There was an air of restrained excitement, importance and mystery among the ladies at luncheon. They had got back to the house in time to have their conclave before that meal, and everything was satisfactorily settled. Lady Anningford, who had not accompanied them out shooting, had thought out a whole scheme, and announced it upon their return amidst acclamations.
They would represent as many characters as they could from the "Idylls of the King," because the style would be such loose, hanging kinds of garments, the maids could run up the long straight seams in no time. And it would be so much more delightful, all to carry out one idea, than the usual powdered heads and non-descript things people chose for such impromptu occasions. It only remained to finally decide the characters. She considered that Ethelrida should undoubtedly beGuinevere; but, above all, Zara must beIsolt!
"Of course, of course!" they all cried unanimously, while Zara's eyes went black. "TristramandIsolt! How splendid!"
"And I shall beBrangaine, and give the love potion," Lady Anningford went on. "Although it does not come into the 'Idylls of the King,' it should do so. It is just because Tennyson was so fearfully, respectably Early Victorian! I have been looking all the real thing up in the 'Morte d' Arthur' in the library, and in the beautiful edition of 'Tristram and Yseult' in Ethelrida's room."
"How perfectly enchanting!" cried Lady Betty. "I must be theLady of the Lake—it is much the most dramatic part. And let us get the big sword out of the armory forExcalibur! I can have it, and brandish it as I enter the room."
"Oh, nonsense, Betty darling!" Ethelrida said. "You are the very picture ofLynette, with your enchanting nose 'tiptilted like the tender petal of a flower,' and your shameful treatment of poor Jimmy!"
And Lady Betty, after bridling a little, consented.
Then the other parts were cast. Emily should beEnidand Mary,Elaine, while Lady Melton, Lady Thornby and Mrs. Harcourt should be theThree Fair Queens.
"I shall beEttarre," said Lily Opie. "The others are all good and dull; and I prefer her, because I am sure she wasn't! And certainly Lady Highford must beVivien! She is exactly the type, in one of her tea gowns!"
Laura rather liked the idea ofVivien. It hadcachet, she thought. She was very fond of posing as a mysterious enchantress, the mystic touch pleased her vanity.
So, of the whole party, only Zara did not feel content. Tristram might think she had chosen this herself, as an advance towards him.
Then the discussion, as to the garments to be worn, began. Numbers of ornaments and bits of tea-gowns would do. But with her usual practical forethought, Lady Anningford had already taken time by the forelock, and asked that one of the motors, going in to Tilling Green on a message, should bring back all the bales of bright and light-colored merinos and nunscloths the one large general shop boasted of.
And, amidst screams of delighted excitement from the girls, the immense parcel was presently unpacked.
It contained marvels of white and creams, and one which was declared the exact thing forIsolt. It was a merino of that brilliant violent shade of azure, the tone which is advertised as "Rickett's Paris blue" for washing clothes. It had been in the shop for years, and was unearthed for this occasion—a perfect relic of later Victorian aniline dye.
"It will be simply too gorgeously wonderful, with just a fillet of gold round her head, and all her adorable red hair hanging down," Lady Anningford said to Ethelrida.
"We shan't have to wear a stitch underneath," Lady Betty announced decidedly, while she pirouetted before a cheval glass—they were all in Lady Anningford's room—with some stuff draped round her childish form. "The gowns must have the right look, just long, straight things, with hanging sleeves and perhaps a girdle. I shall have cream, and you, Mary, asElaine, must have white; but Emily had better have that mauve forEnid, as she was married."
"Why mustEnidhave mauve because she is married?" asked Emily, who did not like the color.
"I don't know why," Lady Betty answered, "except that, if you are married, you can't possibly have white, like Mary and me, who aren't. People are quite different—after, and mauve is very respectable for them," she went on. Grammar never troubled her little ladyship, when giving her valuable opinion upon things and life.
"I thinkEnidwas a goose," said Emily, pouting.
"Not half as much asElaine," said Mary. "She had secured herGeraint, whereasElainemade a perfect donkey of herself overLancelot, who did not care for her."
"I like our parts much the best, Lily's and mine," said Lady Betty. "I do give my Jim—Gareth?—a lively time, at all events! Just what I should do, if it were in real life."
"What you do do, you mean, not what you would do, Minx!" said her aunt, laughing.
And at this stage the shooters were seen advancing across the park, and the band of ladies, full of importance, descended to luncheon.
Lady Anningford sat next the Crow and told him what they had decided, in strict confidence, of course.
"We shall have the most delightful fun, Crow. I have thought it all out. At dessert I am going to hand one of the gold cups in which we are going to put a glass of some of the Duke's original old Chartreuse, to the bridal pair, as if to drink their health; and then, when they have drunk it, I am going to be overcome at the mistake of having given them a love-potion, just as in the real story! You can't tell—it may bring them together."
"Queen Anne, you wonder!" said the Crow.
"It is such a deliciously incongruous idea, you see," Lady Anningford went on. "All of us in long pre-mediaeval garments, with floating hair, and all of you in modern hunt coats! I should like to have seen Tristram in gold chain armor."
The Crow grunted approval.
"Ethelrida is going to arrange that they go in to dinner together. She is going to say it will be their last chance before they get toKing Mark. Won't it all be perfect?"
"Well, I suppose you know best," the Crow said, with his wise old head on one side. "But they are at a ticklish pass in their careers, I tell you. The balance might go either way. Don't make it too hard for them, out of mistaken kindness."
"You are tiresome, Crow!" retorted Lady Anningford. "I never can do a thing I think right without your warning me over it. Do leave it to me."
So, thus admonished, Colonel Lowerby went on with his luncheon.
Zara's eyes looked more stormy than ever, when her husband chanced to see them. He was sitting nearly opposite her, and he wondered what on earth she was thinking about. He was filled with a concentrated bitterness from the events of the morning. Her utter indifference over the Laura incident had galled him unbearably, although he told himself, as he had done before, the unconscionable fool he was to allow himself to go on being freshly wounded by each continued proof of her disdain of him. Why, when he knew a thing, should he not be prepared for it? He had a strong will; hewouldovercome his emotion for her. He could, at least, make himself treat her, outwardly with the same apparent insolent indifference, as she treated him.
He made a firm resolve once again, he would not speak to her at all, any more than he had done the last three days in Paris. He would accept the position until the Wrayth rejoicings were over, and then he would certainly make arrangements to go and shoot lions, or travel, or something. There should be no further "perhaps" about it. Life, with the agonizing longing for her, seeing her daily and being denied, was more than could be borne.
There was something about Zara's type, the white, exquisite beauty of her skin, her slenderly voluptuous shape, the stormy suggestion of hidden passion in her slumberous eyes, which had always aroused absolutely mad emotions in men. Tristram, who was a normal Englishman, self-contained and reserved, and too completely healthy to be highly-strung, felt undreamed-of sensations rise in him when he looked at her, which was as rarely as possible. He understood now what was meant by an obsession—all the states of love he had read of in French novels and dismissed as "tommyrot." She did not only affect him with a thrilling physical passion. It was an obsession of the mind as well. He suffered acutely; as each day passed it seemed as if he could not bear any more, and the next always brought some further pain.
They had actually only been married for ten days! and it seemed an eternity of anguish to both of them, for different reasons.
Zara's nature was trying to break through the iron bands of her life training. Once she had admitted to herself that she loved her husband, her suffering was as deep as his, only that she was more practiced in the art of suppressing all emotion. But it was no wonder that they both looked pale and stern, and quite unbridal.
The sportsmen started immediately after lunch again, and the ladies returned to their delightful work; and, when they all assembled for tea, everything was almost completed. Zara had been unable to resist the current of light-hearted gayety which was in the air, and now felt considerably better; so she allowed Lord Elterton to sit beside her after tea and pour homage at her feet, with the expression of an empress listening to an address of loyalty from some distant colony; and the Crow leant back in his chair and chuckled to himself, much to Lady Anningford's annoyance.
"What in the world is it, Crow?" she said. "When you laugh like that, I always know some diabolically cynical idea is floating in your head, and it is not good for you. Tell me at once what you mean!"
But Colonel Lowerby refused to be drawn, and presently took Tristram off into the billiard-room.
It was arranged that all the men, even the husbands, were to go down into the great white drawing-room first, so that the ladies might have the pleasure of making an entranceen bande, to the delight of every one. And when this group of Englishmen, so smart in their scarlet hunt coats, were assembled at the end, by the fireplace, footmen opened the big double doors, and the groom of the chambers announced,
"Her Majesty,Queen Guinevere, and the Ladies of her Court."
And Ethelrida advanced, her fair hair in two long plaits, with her mother's all-round diamond crown upon her head, and clothed in some white brocade garment, arranged with a blue merino cloak, trimmed with ermine and silver. She looked perfectly regal, and as nearly beautiful as she had ever done; and to the admiring eyes of Francis Markrute, she seemed to outshine all the rest.
Then, their names called as they entered, came Enid and Elaine, each fair and sweet; and Vivien and Ettarre; then Lynette walking alone, with her saucy nose in the air and her flaxen curls spread out over her cream robe, a most bewitching sight.
Several paces behind her came theThree Fair Queens, all in wonderfully contrived garments, and misty, floating veils; and lastly, quite ten paces in the rear, walkedIsolt, followed by herBrangaine. And when the group by the fireplace caught sight of her, they one and all drew in their breath.
For Zara had surpassed all expectations. The intense and blatant blue of her long clinging robe, which would have killed the charms of nine women out of ten, seemed to enhance the beauty of her pure white skin and marvelous hair. It fell like a red shining cloak all round her, kept in only by a thin fillet of gold, while her dark eyes gleamed with a new excitement. She had relaxed her dominion of herself, and was allowing the natural triumphant woman in her to have its day. For once in her life she forgot everything of sorrow and care, and permitted herself to rejoice in her own beauty and its effect upon the world before her.
"Jee-hoshaphat!" was the first articulate word that the company heard, from the hush which had fallen upon them; and then there was a chorus of general admiration, in which all the ladies had their share. And only the Crow happened to glance at Tristram, and saw that his face was white as death.
Then the two parties, about twenty people in all, began to arrive from the other houses, and delighted exclamations of surprise at the splendor of the impromptu fancy garments were heard all over the room, and soon dinner was announced, and they went in.
"My Lord Tristram," Ethelrida had said to her cousin, "I beg of you to conduct to my festal board your own most beautifulLady Isolt. Remember, on Monday you leave us for the realm ofKing Mark, so make the most of your time!" And she turned and led forward Zara, and placed her hand in his; she, and they all, were too preoccupied with excitement and joy to see the look of deep pain in his eyes.
He held his wife's hand, until the procession started, and neither of them spoke a word. Zara, still exalted with the spirit of the night, felt only a wild excitement. She was glad he could see her beauty and her hair, and she raised her head and shook it back, as they started, with a provoking air.
But Tristram never spoke; and by the time they had reached the banqueting-hall, some of her exaltation died down, and she felt a chill.
Her hair was so very long and thick that she had to push it aside, to sit down, and in doing so a mesh flew out and touched his face; and the Crow, who was watching the whole drama intently, noticed that he shivered and, if possible, grew more pale. So he turned to his own servant, behind his chair, who with some of the other valets, was helping to wait, and whispered to him, "Go and see that Lord Tancred is handed brandy, at once, before the soup."
And so the feast began.
On Zara's other hand sat the Duke, and on Tristram's, Brangaine—for so she and Ethelrida had arranged for their later plan; and after the brandy, which Tristram dimly wondered why he should have been handed, he pulled himself together, and tried to talk; and Zara busied herself with the Duke. She quite came out of her usual silence, and laughed, and looked so divinely attractive that the splendid old gentleman felt it all going to his head; and his thoughts wondered bluntly, how soon, if he were his nephew, he would take her away after dinner and make love to her all to himself! But these modern young fellows had not half the mettle that he had had!
So at last dessert-time came, with its toasts for theQueen Guinevere. And the bridal pair had spoken together never a word; and Lady Anningford, who was watching them, began to fear for the success of her plan. However, there was no use turning back now. So, amidst jests of all sorts in keeping with the spirit of Camelot and the Table Round, at lastBrangainerose and, taking the gold cup in front of her, said,
"I,Brangaine, commissioned by her Lady Mother, to conduct theLady Isoltsafely toKing Mark, under the knightly protection of theLord Tristram, do now propose to drink their health, and ye must all do likewise, Lords and Ladies of Arthur's court." And she sipped her own glass, while she handed the gold cup to the Duke, who passed it on to the pair; and Tristram, because all eyes were upon him, forced himself to continue the jest. So he rose and, taking Zara's hand, while he bowed to the company, gave her the cup to drink, and then took it himself, while he drained the measure. And every one cried, amidst great excitement, "The health and happiness ofTristramandIsolt!"
Then, when the tumult had subsided a little,Brangainegave a pretended shriek.
"Mercy me! I am undone!" she cried. "They have quaffed of the wrong cup! That gold goblet contained a love-potion distilled from rare plants by the Queen, and destined for the wedding wine ofIsoltandKing Mark! And now theLord Tristramand she have drunk it together, by misadventure, and can never be parted more! Oh, misery me! What have I done!"
And amidst shouts of delighted laughter led by the Crow—in frozen silence, Tristram held his wife's hand.
But after a second, the breeding in them both, as on their wedding evening before the waiters, again enabled them to continue the comedy; and they, too, laughed, and, with the Duke's assistance, got through the rest of dinner, until they all rose and went out, two and two, the men leading their ladies by the hand, as they had come in.
And if the cup had indeed contained a potion distilled by the Irish sorceress Queen, the two victims could not have felt more passionately in love.
But Tristram's pride won the day for him, for this one time, and not by a glance or a turn of his head did he let his bride see how wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood. And when the dancing began, he danced with every other lady first, and then went off into the smoking-room, and only just returned in time to be made to lead out his "Isolt" in a final quadrille—not a valse. No powers would have made him endure the temptation of a valse!
And even this much, the taking of her hand, her nearness, the sight of the exquisite curves of her slender figure, and her floating hair, caused him an anguish unspeakable, so that when the rest of the company had gone, and good nights were said, he went up to his room, changed his coat, and strode away alone, out into the night.
"Not by a glance or a turn of the head did he let his bride see how wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood.""Not by a glance or a turn of the head did he let his bride see how wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood."
Every one was so sleepy and tired on Sunday morning, after their night at Arthur's Court, that only Lady Ethelrida and Laura Highford, who had a pose of extreme piety always ready at hand, started with the Duke and Young Billy for church. Francis Markrute watched them go from his window, which looked upon the entrance, and he thought how stately and noble his fair lady looked; and he admired her disciplined attitude, no carousal being allowed to interfere with her duties. She was a rare and perfect specimen of her class.
His lady fair! For he had determined, if fate plainly gave him the indication, to risk asking her to-day to be his fair lady indeed. A man must know when to strike, if the iron is hot.
He had carefully prepared all the avenues; and had made himself of great importance to the Duke, allowing his masterly brain to be seen in glimpses, and convincing His Grace of his possible great usefulness to the party to which he belonged. He did not look for continued opposition in that quarter, once he should have assured himself that Lady Ethelrida loved him. That he loved her, with all the force of his self-contained nature, was beyond any doubt. Love, as a rule, recks little of the suitability of the object, when it attacks a heart; but in some few cases—that is the peculiar charm—Francis Markrute had waited until he was forty-six years old, firmly keeping to his ideal, until he found her, in a measure of perfection, of which even he had not dared to dream. His theory, which he had proved in his whole life, was that nothing is beyond the grasp of a man who is master of himself and his emotions. But even his iron nerves felt the tension of excitement, as luncheon drew to an end, and he knew in half an hour, when most of the company were safely disposed of, he should again find his way to his lady's shrine.
Ethelrida did not look at him. She was her usual, charmingly-gracious self to her neighbors, solicitous of Tristram's headache. He had only just appeared, and looked what he felt—a wreck. She was interested in some news in the Sunday papers, which had arrived; and in short, not a soul guessed how her gentle being was uplifted, and her tender heart beating with this, the first real emotion she had ever experienced.
Even the Crow, so thrilled with his interest in the bridal pair, had not scented anything unusual in his hostess's attitude towards one of her guests.
"I think Mr. Markrute is awfully attractive, don't you, Crow?" said Lady Anningford, as they started for their walk. To go to Lynton Heights after lunch on Sunday was almost an invariable custom at Montfitchet. "I can't say what it is, but it is something subtle and extraordinary, like that in his niece—what do you think?"
Colonel Lowerby paused, struck from her words by the fact that he had been too preoccupied to have noticed this really interesting man.
"Why, 'pon my soul—I haven't thought!" he said, "but now you speak of it, I do think he is a remarkable chap."
"He is so very quiet," Lady Anningford went on, "and, whenever he speaks, it is something worth listening to; and if you get on any subject of books, he is a perfect encyclopaedia. He gives me the impression of all the forces of power and will, concentrated in a man. I wonder who he really is? Not that it matters a bit in these days. Do you think there is any Jew in him? It does not show in his type, but when foreigners are very rich there generally is."
"Sure to be, as he is so intelligent," the Crow growled. "If you notice, numbers of the English families who show brains have a touch of it in the background. So long as the touch is far enough away, I have no objection to it myself—prefer folks not to be fools."
"I believe I have no prejudices at all," said Lady Anningford. "If I like people, I don't care what is in their blood."
"It is all right till you scratch 'em. Then it comes out; but if, as I say, it is far enough back, the Jew will do the future Tancred race a power of good, to get the commercial common sense of it into them—knew Maurice Grey, her father, years ago, and he was just as indifferent to money and material things, as Tristram is himself. So the good will come from the Markrute side, we will hope."
"I rather wonder, Crow—if there ever will be any more of the Tancred race. I thought last night we had a great failure, and that nothing will make that affair prosper. I don't believe they ever see one another from one day to the next! It is extremely sad."
"I told you they had come to a ticklish point in their careers," the Crow permitted himself to remind his friend, "and, 'pon my soul, I could not bet you one way or another how it will go. 'I hae me doots,' as the Scotchman said."
Meanwhile, Ethelrida, on the plea of letters to write, had retired to her room; and there, as the clock struck a quarter past three, she awaited—what? She would not own to herself that it was her fate. She threw dust in her own eyes, and called it a pleasant talk!
She looked absurdly young for her twenty-six years, just a dainty slip of a patrician girl, as she sat there on her chintz sofa, with its fresh pattern of lilacs and tender green. Everything was in harmony, even to her soft violet cloth dress trimmed with fur.
And again as the hour for the trysting chimed, her lover that was to be, entered the room.
"This is perfectly divine," he said, as he came in, while the roguish twinkle of a schoolboy, who has outwitted his mates sparkled in his fine eyes. "All those good people tramping for miles in the cold and damp, while we two sensible ones are going to enjoy a nice fire and a friendly chat."
Thus he disarmed her nervousness, and gave her time.
"May I sit by you, my Lady Ethelrida?" he said; and as she smiled, he took his seat, but not too near her—nothing must be the least hurried or out of place.
So for about a quarter of an hour they talked of books—their favorites—hers, all so simple and chaste, his, of all kinds, so long as they showed style, and were masterpieces of taste and balance. Then, as a great piece of wood fell in the open grate and made a volley of sparks, he leaned forward a little and asked her if he might tell her that for which he had come, the history of a man.
The daylight was drawing in, and they had an hour before them.
"Yes," said Ethelrida, "only let us make up the fire first, and only turn on that one soft light," and she pointed to a big gray china owl who carried a simple shade of white painted with lilacs on his back. "Then we need not move again, because I want extremely to hear it—the history of a man."
He obeyed her commands, and also drew the silk blinds.
"Now, indeed, we are happy; at least, I am," he said.
Lady Ethelrida leant back on her muslin embroidered cushion and prepared herself to listen with a rapt face.
Francis Markrute stood by the fire for a while, and began from there:
"You must go right back with me to early days, Sweet Lady," he said, "to a palace in a gloomy city and to an artiste—a ballet-dancer—but at the same time a greatmusicienneand a good and beautiful woman, a woman with red, splendid hair, like my niece. There she lived in a palace in this city, away from the world with her two children; an Emperor was her lover and her children's father; and they all four were happy as the day was long. The children were a boy and a girl, and presently they began to grow up, and the boy began to think about life and to reason things out with himself. He had, perhaps, inherited this faculty from his grandfather, on his mother's side, who was a celebrated poet and philosopher and a Spanish Jew. So his mother, the beautiful dancer, was half Jewess, and, from her mother again, half Spanish noble; for this philosopher had eloped with the daughter of a Spanish grandee, and she was erased from the roll. I go back this far not to weary you, but that you may understand what forces in race had to do with the boy's character. The daughter again of this pair became an artist and a dancer, and being a highly educated, as well as a superbly beautiful woman—a woman with all Zara's charm and infinitely more chiseled features—she won the devoted love of the Emperor of the country in which they lived. I will not go into the moral aspect of the affair. A great love recks not of moral aspects. Sufficient to say, they were ideally happy while the beautiful dancer lived. She died when the boy was about fifteen, to his great and abiding grief. His sister, who was a year or two younger than he, was then all he had to love, because political and social reasons in that country made it very difficult, about this time, for him often to see his father, the Emperor.
"The boy was very carefully educated, and began early, as I have told you, to think for himself and to dream. He dreamed of things which might have been, had he been the heir and son of the Empress, instead of the child of her who seemed to him so much the greater lady and queen, his own mother, the dancer; and he came to see that dreams that are based upon regrets are useless and only a factor in the degradation, not the uplifting of a man. The boy grew to understand that from that sweet mother, even though the world called her an immoral woman, he had inherited something much more valuable to himself than the Imperial crown—the faculty of perception and balance, physical and moral, to which the family of the Emperor, his father, could lay no claim. From them, both he and his sister had inherited a stubborn, indomitable pride. You can see it, and have already remarked it, in Zara—that sister's child.
"So when the boy grew to be about twenty, he determined to carve out a career for himself, to create a great fortune, and so make his own little kingdom, which should not be bound by any country or race. He had an English tutor—he had always had one—and in his studies of countries and peoples and their attributes, the English seemed to him to be much the finest race. They were saner, more understanding, more full of the sense of the fitness of things, and of the knowledge of life and how to live it wisely.
"So the boy, with no country, and no ingrained patriotism for the place of his birth, determined he, being free and of no nation, should, when he had made this fortune, migrate there, and endeavor to obtain a place among those proud people, whom he so admired in his heart. That was his goal, in all his years of hard work, during which time he grew to understand the value of individual character, regardless of nation or of creed; and so, when finally he did come to this country, it was not to seek, but to command." And here Francis Markrute, master of vast wealth and the destinies of almost as many human souls as his father, the Emperor, had been, raised his head. And Lady Ethelrida, daughter of a hundred noble lords, knew her father, the Duke, was no prouder than he, the Spanish dancer's son. And something in her fine spirit went out to him; and she, there in the firelight with the soft owl lamp silvering her hair, stretched out her hand to him; and he held it and kissed it tenderly, as he took his seat by her side.
"My sweet and holy one," he said. "And so you understand!"
"Yes, yes!" said Ethelrida. "Oh, please go on"—and she leaned back against her pillow, but she did not seek to draw away her hand.
"There came a great grief, then, in the life of the boy who was now a grown man. His sister brought disgrace upon herself, and died under extremely distressful circumstances, into which I need not enter here; and for a while these things darkened and embittered his life." He paused a moment, and gazed into the fire, a look of deep sorrow and regret on his sharply-cut face, and Ethelrida unconsciously allowed her slim fingers to tighten in his grasp. And when he felt this gentle sympathy, he stroked her hand.
"The man was very hard then, sweet lady," he went on. "He regrets it now, deeply. The pure angel, who at this day rules his life, with her soft eyes of divine mercy and gentleness, has taught him many lessons; and it will be his everlasting regret that he was hard then. But it was a great deep wound to his pride, that quality which he had inherited from his father, and had not then completely checked and got in hand. Pride should be a factor for noble actions and a great spirit, but not for overbearance toward the failings of others. He knows that now. If this lady, whom he worships, should ever wish to learn the whole details of this time, he will tell her even at any cost to his pride, but for the moment let me get on to pleasanter things."
And Ethelrida whispered, "Yes, yes," so he continued:
"All his life from a boy's to a man's, this person we are speaking of had kept his ideal of the woman he should love. She must be fine and shapely, and noble and free; she must be tender and devoted, and gracious and good. But he passed all his early manhood and grew to middle age, before he even saw her shadow across his path. He looked up one night, eighteen months ago, at a court ball, and she passed him on the arm of a royal duke, and unconsciously brushed his coat with her soft dove's wing; and he knew that it was she, after all those years, so he waited and planned, and met her once or twice; but fate did not let him advance very far, and so a scheme entered his head. His niece, the daughter of his dead sister, had also had a very unhappy life; and he thought she, too, should come among these English people, and find happiness with their level ways. She was beautiful and proud and good, so he planned the marriage between his niece and the cousin of the lady he worshiped, knowing by that he should be drawn nearer his star, and also pay the debt to his dead sister, by securing the happiness of her child; but primarily it was his desire to be nearer his own worshiped star, and thus it has all come about." He paused, and looked full at her face, and saw that her sweet eyes were moist with some tender, happy tears. So he leaned forward, took her other hand, and kissed them both, placing the soft palms against his mouth for a second; then he whispered hoarsely, his voice at last trembling with the passionate emotion he felt:
"Ethelrida—darling—I love you with my soul—tell me, my sweet lady, will you be my wife?"
And the Lady Ethelrida did not answer, but allowed herself to be drawn into his arms.
And so in the firelight, with the watchful gray owl, the two rested blissfully content.
When Lady Ethelrida came down to tea, her sweet face was prettily flushed, for she was quite unused to caresses and the kisses of a man. Her soft gray eyes were shining with a happiness of which she had not dreamed, and above all things, she was filled with the exquisite emotion of having a secret!—a secret of which even her dear friend Anne was ignorant—a blessed secret, just shared between her lover and herself. And Lady Anningford, who had no idea that she had spent the afternoon with the financier, but believed she had religiously written letters alone, wondered to herself what on earth made Ethelrida look so joyous and not the least fatigued, as most of the others were. She really got prettier, she thought, as she grew older, and was always the greatest dear in the whole world. But, to look as happy as that and have a face so flushed, was quite mysterious and required the opinion of the Crow!
So she dragged Colonel Lowerby off to a sofa, and began at once:
"Crow, do look at Ethelrida's face! Did you ever see one so idiotically blissful, except when she has been kissed by the person she loves?"
"Well, how do you know that is not the case with our dear Ethelrida?" grunted the Crow. "She did not come out for a walk. You had better count up, and see who else stayed at home!"
So Lady Anningford began laughingly. The idea was too impossible, but she must reason it out.
"There was Lord Melton but Lady Melton stayed behind, too, and the Thornbys—all impossible. There was no one else except Tristram, who I know was in the smoking-room, with a fearful headache, and Mr. Markrute, who was with the Duke."
"Was he with the Duke?" queried the Crow.
"Crow!" almost gasped Lady Anningford. "Do you mean to tell me that you think Ethelrida would have her face looking like that about a foreigner! My dear friend, you must have taken leave of your seven senses—" and then she paused, for several trifles came back to her recollection, connected with these two, which, now that the Crow had implanted a suspicion in her breast, began to assume considerable proportions.
Ethelrida had talked of most irrelevant matters always during their good-night chats, unless the subject happened to be Zara, and she had never once mentioned Mr. Markrute personally or given any opinion about him; and yet, as Anne had seen, they had often talked. There must be something in it, but that was not enough to account for Ethelrida's face. A pale, rather purely colorless complexion like hers did not suddenly change to bright scarlet cheeks, without some practical means! And, as Anne very well knew, kisses were a very practical means! But her friend Ethelrida would never allow any man to kiss her, unless she had promised to marry him. Now, if it had been Lily Opie, she could not have been so sure, though she hoped she could be sure of any nice girl; but about Ethelrida she could take her oath. It followed, as Ethelrida had been quite pale at lunch and was not a person who went to sleep over fires, something extraordinary must have happened—but what?
"Crow, dear, I have never been so thrilled in my life," she said, after her thoughts had come to this stage. "The lurid tragedy of the honeymoon pair cannot compare in interest to anything connected with my sweet Ethelrida, for me, so it is your duty to put that horribly wise, cynical brain of yours to work and unravel me this mystery. Look, here is Mr. Markrute coming in—let us watch his face!"
But, although they subjected the financier to the keenest good-natured scrutiny, he did not show a sign or give them any clue. He sat down quietly, and began talking casually to the group by the tea-table, while he methodically spread his bread and butter with blackberry jam. Such delicious schoolroom teas the company indulged in, at the hospitable tea-table of Montfitchet! He did not seem to be even addressing Ethelrida. What could it be?
"I believe we have made a mistake after all, Crow," Lady Anningford said disappointedly. "Look—he is quite unmoved."
The Crow gave one of his chuckles, while he answered slowly, between his sips of tea:
"A man doesn't handle millions in the year, and twist and turn about half the governments of Europe, if he can't keep his face from showing what he doesn't mean you to see! Bless your dear heart, Mr. Francis Markrute is no infant!" and the chuckle went on.
"You may think yourself very wise, Crow, and so you are," Lady Anningford retorted severely, "but you don't know anything about love. When a man is in love, even if he were Machiavelli himself, it would be bound to show in his eye—if one looked long enough."
"Then your plan, my dear Queen Anne, is to look," the Crow said, smiling. "For my part, I want to see how the other pair have got on. They are my pets; and I don't consider they have spent at all a suitable honeymoon Sunday afternoon—Tristram, with a headache in the smoking-room, and the bride, taking a walk and being made love to by Arthur Elterton, and Young Billy, alternately. The kid is as wild about her as Tristram himself, I believe!"
"Then you still think Tristram is in love with her, do you, Crow?" asked Anne, once more interested in her original thrill. "He did not show the smallest signs of it last night then, if so; and how he did not seize her in his arms and devour her there and then, with all that lovely hair down and her exquisite shape showing the outline so in that dress—I can't think! He must be as cold as a stone, and I never thought him so before, did you?"
"No, and he isn't either, I tell you what, my dear girl, there is something pretty grim keeping those two apart, I am sure. She is the kind of woman who arouses the fiercest passions; and Tristram is in the state that, if something were really to set alight his jealousy, he might kill her some day."
"Crow—how terrible!" gasped Anne, and then seeing that her friend's face was serious, and not chaffing, she, too, looked grave. "Then what on earth is to be done?" she asked.
"I don't know, I have been thinking it over ever since I came in. I found him in the smoking-room, staring in front of him, not even pretending to read, and looking pretty white about the gills; and when he saw it was only me, and I asked him if his head were worse, and whether he had not better have a brandy and soda, he simply said: 'No, thanks, the whole thing is a d—— rotten show.' I've known him since he was a blessed baby you know, so he didn't mind me for a minute. Then he recollected himself, and said, yes, he would have a drink; and when he poured it out, he only sipped it, and then forgot about it, jumped up, and blurted out he had some letters to write, so I left him. I am awfully sorry for the poor chap, I can tell you. If it is not fate, but some caprice of hers, she deserves a jolly good beating, for making him suffer like that."
"Couldn't you say something to her, Crow, dear? We are all so awfully fond of Tristram, and there does seem some tragedy hanging over them that ought to be stopped at once. Couldn't you, Crow?"
But Colonel Lowerby shook his head.
"It is too confoundedly ticklish," he grunted. "It might do some good, and it might just do the other thing. It is too dangerous to interfere."
"Well, you have made me thoroughly uncomfortable," Lady Anningford said. "I shall get hold of him to-night, and see what I can do."
"Then, mind you are careful, Queen Anne—that is all that I can say," and at that moment, the Duke joining them, the tête-à-tête broke up.
Zara had not appeared at tea. She said she was very tired, and would rest until dinner. If she had been there, her uncle had meant to take her aside into one of the smaller sitting-rooms, and tell her the piece of information he deemed it now advisable for her to know; but as she did not appear, or Tristram, either, he thought after all they might be together, and his interference would be unnecessary. But he decided, if he saw the same frigid state of things at dinner, he would certainly speak to her after it; and relieved from duty, he went once more to find his lady love in her sitting-room.
"Francis!" she whispered, as he held her next his heart for a moment. "You must not stay ten minutes, for Lady Anningford or Lady Melton is sure to come in—Anne, especially, who has been looking at me with such reproachful eyes, for having neglected her all this, our last afternoon."
"I care not for a thousand Annes, Ethelrida mine!" he said softly, as he kissed her. "If she does come, will it matter? Would you rather she did not guess anything yet, my dearest?"
"Yes—" said Ethelrida, "—I don't want any one to know, until you have told my father,—will you do so to-night—or wait until to-morrow? I—I can't—I feel so shy—and he will be so surprised." She did not add her secret fear that her parent might be very angry.
They had sat down upon the sofa now, under the light of their kindly gray owl; and Francis Markrute contented himself with caressing his lady's hair, as he answered:
"I thought of asking the Duke, if I might stay until the afternoon train, as I had something important to discuss with him, and then wait and see him quietly, when all the others have gone, if that is what you would wish, my sweet. I will do exactly as you desire about all things. I want you to understand that. You are to have your own way in everything in life."
"You know very well that I should never want it, if it differed from yours, Francis." What music he found in his name! "You are so very wise, it will be divine to let you guide me!" Which tender speech showed that the gentle Ethelrida had none of the attitude of the modern bride.
And thus it was arranged. The middle-aged, but boyishly-in-love, fiancé was to tackle his future father-in-law in the morning's light; and to-night, let the household sleep in peace!
So, after a blissful interlude, as he saw in spite of the joy they found together, his Ethelrida was still slightly nervous of Lady Anningford's entrance, he got up to say good night, as alas! this would probably be the last chance they would have alone before he left.
"And you will not make me wait too long, my darling," he implored, "will you? You see, every moment away from you, will now be wasted. I do not know how I have borne all these years alone!"
And she promised everything he wished, for Francis Markrute, at forty-six, had far more allurements than an impetuous young lover. Not a tenderness, a subtlety of flattery and homage, those things so dear to a woman's heart, were forgotten by him. He really worshiped Ethelrida and his fashion of showing his feeling was in all ways to think first of what she would wish; which proved that if her attitude were unmodern, as far as women were concerned, his was even more so, among men!
Tristram had gone out for another walk alone, after the Crow had left him. He wanted to realize the details of the coming week, and settle with himself how best to get through with them.
He and Zara were to start in their own motor at about eleven for Wrayth, which was only forty miles across the border into Suffolk. They would reach it inside of two hours easily, and arrive at the first triumphal arch of the park before one; and so go on through the shouting villagers to the house, where in the great banqueting hall, which still remained, a relic of Henry IV's time, joined on to the Norman keep, they would have to assist at a great luncheon to the principal tenants, while the lesser fry feasted in a huge tent in the outer courtyard.
Here, endless speeches would have to be made and listened to, and joy simulated, and a general air of hilarity kept up; and the old housekeeper would have prepared the large rooms in the Adam wing for their reception; and they would not be free to separate, until late at night, for there would be the servants' and employés' ball, after a tête-à-tête dinner in state, where their every action would be watched and commented upon by many curious eyes. Yes, it was a terrible ordeal to go through, under the circumstances; and no wonder he wanted the cold, frosty evening air to brace him up!
At the end of his troubled thoughts he had come to the conclusion that there was only one thing to be done—he must speak to her to-night, tell her what to expect, and ask her to play her part. "She is fortunately game, even if cold as stone," he said to himself, "and if I appeal to her pride, she will help me out." So he came back into the house, and went straight up to her room. He had been through too much suffering and anguish of heart, all night and all day, to be fearful of temptation. He felt numb, as he knocked at the door and an indifferent voice called out, "Come in!"
He opened it a few inches and said: "It is I—Tristram—I have something I must say to you—May I come in?—or would you prefer to come down to one of the sitting-rooms? I dare say we could find one empty, so as to be alone."
"Please come in," her voice said, and she was conscious that she was trembling from head to foot.
So he obeyed her, shutting the door firmly after him and advancing to the fireplace. She had been lying upon the sofa wrapped in a soft blue tea-gown, and her hair hung in the two long plaits, which she always unwound when she could to take its weight from her head. She rose from her reclining position and sat in the corner; and after glancing at her for a second, Tristram turned his eyes away, and leaning on the mantelpiece, began in a cold grave voice:
"I have to ask you to do me a favor. It is to help me through to-morrow and the few days after, as best you can, by conforming to our ways. It has been always the custom in the family, when a Tancred brought home his bride, to have all sorts of silly rejoicings. There will be triumphal arches in the park, and collections of village people, a lunch for the principal tenants, speeches, and all sorts of boring things. Then we shall have to dine alone in the state dining-room, with all the servants watching us, and go to the household and tenants' ball in the great hall. It will all be ghastly, as you can see." He paused a moment, but he did not change the set tone in his voice when he spoke again, nor did he look at her. He had now come to the hardest part of his task.
"All these people—who are my people," he went on, "think a great deal of these things, and of us—that is—myself, as their landlord, and you as my wife. We have always been friends, the country folk at Wrayth and my family, and they adored my mother. They are looking forward to our coming back and opening the house again—and—and—all that—and—" here he paused a second time, it seemed as if his throat were dry, for suddenly the remembrance of his dreams as he looked at Tristram Guiscard's armor, which he had worn at Agincourt, came back to him—his dreams in his old oak-paneled room—of their home-coming to Wrayth; and the mockery of the reality hit him in the face.
Zara clasped her hands, and if he had glanced at her again, he would have seen all the love and anguish which was convulsing her shining in her sad eyes.
He mastered the emotion which had hoarsened his voice, and went on in an even tone: "What I have to ask is that you will do your share—wear some beautiful clothes, and smile, and look as if you cared; and if I feel that it will be necessary to take your hand or even kiss you, do not frown at me, or think I am doing it from choice—I ask you, because I believe you are as proud as I am,—I ask you, please, to play the game."
And now he looked up at her, but the terrible emotion she was suffering had made her droop her head. He would not kiss her or take her hand—from choice—that was the main thing her woman's heart had grasped, the main thing, which cut her like a knife.
"You can count upon me," she said, so low he could hardly hear her; and then she raised her head proudly, and looked straight in front of her, but not at him, while she repeated more firmly: "I will do in every way what you wish—what your mother would have done. I am no weakling, you know, and as you said, I am as proud as yourself."
He dared not look at her, now the bargain was made, so he took a step towards the door, and then turned and said:
"I thank you—I shall be grateful to you. Whatever may occur, please believe that nothing that may look as if it was my wish to throw us together, as though we were really husband and wife, will be my fault; and you can count upon my making the thing as easy for you as I can—and when the mockery of the rejoicings are over—then we can discuss our future plans."
And though Zara was longing to cry aloud in passionate pain, "I love you! I love you! Come back and beat me, if you will, only do not go coldly like that!" she spoke never a word. The strange iron habit of her life held her, and he went sadly from the room.
And when he had gone, she could control herself no longer and, forgetful of coming maid and approaching dinner, she groveled on the white bearskin rug before the fire, and gave way to passionate tears—only to recollect in a moment the position of things. Then she got up and shook with passion against fate, and civilization, and custom—against the whole of life. She could not even cry in peace. No! She must play the game! So her eyes had to be bathed, the window opened, and the icy air breathed in, and at last she had quieted herself down to the look of a person with a headache, when the dressing-gong sounded, and her maid came into the room.