it seemed like a "hob-and-nob with Death," and the laugh I laughed was a very faint and forced one, as we set our half-tasted glasses down. I was so uncomfortable at being alone with him, that I stammered hurriedly:
"Shan't we go back to the dancing-room?"
"Are you afraid of me?" he said quickly, and in a low tone, "can you not give me a moment from your pleasure?"
"Sir!" I said, shrinking back; "I haven't the least idea who you are."
"You can forget, it seems. I envy you the power!"
"You talk in riddles," I said, going toward the door. Another party entered the room, and my companion followed me out.
"What a grotesque scene!" I said, looking up and down the wide hall, where wreaths of flowers and lights and floating flags hung, and thronging across whose marble pavement were groups of fantastic figures. "I never was at a masquerade before. Is it not diverting?"
"Will you come upon the piazza?" asked my companion, not heeding my remark. "It is too warm here."
"No," I exclaimed, hurriedly, "I cannot, here is my partner."
The "friar of orders grey" obeyed my hasty summons, and I accepted his arm with very greatempressement, stammering some excuse to the sable domino in the doorway, and walked down the hall.
"Well, have you discovered him?"
"No, I do not know him at all, he is very odd. I think he is a stranger. Not anybody, at all events, that any of us know well."
"I cannot understand it," he said, musingly. "I thought you would have been able to have obtained some clue. He seemed willing to talk to you."
"Only too willing!"
"Did he seem to recognize you?"
"I cannot tell exactly; he certainly thought he knew, but whether it were not a mistake on his part, I cannot say."
"He avoids me; I cannot make anything of him; I shall have to put some one else on the track."
"What of my cousin?" I asked.
"I found Kitty, who says she is not very well, but will probably be in the room a little before supper."
"Ah, thank you. You have no idea, I suppose, what her dress is to be?"
"Kitty gave me to understand, very quietly, that she would wear a rose-colored domino."
"There is a rose-colored domino just entering; do you imagine that is the fairfiancée?"
"Very possibly," said my companion.
"She is going to dance. Is that Phil with her?"
Phil at this moment asked my partner to be his vis-à-vis, so we were again drawn into the dance. By this time, half the people in the room thought I was Miss Churchill, and addressed me accordingly. In one of the pauses of the quadrille, as some one calling me by that name had turned away, the black domino, who stood a little behind me on my left, leaned forward and whispered:
"You cannot deceiveme;it was not Miss Churchill who was to have a blue ribbon on her tassel."
I started; what intrigue was that Kitty about?