00420
“I perceive that one of your friends is most anxious to pay his respects to you, Lady Hester,” said the Prince, with a very peculiar smile.
“I beg to assure you, sir, that the gentleman is unknown to me; his presence here is an honor for which I am totally unprepared.”
“My name is Purvis, madam, Sc-Sc-Scroope Purvis. Miss Dalton knows me; and my sister is Mrs. Ricketts.”
“You will find Miss Dalton yonder, sir,” said Lady Hester, all whose efforts were barely sufficient to restrain her temper.
“I see her!” cried Purvis, putting his glass up; “but she 's trying to escape me. She 's got a man with a re-re-red beard before her, but it won't do, I'm too sh-sh-sharp for that.”
The Archduke laughed, and heartily, too, at this sally; and Purvis, emboldened by the complaisance, edged more closely towards him to point out the lady in question. “She has a droll kind of sc-sc-scarf in her hair. There! don't you see her now? Have you ever seen the pictures in the Pitti Palace?”
The question was a little startling, as the personage to whom it was addressed had his residence there. The Archduke, however, merely bowed in acquiescence, and Purvis went on: “My sister Zoe copied one and I like it better than the Ti-Tit-Titian itself. We smoked it, too, and made it look so brown, you'd never guess it to be mo-mo-mo-modern.”
To judge from the bewildered look of the Duke, the whole of this speech was pure Chaldee to him; and when he turned to Lady Hester for an explanation, he discovered that she had left her seat. Whether mistaking the motion as an invitation to be seated, or merely acting by his own impulses, Scroope crossed over and sat down on the sofa with a degree of self-satisfaction that lighted up all his features.
“You 're not one of the fa-family, are you?” asked he.
“I have not that honor,” said the Prince, with a bow.
“I thought not. I suspected that there was a tw-tw-twang in your English that looked foreign, but I know your face quite well.”
The Duke bowed again.
“Pretty rooms, these,” said Purvis, with his glass to his eye; “what a d-d-deal of money they must have cost! They 're going it fast, these Onslows.”
“Indeed!” said the Prince, who only half understood the remark.
“I know it,” said Scroope, with a confidential wink. “Their butcher se-se-serves us, and he won't give anything till they have sent their orders; and as for wine, they drink Bordeaux in the servants' hall. I don't know what you have, but a d-d-deuced sight better than ever I get.”
“Good wine, however, can be had here, I hope,” said the Duke, blandly.
“Yes, if you sm-sm-smuggle it,” said Scroope, with a knowing cackle; while, to add poignancy to the remark, he nudged the Prince with his elbow. “That's the only way to have it. The st-stupid Government sees nothing.”
“Is that the case, sir?” asked the Prince, with a degree of interest he had not manifested before.
“To be sure it is. My sister Zoe never pays duty on anything; and if you like your c-c-cigars cheap, just t-t-tell me, that 's all. The G-G-Grand-Duke never got a sixpence of my money yet, and if I kn-know myself, he never shall.”
“Do you bear him any grudge, sir, that you say this so emphatically?”
“No; not at all. They tell me that he's good-hearted, although somewhat we-weak in the a-a-attic story,” and here Scroope tapped his forehead significantly, “but that 's in the family. My sister Zoe could tell you such st-stories about them you 'd die of laughing; and then there 's Jekyl takes them off so well! It's c-c-capital fun. He gives a dia-dia-dialogue between the Grand-Duke and the Pope's Nuncio that's better than a farce.”
How far Mr. Purvis might have been carried in his zeal to be agreeable there is no saying, when Lady Hester came up, with Kate leaning on her arm.
“This gentleman claims acquaintance with you, Miss Dalton,” said she, haughtily.
“Oh, to be sure, she knows me; and I have a letter from her her fa-father,” said Purvis, drawing forth a packet like a postman's.
“Miss Dalton would prefer being seated, sir,” said Lady Hester, while she motioned towards another part of the room.
“Yes, yes, of course; we'll find out a snug co-corner somewhere for a chat. Just take my arm, will you? Let us get away from all these great 'Dons,' with their stars and crosses.” And, without waiting for Kate's reply, he drew her arm within his own, and set out in that little shuffling trot which he always assumed when he fancied he had business on hand.
The ridicule of being associated with such a companion would at any other moment have overwhelmed Kate Dalton with shame; but now, whether from the few words which Lady Hester had whispered in her ear, whether the fact of his unauthorized appearance, or whether it were the dread of some greater disgrace to follow, she actually felt a sense of relief in the continuous flow of twaddle which he kept up as they passed down the room.
“Who was that smiled as we passed?” asked he.
“Prince Midchekoff.”
“Oh, that was he, was it? You must introduce me.”
“Not now, pray, not now; at any other time,” cried she, in perfect terror.
“Well, but don't forget it. Zoe would never forgive me if I told her that I lost the op-op-opportunity; she wants to know him so very much.”
“Of course, at another time,” said Kate, hurrying him along with increasing speed.
“Who's he?” asked Purvis, as a tall and stately personage bowed blandly to Kate.
“The Austrian Minister.”
“Not the fellow that st-st-strangled the Emperor? Oh, I forgot; he was a Russian, wasn't he? They got him down and ch-ch-choked him, ha, ha, ha! There 's a man with a red moustache, so like the fellow who sells the boubou-bouquets at the Casciui.”
“A Hungarian magnate,” whispered Kate.
“Is he, though? Then let's have another look at him. He has as many gold chains about him as a shop on the Ponte Vecchio. Zoe would like him, he 's so odd.”
At last, but not without great efforts, Kate succeeded in reaching a small chamber, where two others already were seated, and whose figures were undistinguishable in the obscurity of a studiously shaded lamp.
“Isn't it strange, she never asked for Zoe?” said Purvis, as he took his seat on a sofa; “not to inquire for a person sick under her own r-r-roof?”
“Lady Hester is not acquainted with Mrs. Ricketts.”
“Well, but sh-sh-she ought to be. Zoe made a party for her, a d-d-d-iner party, and had Hagg-Haggerstone and Foglass, and the rest of them. And after all, you know, they are only b-bankers, these Onslows, and need n't give themselves airs.”
“You have a letter for me, Mr. Purvis? Will you pardon my impatience—”
“Yes, to be sure. I 've a letter, and an enclosure in it, too; at least, it feels crisp like a note, a bank-note; that 's the reason you 're impatient. Perhaps the re-reremittance was long a-coming, eh?”
Kate made no reply to this speech, but her cheek grew scarlet as she heard it.
Purvis, meanwhile, spread his packet of papers before him, and began his search for Dalton's letter.
“No, that ain't it; that's from Foglass, all about Norwood, and his N-N-Newmarket affair. That 's a letter from Lord Gullston's valet, with such a droll ac-account of the whole family. Zoe recom-mended him; and the poor fellow 's very grateful, for he writes about all that goes on in the house. Lady G., it seems, has the temper of a f-f-fiend. Well, don't be im-impatient; I'll find your father's letter in a minute. He writes such a cr-cr-cramp old hand, one should detect it at once. I ta-take it that he 's a bit of a character, the old gen-gentleman. I 'm sure he is; but what have I done with his letter? Oh, here it is! here it is! and 'with haste' written on the corner, too.”
Kate caught the letter impatiently, and, without any thought for Purvis or the place, tore it open at once. In doing so, the enclosure fell to the ground without her perceiving it; and, stranger still, it escaped the attention of Purvis; but that worthy man, not exactly venturing to read over her shoulder, had established himself directly in front, where, with his double eye-glass, he scanned every change in her features during the perusal.
“All well at home, I hope, eh? How she changes color,” muttered he to himself. “Nobody ill; nobody dead, eh?” asked he, louder. “It must be something serious, though; she 's trembling like ague. Let me give you a chair, that is, if I can f-find one in this little den; they 've got nothing but d-divans all round it.” And he hurried forth into the larger salon in search of a seat.
It was not without considerable trouble to himself and inconvenience to various others that he at last succeeded, and returned to the boudoir with a massive arm-chair in his hands. But what was his dismay to find that Miss Dalton had made her escape in the mean while? In vain did he seek her through the salons, which now were rapidly thinning; the distinguished guests having already departed.
A stray group lingered here and there, conversing in a low tone; and around the fires were gathered little knots of ladies muffled and cloaked, and only waiting for the carriages. It was like a stage, when the performance was over. Scarcely deigning to notice the little man, who, with palpable keenness of scrutiny, pursued his search in every quarter, they gradually moved off, leaving Purvis alone to tread the “banquet-hall deserted.” The servants, as they extinguished the lights, passed and repassed him without remark; so that, defeated and disappointed, he was obliged at last to retire, sorrowfully confessing to his own heart how little success had attended his bold enterprise.
As he passed along the galleries and descended the stairs, he made various little efforts to open a conversation with some one or other of the servants; but these dignified officials responded to his questions in the dryest and shortest manner; and it was only as he reached the great gate of the palace that he chanced upon one courteous enough to hear him to the end in his oft-repeated question of “Who was th-th-that with the large st-st-star on his breast, and a wh-wh-white beard?”
The porter stared at the speaker, and said respectfully, “The signor probably means the Archduke?”
“Not the Archduke Fr-Fr-Fr—”
“Yes, sir,” said the man; and closed the heavy door after him, leaving Purvis in a state of astonishment, and as much shame as his nature permitted him to feel. Neither upon himself nor his sensations have we any intention to dwell; and leaving him to pursue his way homeward, we beg to return once more within those walls from which he had just taken his departure.
If Lady Hester's grand company had gone, the business of the evening was by no means over; on the contrary, it was the hour of her night receptions, and now the accustomed guests of those favored precincts came dropping in from theatres, and operas, and late dinners. These men of pleasure looked jaded and tired, as usual; and, except the little tinkling sounds of Jekyl's small treble, no other voice sounded as they walked along the corridors.
00426
When they entered Lady Hester's boudoir, they found that lady recounting to Midchekoff the whole circumstances of the morning's adventure, a recital which she continued without other interruption than a smile or a nod, or a little gesture of the hand to each of the new arrivals as he came in. If the lady's manner was devoid of all ceremony, that of the gentlemen was less ceremonious still; for they stretched themselves on divans, rested their legs upon chairs, and stood back to the fire, with a degree of careless ease that bespoke them thoroughly at home, Jekyl, perhaps, the only one present who mingled with this freedom a certain courteous respect that no familiarity made him ever forget.
“And they are still here?” asked the Prince. “Actually in the house at this moment?”
“At this very moment!” responded she, emphatically.
“The whole thing passes belief,” exclaimed he.
And now the listless loungers drew their chairs closer to hear the story, and laugh, as men do, who are seldom moved to mirth save when ridicule or malice are the provocatives.
“But you haven't heard the worst yet,” said Midchekoff. “Pray tell them of your visitor of this evening.”
And Lady Hester narrated the appearance of Mr. Purvis, who, having secured his entrance by a visit to his sister, had so unceremoniously presented himself in the drawing-room.
“Heaven knows what he said to his Royal Highness when I was away. To judge from his face, it must have been something atrocious; and the last thing he said on leaving was, 'I must try and not forget your agreeable friend's name.'”
“You might as well have invited me as have had your 'friend' Purvis, after all,” said a young Italian noble, whose political opinions found no favor at court.
“But what do you mean to do, my Lady?” asked Midchekoff. “Is the enemy to hold undisputed possession of the fortress?”
“It is precisely on that point I want advice. Prince.”
“What if we form ourselves into a council of state?” said an Austrian general.
“By all means,” said the others, who now formed a semicircle in front of Lady Hester's sofa.
“The youngest officer always speaks first,” said the Austrian.
“Then that duty is mine,” said a little man of about eighty-two or three, and who had represented France at half the courts of Europe. “I should advise a protocol in the form of a protest. It is a palpable invasion of territory, but, followed by an ample apology and a speedy evacuation, may be forgiven. There are historical warrants for such transgressions being accepted as acts almost of compulsion.”
“The case of Anspach, for instance,” said the Austrian, with a malicious smile.
“Precisely, General, precisely a case in point,” rejoined the old diplomate, with a bow and a smile that almost seemed grateful. “The shortest road to victory is ever the best.”
“Let's try a fever, or a fire. By Jove! the sacrifice of a few chairs and window-curtains would be a cheap alternative,” said George Onslow.
“Why not essay a compromise, my Lady?” interposed a young German secretary of legation; “a mixed garrison, like that of Rastadt?”
“Lady Hester's troops to mount guard alternately with the Rickettses'. Downright treason, base treason!” exclaimed another.
“What would you think of a special mission, my Lady?” simpered Jekyl. “It would at least serve to enlighten us as to the views of the enemy. The discussion of the past often throws much light on the future.”
“Jekyl wants to earn a decoration,” said another, laughing. “He intends to be the envoy himself.”
“I'll wager that I know Midchekoff's policy,” said a young Sicilian, who always spoke with a frank fearlessness that is most rare with other Italians.
“Well, let us hear it,” said the Prince, gravely.
“You would counsel the national expedient of retiring before the enemy, and making the country too cold to hold them?”
“How absurd!” said Lady Hester, half angrily; “give up one's house to a set of people who have had the impertinence to intrude themselves unasked?”
“And yet Giasconi is right,” said the Prince. “It is the best suggestion we have heard yet. Hostilities imply, to a certain extent, equality; negotiation is an acknowledgment of acquaintanceship; a dignified retreat, however, avoids either difficulty.”
“In that case, let 's starve them out,” said George. “Suffer no supplies to be thrown into the place, and exact the most humble terms of submission.”
“Then, where to go? that 's another question,” said Lady Hester.
“His Eminence expects to see you in Rome,” whispered the Abbe, who had waited for an opportunity for the suggestion. “I believe he relies on a promise.”
“Very true; but not just yet. Besides, the season is almost over,” said Lady Hester, with a slight degree of confusion.
“Don't be frightened, Abbe,” whispered Jekyl in D'Esmonde's ear. “Her Ladyship is assuredly 'going to Rome' later on.”
The priest smiled, with an expression that told how fully he comprehended the phrase.
“There 's a little villa of mine, on the Lake of Como, very much at your service,” said Midchekoff, with the easy indifference of one suggesting something perfectly indifferent to him.
“Do you mean La Rocca, Prince?” added the Sicilian.
“Yes. They tell me it is prettily situated, but I 've never seen it. The Empress passed a few weeks there last year, and liked it,” said Midchekoff, languidly.
“Really, Prince, if I don't know how to accept, I am still more at a loss for power to refuse your offer.”
“When will you go?” said he, dryly, and taking out his memorandum-book to write.
“What says Mr. Jekyl?” said Lady Hester, turning to that bland personage, who, without apparently attending to what went forward, had heard every syllable of it.
“This is Tuesday,” said Jekyl. “There 's not much to be done; the villa wants for nothing: I know it perfectly.”
“Ah, it's comfortable, then?” said the Prince, with a slight degree of animation.
“La Rocca is all that Contarete's taste could make it,” replied Jekyl.
“Poor Contarete! he was an excellent maitre d'hotel,” said Midchekoff. “He's still with me, somewhere; I rather believe in Tartary, just now.”
“Your Ladyship may leave this on Thursday,” said Jekyl, who well knew that he was paying the most flattering compliment to Midchekoff in naming the shortest possible time for preparation.
“Will this be inconvenient, Prince?” asked Lady Hester.
“No; not in the least. If Jekyl will precede you by a couple of hours, I trust all will be ready.”
“With your permission, then, we will say Thursday,” said she, who, with her habitual delight in novelty, was already wild with pleasure at the whole scheme.
“Perhaps I'll come and visit you,” said Midchekoff. “I shall have to go to Vienna soon.”
Lady Hester bowed and smiled her acknowledgments for this not over-gracious speech.
“May we follow you, too, Lady Hester?” asked the Sicilian.
“We expect that much from your loyalty, gentlemen. Our exile will test your fidelity.”
“There 's something or other inconvenient about the stables,” said Midchekoff, “but I forget what it is; they are up a mountain, or down in a valley. I don't remember it, but the Emperor said it was wrong, and should be changed.”
“They are on the opposite side of the lake, Prince,” interposed Jekyl, “and you must cross over to your carriage by boat.”
“Oh, delightful, quite delightful!” exclaimed Lady Hester, with childish joy, at the novelty.
“La Rocca is on a little promontory,” said Jekyl, “only approachable from the water, for the mountain is quite inaccessible.”
“You shall have a road made, if you wish it,” said the Prince, languidly.
“On no account. I would n't for the world destroy the isolation of the spot.”
“Do you happen to remember, Mr. Jekyl, if there be any pictures there?”
“There are some perfect gems, by Greuze.”
“Oh! that's where they are, is it? I could never call to mind where they were left.”
The conversation now became general, in discussing Lady Hester's change of abode, the life they should all lead when on the lake, and the innumerable stories that would be circulated to account for her sudden departure. This same mystery was not the least agreeable feature of the whole, and Lady Hester never wearied in talking of all the speculations her new step was certain to originate; and although some of the company regretted the approaching closure of a house which formed the resource of every evening, others were not sorry at the prospect of anything which offered a change to the monotony of their lives.
“You'll come to breakfast to-morrow, Mr. Jekyl,” said Lady Hester, as he followed the departing guests. “I shall want you the whole day.”
He bowed with his hand to his heart, and never did features of like mould evince a deeper aspect of devotion.
ONE of the most striking characteristics of our present age is the singular mixture of frivolity and seriousness, the almost absurd contrast between grave inquiry and reckless dissipation, which pervades the well-to-do classes. Never was there a period when merely sensual gratification was more highly prized and paid for; and never, perhaps, a time when every rank in life was more eager in the pursuit of knowledge. To produce this state of things a certain compromise was necessary; and while the mere man of pleasure affected a taste for literature and politics, the really active-minded either sought his relaxation, or extended his influence, by mingling in scenes of frivolity and amusement.
The age which made dandies philosophers made lord chancellors droll, and bishops eccentric. A paradoxical spirit was abroad, and it seemed to be a matter of pride with every one to do something out of his station. The whole temper of society and the tone of conversation exhibited this new taste.
Lady Hester Onslow was not a bad specimen of the prevailing mania. There was by nature a certain fidgety, capricious volatility about her that defied everything like a regular pursuit or a continued purpose. With a reasonably quick apprehension and no judgment, in being everything, she became nothing. Always mistaking sympathies for convictions, it was quite sufficient to interest her imagination to secure her adhesion, not, indeed, that it was worth much when obtained, seeing that she was but a feeble ally at the best. Her employment of the day was a type of herself. The mornings were passed in mesmeric experiences with her doctor, or what she fancied were theological discussions with the Abbe D'Esmonde.
It would be difficult to say in which the imaginative exaltation more predominated. All the authentic and incredible phenomena of the one, all the miraculous pretensions of the other, were too little for a credulity that stopped at nothing. Of second sight, remote sympathy, and saintly miracles she never could hear enough. “Give me facts,” she would say; by which she meant narratives. “I will have no theories, doctor.” “Don't bear me down with arguments, Monsieur l'Abbe.” “Facts, and facts alone, have any influence with me.”
Now, such facts as she asked for were easily obtainable, and the greatest miser need not have grudged her an ample meal of them. Many of the facts, too, possessed the pleasing feature of being personal in their interest. One day it was a charming young patient of the doctor, who, having touched a tress of Lady Hester's hair, made the most astonishing revelations of her Ladyship's disposition; telling facts of her feelings, her nature, and even her affections, that “she knew were only confided to her own heart.” Various little incidents of her daily life were foretold, even to such minute matters as the purchase of articles of jewelry, which she had not even seen at the time, and only met her eyes by accident afterwards. The Abbe, with equal success, assured her of the intense interest taken in her by the Church. Beautifully bound and richly illustrated books were offered to her, with the flattering addition that prayers were then being uttered at many a shrine for her enlightenment in their perusal. Less asked to conform herself to a new belief than to reconcile the faith to her own notions, she was given the very widest latitude to her opinions. If she grew impatient at argument, a subtle illustration, an apt metaphor, or sometimes a happy mot settled the question. The Abbe was a clever talker, and varied his subjects with all the skill of a master. He knew how to invoke to his aid all that poetry, art, and romance could contribute. The theme was a grand one when the imagination was to be interested, and really deserved a better listener; for save when the miraculous interposition of saints or the gaudy ceremonials of the Church were spoken of, she heard the subject with indifference, if not apathy. The consideration of self could, however, always bring her back; and it was ever a successful flattery to assure her how fervently such a cardinal prayed for her “right-mindedness,” and how eagerly even his Holiness looked forward to the moment of counting her among his children.
Her very tastes those same tastes that ascetic Protestantism was always cavilling at were beautifully Roman. The Church liked display. Witness her magnificence and splendor, her glorious cathedrals, the pomp and grandeur of her ceremonial! As to music, the choir of the “Duomo” was seraphic, and needed not the association of the dim vaulted aisles, the distant altar, and the checkered rays of stained-glass windows to wrap the soul in a fervor of enthusiasm. Even beauty was cherished by the Church, and the fair Madonnas were types of an admiring love that was beautifully catholic in its worship.
With all this, the work of conversion was a Penelope's web, that must each day be begun anew, for, as the hour of the Cascini drew nigh, Lady Hester's carriage drew up, and mesmerism, miracles, and all gave way to the fresher interests of courtly loungers, chit-chat, and “bouquets of camellias.”
For the next hour or so, her mind was occupied with the gossiping stories of Florentine life, its surface details all recounted by the simpering dandies who gathered around her carriage; its deeper not unfrequently darker histories being the province of Mr. Albert Jekyl. Then home to luncheon, for, as Haggerstone related, she dined always after the Opera, and it was then, somewhere verging on midnight, that she really began to live. Then, in all the blaze of dress and jewels, with beauty little impaired by years, and a manner the perfection of that peculiar school to which she attached herself, she was indeed a most attractive person.
Kate Dalton's life was, of course, precisely the same. Except the few hours given to controversial topics, and which she passed in reading, and the occasional change from driving to riding in the Cascini, Kate's day was exactly that of her friend. Not, however, with the same results; for while one was wearied with the same routine of unvarying pleasure, tired of the monotonous circle of amusement, the other became each day more and more enamored of a life so unchanging in its happiness. What was uniformity to Lady Hester, imparted a sense of security to Kate. It was not alone the splendor that surrounded her, the thousand objects of taste and elegance that seemed to multiply around them, that captivated her so much, it was the absence of all care, the freedom from every thought that this state was a mere passing one. This Kate felt to be the very highest of enjoyments, and when at night she whispered to herself, “To-morrow will be like to-day,” she had said everything that could brighten anticipation.
Her father's letter was the first shock to this delightful illusion. Her own false position of splendor, in contrast to his poverty, now came up palpably before her, and in place of those blissful reveries in which she often passed hours, there rose to her mind the bitter self-accusings of a penitent spirit. She never slept through the night; the greater part of it she spent in tears. Her absence from home, brief as it was, was quite enough to make her forget much of its daily life. She could, it is true, recall the penury and the privation, but not the feelings that grew out of them. “How changed must he have become to stoop to this!” was the exclamation that she uttered again and again. “Where was all that Dalton pride they used to boast of? What become of that family dignity which once was their bulwark against every blow of Fortune?”
To these thoughts succeeded the sadder one, of what course remained for her to adopt? a difficulty the greater since she but half understood what was required of her. He spoke of a bill, and yet the letter contained none: before she broke the seal, it felt as though there was an enclosure, yet she found none; and if there were, of what use would it be? It was perfectly impossible that she could approach Sir Stafford with such a request; every sense of shame, delicacy, and self-respect revolted at the very thought. Still less could she apply to Lady Hester, whose extravagant and wasteful habits always placed her in want of money; and yet to refuse her father on grounds which he would deem purely selfish was equally out of the question. She well knew that in a moment of anger and impatience stung by what he would call the ingratitude of his children he would probably himself write to Sir Stafford, narrating every circumstance that drove him to the step. Oh, that she had never left him, never ceased to live the life of want and hardship to which time had accustomed her! all the poverty she had ever known brought no such humiliation as this! Poor Nelly's lot now was a hundredfold superior to hers. She saw, too, that reserve once broken on such a theme, her father would not scruple to renew the application as often as he needed money. It was clear enough that he saw no embarrassment, nor any difficulty for her in the matter; that it neither could offend her feelings nor compromise her position. Could she descend to an evasive or equivocal reply, his temper would as certainly boil over, and an insulting letter would at once be addressed to Sir Stafford. Were she to make the request and fail, he would order her home, and under what circumstances should she leave the house of her benefactors! And yet all this was better than success.
In such harassing reflections warring and jarring in her mind, the long hours of the night were passed. She wept, too: the bitterest tears are those that are wrung from shame and sorrow mingled. Many a generous resolve, many a thought of self-devotion and sacrifice rose to her mind; at moments she would have submitted herself to any wound to self-esteem to have obtained her father's kind word, and at others all the indignity of a false position overwhelmed her, and she cried as if her very heart were bursting.
Wearied and fevered, she arose and went into the garden. It was one of the brilliant mornings which for a week or ten days in Italy represent the whole season of spring. Although still early, the sun was hot, and the flowers and shrubs, refreshed by the heavy dew, were bursting out into renewed luxuriance in the warm glow. The fountains sparkled, and the birds were singing, and all seemed animated by that joyous spirit which seems the very breath of early morning, all save poor Kate, who, with bent-down head and slow step, loitered along the walks, lost in her gloomiest thoughts.
To return home again was the only issue she could see to her difficulties, to share the humble fortunes of her father and sister, away from a world in which she had no pretension to live! And this, too, just when that same world had cast its fascinations round her, just when its blandishments had gained possession of her heart, and made her feel that all without its pale was ignoble and unworthy. No other course seemed, however, to offer itself, and she had just determined on its adoption, when the short, quick step of some one following her made her turn her head. As she did so, her name was pronounced, and Mr. Albert Jekyl, with his hat courteously removed, advanced towards her.
“I see with what care Miss Dalton protects the roses of her cheeks,” said he, smiling; “and yet how few there are that know this simple secret.”
“You give me a credit I have no claim to, Mr. Jekyl. I have almost forgotten the sight of a rising sun, but this morning I did not feel quite well a headache a sleepless night—”
“Perhaps caused by anxiety,” interposed he, quietly. “I wish I had discovered your loss in time, but I only detected that it must be yours when I reached home.”
“I don't comprehend you,” said she, with some hesitation.
“Is not this yours, Miss Dalton?” said he, producing the bill, which had fallen unseen from her father's letter. “I found it on the floor of the small boudoir, and not paying much attention to it at the time, did not perceive the signature, which would at once have betrayed the ownership.”
“It must have dropped from a letter I was reading,” said Kate, whose cheek was now scarlet, for she knew Jekyl well enough to be certain that her whole secret was by that time in his hands. Slighter materials than this would have sufficed for his intelligence to construct a theory upon. Nothing in his manner, however, evinced this knowledge, for he handed her the paper with an air of most impassive quietude; while, as if to turn her thoughts from any unpleasantness of the incident, he said,
“You haven't yet heard, I suppose, of Lady Hester's sudden resolve to quit Florence?”
“Leave Florence! and for where?” asked she, hurriedly.
“For Midchekoff's villa at Como. We discussed it all last night after you left, and in twenty-four hours we are to be on the road.”
“What is the reason of this hurried departure?”
“The Ricketts invasion gives the pretext; but of course you know better than I do what a share the novelty of the scheme lends to its attractions.”
“And we are to leave this to-morrow?” said Kate, rather to herself than for her companion.
Jekyl marked well the tone and the expression of the speaker, but said not a word.
Kate stood for a few seconds lost in thought. Her difficulties were thickening around her, and not a gleam of light shone through the gloomy future before her. At last, as it were overpowered by the torturing anxieties of her situation, she covered her face with her hands to hide the tears that would gush forth in spite of her.
“Miss Dalton will forgive me,” said Jekyl, speaking in a low and most respectful voice, “if I step for once from the humble path I have tracked for myself in life, and offer my poor services as her adviser.”
Nothing could be more deferential than the speech, or the way in which it was uttered, and yet Kate heard it with a sense of pain. She felt that her personal independence was already in peril, and that the meek and bashful Mr. Jekyl had gained a mastery over her. He saw all this, he read each struggle of her mind, and, were retreat practicable, he would have retreated; but, the step once taken, the only course was “forwards.”
“Miss Dalton may reject my counsels, but she will not despise the devotion in which they are proffered. A mere accident” here he glanced at the paper which she still held in her fingers “a mere accident has shown me that you have a difficulty; one for which neither your habits nor knowledge of life can suggest the solution.” He paused, and a very slight nod from Kate emboldened him to proceed. “Were it not so, Miss Dalton were the case one for which your own exquisite tact could suffice, I never would have ventured on the liberty. I, who have watched you with wondering admiration, directing and guiding your course amid shoals and reefs and quicksands, where the most skilful might have found shipwreck, it would have been hardihood indeed for me to have offered my pilotage. But here, if I err not greatly, here is a new and unknown sea, and here I may be of service to you.”
“Is it so plain, then, what all this means?” said Kate, holding out the bill towards Jekyl.
“Alas! Miss Dalton,” said he, with a faint smile, “these are no enigmas to us who mix in all the worries and cares of life.”
“Then how do you read the riddle?” said she, almost laughing at the easy flippancy of his tone.
“Mr. Dalton being an Irish gentleman of a kind disposition and facile temper, suffers his tenantry to run most grievously into arrear. They won't pay, and he won't make them; his own creditors having no sympathy with such proceedings, become pressing and importunate. Mr. Dalton grows angry, and they grow irritable; he makes his agent write to them, they 'instruct' their attorney to write to him. Mr. D. is puzzled, and were it not that But, may I go on?”
“Of course; proceed,” said she, smiling.
“You'll not be offended, though?” said he, “because, if I have not the privilege of being frank, I shall be worthless to you.”
“There is no serious offence without intention.”
“Very true; but I do not wish there should be even a trivial transgression.”
“I 'm not afraid. Go on,” said she, nodding her head.
“Where was I, then? Oh! I remember. I said that Mr. Dalton, seeing difficulties thickening and troubles gathering, suddenly bethinks him that he has a daughter, a young lady of such attractions that, in a society where wealth and splendor and rank hold highest place, her beauty has already established a dominion which nothing, save her gentleness, prevents being a despotism.”
“Mr. Jekyl mistakes the part of a friend when he becomes flatterer.”
“There is no flattery in a plain unadorned truth,” said he, hastily.
“And were it all as you say,” rejoined she, speaking with a heightened color and a flashing eye, “how could such circumstances be linked with those you spoke of?”
“Easily enough, if I did but dare to tell it,” was his reply.
“It is too late for reserve; go on freely,” said she, with a faint sigh.
Jekyl resumed,
“Mr. Dalton knows there are thousands could have told him so that his daughter may be a princess to-morrow if she wishes it. She has but to choose her rank and her nationality, and there is not a land in Europe in whose peerage she may not inscribe her name. It is too late for reserve,” said he, quickly, “and consequently too late for resentment. You must not be angry with me now; I am but speaking in your presence what all the world says behind your back. Hearing this, and believing it, as all believe it, what is there more natural than that he should address himself to her at whose disposal lie all that wealth can compass? The sun bestows many a gleam of warmth and brightness before he reaches the zenith. Do not mistake me. This request was scarcely fair; it was ill-advised. Your freedom should never have been jeopardized for such a mere trifle. Had your father but seen with his own eyes your position here, he would never have done this; but, being done, there is no harm in it.”
“But what am I to do?” said Kate, trembling with embarrassment and vexation together.
“Send the money, of course,” said he, coolly.
“But how from what source?”
“Your own benevolence, none other,” said he, as calmly.
“There is no question of a favor, no stooping to an obligation necessary. You will simply give your promise to repay it at some future day, not specifying when; and I will find a banker but too happy to treat with you.”
“But what prospect have I of such ability to pay? what resources can I reckon upon?”
“You will be angry if I repeat myself,” said Jekyl, with deep humility.
“I am already angry with myself that I should have listened to your proposal so indulgently; my troubles must, indeed, have affected me deeply when I so far forgot myself.”
Jekyl dropped his head forward on his breast, and looked a picture of sorrow; after a while he said,
“Sir Stafford Onslow would, I well know, but be honored by your asking him the slight favor; but I could not counsel you to do so. Your feelings would have to pay too severe a sacrifice, and hence I advise making it a mere business matter; depositing some ornament a necklace you were tired of, a bracelet, anything in fact, a nothing and thus there is neither a difficulty nor a disclosure.”
“I have scarcely anything,” said Kate; “and what I have, have been all presents from Lady Hester.”
“Morlache would be quite content with your word,” said Jekyl, blandly.
“And if I should be unable to acquit the debt, will these few things I possess be sufficient to do it?”
“I should say double the amount, as a mere guess.”
“Can I dare I take your counsel?” cried she, in an accent of intense anxiety.
“Can you reject it, when refusal will be so bitter?”
Kate gave a slight shudder, as though that pang was greater than all the rest.
“There is fortunately no difficulty in the matter whatever,” said Jekyl, speaking rapidly. “You will, of course, have many things to purchase before you leave this. Well; take the carriage and your maid, and drive to the Ponte Vecchio. The last shop on the right-hand side of the bridge is 'Morlache's.' It is unpromising enough outside, but there is wealth within to subsidize a kingdom. I will be in waiting to receive you, and in a few minutes the whole will be concluded; and if you have your letter ready, you can enclose the sum, and post it at once.”
If there were many things in this arrangement which shocked Kate, and revolted against her sense of delicacy and propriety, there was one counterpoise more than enough to outweigh them all: she should be enabled to serve her father, she, who alone of all his children had never contributed, save by affection, to his comfort, should now materially assist him. She knew too well the sufferings and anxieties his straitened fortune cost him, she witnessed but too often the half-desperation in which he would pass days, borne down and almost broken-hearted! and she had witnessed that outbreak of joy he would indulge in when an unexpected help had suddenly lifted him from the depth of his poverty. To be the messenger of such good tidings to be associated in his mind with this assistance, to win his fervent “God bless you!” she would have put life itself in peril; and when Jekyl placed so palpably before her the promptitude with which the act could be accomplished, all hesitation ceased, and she promised to be punctual at the appointed place by three o'clock that same afternoon.
“It is too early to expect to see Lady Hester,” said Jekyl; “and indeed, my real business here this morning was with yourself, so that now I shall drive out to Midchekoff's and make all the arrangements about the villa. Till three, then, good-bye!”
“Good-bye,” said Kate, for the first time disposed to feel warmly to the little man, and half reproach herself with some of the prejudices she used to entertain regarding him.
Jekyl now took his way to the stables, and ordering a brougham to be got ready for him, sauntered into the house, and took his coffee while he waited.