CHAPTER XXVIII.HIS LOVE.
His is the love that only lives,While the cheek is fresh and red;His is the love that only thrives,Where the pleasure feast is spread.—Eliza Cook.
His is the love that only lives,While the cheek is fresh and red;His is the love that only thrives,Where the pleasure feast is spread.—Eliza Cook.
His is the love that only lives,While the cheek is fresh and red;His is the love that only thrives,Where the pleasure feast is spread.—Eliza Cook.
His is the love that only lives,
While the cheek is fresh and red;
His is the love that only thrives,
Where the pleasure feast is spread.—Eliza Cook.
Although that little paper furnished a proof that Alexander Lyon was as free from marriage-bonds as he wished to be, yet it would have been better for his own purpose for him to have burned it at once.
But with that strange unwillingness which some people feel to destroy even a dangerous document, he carefully folded it up and put it into his little looking-glass drawer.
Then he went into the next chamber and spoke to Pina, who was still watching by her mistress’s bed.
“Has she moved?” he asked.
“Oh no, sir, she sleeps very sound,” answered the girl.
“That is well. Keep her very still. Keep the room dark and quiet. Do not leave her until my return. If she should wake in the meantime, tell her that I was compelled to ride into town this morning; but that I shall be back early. Do you hear?”
“Yes, sir; and I will be very careful to do as you say.”
Alexander then drew on his gloves and left the room. When he got down stairs he repeated to Leo his orders, that the house should be kept very quiet. Then he mounted his horse and rode rapidly towards the city. He was an hour behind his usual time, and it was noon when he reached his room at the hotel. He was glad to find out by inquiry that no one had called that morning to see him. So he went down stairs to call a cab, to take him to his uncle’s lodgings. He found the hotel halls, as well as the city streets, full of bustle. Yesterday had been the last day of the session of Congress, and to-day there was a general evacuation of the city, by members of the house and senate, and by the troops of friends and strangers that attend or follow them to and from Washington.
Alick found it hard to get an empty cab, so he hailed an omnibus, and rode on as far as it would take him to his uncle’s lodgings, and then got out and walked the rest of the way.
The general had just left his bedroom; but he received his visitor very cordially.
“I tell you what, Alick, these fashionable hours don’t suit an old-fashioned fellow like myself. And I am heartily glad the season is over. As soon as Anna comes down I shall tell her to give orders to pack up; for we shall leave in a day or two—just as soon as the great crush of travellers shall thin off, so that the steamboats and the railway trains will not be so overcrowded. By the way, I hope you made it all right with Anna last night?”
“Please to recollect, my dear sir, that I could not possibly get an opportunity of speaking to her in private. But I shall make one to-day.”
“All right, my dear boy, and I will help you. And I hope you will make up your mind to leave this babel when we do. What is to prevent you, eh? You might go back with us to the old hall.”
“I should be very happy to do so, sir; and if I can make arrangements——”
“Oh, bosh about arrangements! What arrangements can an idle young man like you have to make? None that could not be made in twenty-four hours. And we shall not leave for at least forty-eight.”
“I will try to be ready, sir.”
As Alick spoke, Anna came in.
She wore an elegant morning robe of white cashmere lined and faced with quilted white satin, and trimmed with black velvet and jet, and fastened around the waist with a black silk cord and tassels. She seemed no worse for her long season of fashionable dissipation, but looked stately, blooming and beautiful as ever.
Alexander arose and greeted her with more than usual empressement, and led her to a seat.
The breakfast was served. And the general telling Alexander that it would do quite as well for a luncheon, invited him to sit down to the table.
While lingering over the late morning meal, they talked of the just closed session of Congress and season of fashion, and the general again pressed Alick to join his party at old Lyon Hall. And in the presence of his beautiful betrothed, Alick could neither refuse nor hesitate to accept the invitation. So he gave his promise to accompany his uncle and cousin to their home.
After the breakfast was finished, and the service was removed, the general arose, saying that he would go down into the reading-room and look over the morning papers, he left the parlor.
Alexander and Anna were alone.
“At last, then, I have the opportunity of speaking to you, that I have so long desired,” whispered Alick, as he went and took a seat on the sofa, by the side of his betrothed.
She received him very quietly, if not coldly.
He then went on to lament the repeated interruptions that had so long delayed their union, and to press her to name an early day for the wedding.
“Your great haste is of very late date, Alick. I saw no signs of such impatience, until within the last few weeks,” she answered coolly.
He gave her a deprecating look, and pleaded:
“My love was chilled and my pride was hurt by your marked preference for my rival.”
“Hush!” said Anna, quickly. “Let poor Dick alone. He is honest, if he is wild. I have sent him away. Let him go in peace.”
“Just so! Let him go. But you will grant my request?”
“I have no wish to break off our engagement, Alick. I will not be the first woman of my race to break my pledged word. I will give you my promised hand; but not as soon as you ask. Let the year of mourning end first.”
“That will be in November.”
“Yes; you must wait until then.”
Alexander heaved a deep sigh, and got up and walked the room, and looked a great deal more disappointed than he felt.
In truth—now he knew that his hand was free from legal fetters to Drusilla, he felt that his heart was more bound to her by affection than he had lately believed. And now his hated rival was out of his way, he found that he was not half so much in love with his beautiful cousin as he had imagined.
And so he really had no more desire to hurry the wedding than had Anna herself.
He wanted more time to break with her whom he had so long taken for his wife. And as he walked up and down the floor, he was thinking most of her.
“Poor little Drusa,” he thought. “Good little Drusa, from this hour she must be to me, only as a dear little sister. But our parting must not he abrupt. Such a shock would be her death-blow, poor child! Little by little I must leave her. This trip to the old hall will be a good start. She need not know where or why I go. I can tell her that this business connected with my father’s will, takes me into Virginia for a while—and this will be true, so far as it goes. After a few weeks I will return to her, but only as a brother, and will stay with her but a few days. And then the second absence shall be longer than the first, and the second return to her, shorter. And so, gently, most gently will I loose the tie that binds her to me, so that when the final parting comes, she shall scarcely feel it.”
So, as falsely as wickedly, he reasoned. For it would have been more merciful to have broken with her at once than to leave her by degrees. Much kinder would be the quick, sharp death-blow that should end her woe instantly, than the slow, cruel torture that would as surely if not as swiftly destroy her life.
Something of this truth seemed to strike his mind. He groaned slightly. Then he began to comfort his conscience.
“I will provide for her,” he said to himself. “I will buy that little estate for her. She can live there as a young widow. She can——Oh, great Heaven, what a villain I am growing to be! But I cannot help it. I cannot remarry Drusilla because I am bound to Anna, and have been bound to her for many years. So I cannot but do as I do. I wonder if murderers can help killing, or thieves stealing? Or if really I can help being the wretch I am?” And as he mentally asked himself this question his face grew so dark with pain and remorse, that Anna, who had been watching him and who quite mistook his mood, laughed and said:
“Why, Alick, one would really think, to see you, that you take this matter to heart.”
“I take the matter to heart much more than you believe, Anna,” he answered, speaking, as had been his frequent manner of late, true in the letter and false in the spirit of his reply. Then lest his supposed disappointment should cause her to relent and to fix an earlier day for their marriage than would quite be convenient for him, he hastened to add: “But let it be as you will, fair cousin. I will wait with what patience I may until November.”
Anna pouted, for although she was in no haste to marry she felt affronted that Alick should yield the point so readily.
Alick staid and dined with his uncle and cousin that day. And after dinner he would have taken leave to go home, but his uncle stopped him, saying:
“No, indeed, my boy. This is the first evening since we have been in Washington that I have had you all to myself, and I mean to have the good of you. Every other evening you have had to dance attendance on Anna to some place of amusement. There is no place to go to this evening, thank Heaven. And Anna is tired and is going to rest, so you just sit down and play a game of chess with me. Come, I will let you off at ten o’clock, but not a moment before.”
So Alexander sat down to the chess-board with his uncle and played until ten o’clock; and then bade him good night, and started for home.