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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/31489-h.zip b/31489-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..67966cf --- /dev/null +++ b/31489-h.zip diff --git a/31489-h/31489-h.htm b/31489-h/31489-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a296132 --- /dev/null +++ b/31489-h/31489-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14341 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Mad Love, by Bertha M. Clay. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i6 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mad Love, by Bertha M. Clay + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Mad Love + +Author: Bertha M. Clay + +Release Date: March 3, 2010 [EBook #31489] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAD LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>A MAD LOVE</h1> + +<h2>BY BERTHA M. CLAY</h2> + +<h3>Author of "Sunshine and Roses," "Beyond Pardon," "Dora Thomas," "From +Out the Gloom," etc., etc.</h3> + +<h3>CHICAGO.<br /> +DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO.,<br /> +<span class="smcap">Publishers.</span></h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I. A DISCONTENTED BEAUTY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II. "WHAT, MARRY A FARMER!"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III. THE MEETING AT THE MILL.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV. AN INTERESTING TETE-A-TETE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V. THE RECONCILIATION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI. AN IMPATIENT LOVER'S PLANS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII. A FRIEND'S ADVICE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII. THE PROPHECY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX. A MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X. A SHOCKED FATHER.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI. THE LAWYER'S STATEMENT.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII. "THEY WILL NOT FORGIVE ME."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII. A PERFECTLY HAPPY WOMAN.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV. "TRUE UNTIL DEATH."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV. AN EXCITING INTERVIEW.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI. LEONE'S DETERMINATION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII. "I WOULD RATHER SEE MY SON DEAD."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII. A WRONGED WOMAN'S THREAT.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX. LEONE'S PROPHECY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX. THE PARTING.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI. WAITING FOR THE DAY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.THE RECONCILIATION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII. A SHREWD SCHEME.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV. IN THE HANDS OF A CLEVER WOMAN.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV. THE INTRODUCTION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI. MAN'S FICKLENESS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII. "TELL ME YOUR SECRET."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII. HOW IT HAPPENED.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX. WAITING FOR HIM.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX. THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI. A MAN OF WAX.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII. AN ACT OF PERFIDY.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII. "I HAVE PERJURED MYSELF."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV. A PALE BRIDEGROOM.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV. "I LEAVE THEM MY HATRED AND MY CURSE."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI. AFTER THREE YEARS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII. A MEETING OF EYES.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII. LANCE'S DETERMINATION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX. NEITHER WIFE NOR WIDOW.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL. "FORGIVE ME, LEONE."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI. "LET US BE FRIENDS."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII. BECOMING SUSPICIOUS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII. "DEATH ENDS EVERYTHING."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV. THE RIVALS FACE TO FACE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV. AN INVITATION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI. AT THE BALL.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII. THE COMPACT OF FRIENDSHIP.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII. THE HUSBAND'S KISS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX. THE WOUND IN HER HEART.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L. "AS DEAD AS MY HOPES."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI. THE CONFESSION.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII. A GATHERING CLOUD.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII. A QUARREL.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV. A MOTHER'S APPEAL.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV. "WAR TO THE KNIFE."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI. AN APPROACHING TEMPEST.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII. A PROUD WOMAN HUMBLED.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII. "BEHOLD MY REVENGE!"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX. USELESS PLEADINGS.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX. "THIS WOMAN SHALL NEVER KNOW."</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI. A SACRIFICE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_LXII">CHAPTER LXII. "THE GRAVE ALONE GIVES PEACE."</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>A MAD LOVE</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>A DISCONTENTED BEAUTY.</h3> + + +<p>"Leone," cried a loud voice, "where are you? Here, there, everywhere, +except just in the place where you should be."</p> + +<p>The speaker was a tall, stout, good-tempered looking man. Farmer Noel +people called him all over the country-side. He stood in the farmyard, +looking all the warmer this warm day for his exertions in finding his +niece.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he cried again and again.</p> + +<p>At last the answer came, "I am here, uncle," and if the first voice +startled one with its loudness, this second was equally startling from +its music, its depth, its pathos.</p> + +<p>"I am here, uncle," she said. "I wish you would not shout so loudly. I +am quite sure that the people at Rashleigh can hear you. What is it that +you want?"</p> + +<p>"Have you made up the packets of wheat I asked you for?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "I have not."</p> + +<p>He looked disappointed.</p> + +<p>"I shall be late for market," he said. "I must do them myself."</p> + +<p>He went back into the house without another word. He never reproached +Leone, let her do what she would.</p> + +<p>On Leone's most beautiful face were evident marks of bad temper, and she +did not care to conceal it. With a gesture of impatience she started +forward, passed over the farmyard and went through the gate out into the +lane, from the lane to the high-road, and she stood there leaning over +the white gate, watching the cattle as they drank from the deep, clear +pool.</p> + +<p>The sun shone full upon her, and the warm, sweet beams never fell on +anything more lovely; the only drawback to the perfection of the picture +was this: she did not look in harmony with the scene—the quiet English +landscape, the golden cornfields, the green meadows, the great spreading +trees whereon the birds sung, the tall spire of the little church, the +quaint little town in the distance, the brook that ran gurgling by.</p> + +<p>She looked out of harmony with them all; she would have been in perfect +keeping had the background been of snow-capped mountains and foaming +cascades. Here she looked out of place; she was on an English farm; she +wore a plain English dress, yet she had the magnificent beauty of the +daughters of sunny Spain. Her beauty was of a peculiar type—dark, +passionate, and picturesque like that of the pomegranate, the damask +rose or the passion-flower.</p> + +<p>There was a world in her face—of passion, of genius, of power; a face +as much out of place over the gates of a farm as a stately gladiolus +would be among daisies and buttercups. An artist looking for a model of +some great queen who had conquered the world, for some great heroine for +whom men had fought madly and died, might have chosen her. But in a +farmyard! there are no words to tell how out of place it was. She stood +by the gate holding the ribbons of her hat in her hand—beautiful, +imperious, defiant—with a power of passion about her that was perhaps +her greatest characteristic.</p> + +<p>She looked round the quiet picture of country life with unutterable +contempt.</p> + +<p>"If I could but fly away," she said; "I would be anything on earth if I +could get away from this—I would not mind what; I would work, teaching, +anything; the dull monotony of this life is killing me."</p> + +<p>Her face was so expressive that every emotion was shown on it, every +thought could be read there; the languid scorn of the dark eyes, and the +proud curves of the daintily arched lips, all told of unconcealed +contempt.</p> + +<p>"A farm," she said to herself; "to think that when the world is full of +beautiful places, my lot must be cast on a farm. If it had been in a +palace, or a gypsy's camp—anywhere where I could have tasted life, but +a farm."</p> + +<p>The beautiful restless face looked contemptuously out on the green and +fertile land.</p> + +<p>"A farm means chickens running under one's feet, pigeons whirling round +one's head, cows lowing, dogs barking, no conversation but crops——"</p> + +<p>She stopped suddenly. Coming up the lane she saw that which had never +gladdened her eyes here before; she saw a gentleman, handsome and young, +walking carelessly down the high-road, and as he drew near, another +gentleman, also handsome, but not quite so young, joined him.</p> + +<p>They came laughing down the high-road together, but neither of them saw +her until they reached the great elm-tree. The sight of that wondrous +young face, with its rich, piquant beauty, startled them. One passed her +by without a word, the other almost stopped, so entirely was he charmed +by the lovely picture. As he passed he raised his hat; her beautiful +face flushed; she neither smiled nor bowed in return, but accepted the +salute as a tribute to her beauty, after the same fashion a queen +acknowledges the salutes and homage of her subjects.</p> + +<p>With one keen glance, she divided him from his companion, the man who +had <i>not</i> bowed to her. She took in that one glance a comprehensive +view. She knew the color of his eyes, of his hair, the shape of his +face, the peculiar cut of his clothes, so different to those worn by the +young farmers; the clustering hair, the clear-cut face, the delicate +profile, the graceful ease of the tall, thin figure, were with her from +that moment through all time.</p> + +<p>The deep low bow gratified her. She knew that she was gifted with a +wondrous dower of beauty. She knew that men were meek when a beautiful +face charmed them. The involuntary homage of this handsome young man +pleased her. She would have more of it. When he rejoined his companion, +she heard him say:</p> + +<p>"What a wonderful face, Euston—the most beautiful I have ever seen in +my life."</p> + +<p>That pleased her still more; she smiled to herself.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I shall see him again," she thought.</p> + +<p>Then one of the girls from the village passed the gate, and stopped for +a few minutes' conversation.</p> + +<p>"Did you see those gentlemen?" asked the girl; and Leone answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"They have both come to live at Dr. Hervey's, to 'read,' whatever that +means. The young one, with the fair hair, is a lord, the eldest son of a +great earl; I do not remember the name."</p> + +<p>So it was a great lord who had bowed to her, and thought her more +beautiful than any one he had ever seen. Her heart beat with triumph.</p> + +<p>She bade the girl good-morning, and went back. Her beautiful face was +brilliant with smiles.</p> + +<p>She entered the house and went up to her glass. She wanted to see again, +for herself, the face he had called beautiful.</p> + +<p>Mirrored there, she saw two dark eyes, full of fire, bright, radiant, +and luminous—eyes that could have lured and swayed a nation; a +beautiful, oval face, the features of which were perfect; a white brow, +with dark, straight eyebrows; sweet, red lips, like a cloven rose; the +most beautiful chin, with a rare dimple; an imperial face, suited for a +queen's crown or the diadem of an empress, but out of place on this +simple farm. She saw grand, sloping shoulders, beautiful arms, and a +figure that was perfect in its symmetry and grace.</p> + +<p>She smiled contentedly. She was beautiful, undoubtedly. She was glad +that others saw it. If a young lord admired her, she must be worth +admiring. Her good humor was quite restored.</p> + +<p>How came it that this girl, with the beauty of a young princess, was at +home in the farmhouse? It was a simple story. The farmer, Robert Noel, +had only one brother, who loved romance and travel.</p> + +<p>Stephen Noel, after trying every profession, and every means of +obtaining a livelihood, at last decided on becoming a civil engineer; he +went to Spain to help with a rail-road in the province of Andalusia, and +there fell in love with and married a beautiful Andalusian, Pepita by +name.</p> + +<p>Dark-eyed Pepita died on the same day Leone was born, and the young +father, distracted by his loss, took the child home to England. The old +housekeeper at the Rashleigh farm took the girl, and Robert Noel +consented that she should be brought up as a child of his own.</p> + +<p>The two brothers differed as light and darkness differ. Stephen was all +quickness and intelligence, Robert was stolid and slow. Leone always +said it took him ten minutes to turn around. He had never married, he +had never found time; but he gave the whole love of his heart to the +beautiful dark eyed child who was brought to his house sixteen years +ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>"WHAT, MARRY A FARMER!"</h3> + + +<p>One can imagine the sensation that a bright, beautiful eagle would +produce in a dove's nest; the presence of that beautiful, imperious +child at the farm was very much the same. People looked at her in +wonder; her beauty dazzled them; her defiance amused them. They asked +each other where all her pride came from.</p> + +<p>Uncle Robert often said in his slow fashion that he retired from +business when Leone was seven. At that early age he gave the management +of everything into her baby hands. From the chickens in the yard to the +blue and white pigeons on the roof. She could manage him, big as he was, +with one stamp of her little foot, one flash of her bright eyes; he was +powerless at once, like a great big giant bound hand and foot. She was a +strange child, full of some wonderful power that she hardly understood +herself—a child quite out of the common groove of life, quite above the +people who surrounded her. They understood her beauty, her defiance, her +pride, but not the dramatic instinct and power that, innate in her, made +every word and action seem strange.</p> + +<p>Honest, stolid Robert Noel was bewildered by her; he did his best in +every way, but he had an uneasy consciousness that his best was but a +poor attempt. He sent her to school, the best in Rashleigh, but she +learned anything and everything except obedience.</p> + +<p>She looked out of place even there, this dark-eyed Spanish girl, among +the pretty pink and white children with fair hair and blue eyes. She +bewildered even the children; they obeyed her, and she had the greatest +influence over them. She taught them recitations and plays, she fired +their imaginations by wonderful stories; she was a new, brilliant, +wonderful element in their lives. Even the school mistress, meek through +the long suffering of years, even she worshiped and feared her—the +brilliant, tiresome girl, who was like a flash of light among the +others. She had a face so grand and a voice so thrilling it was no +unusual thing when she was reading aloud in the school-room for the +others to suspend all work, thrilled to the heart by the sound of her +voice. She soon learned all that the Rashleigh governess could teach +her—she taught herself even more. She had little taste for drawing, +much for music, but her whole heart and soul were in books.</p> + +<p>Young as she was, it was grand to hear her trilling out the pretty love +speeches of Juliet, declaring the wrongs of Constance or Katherine, +moaning out the woes of Desdemona. She had Shakespeare almost by heart, +and she loved the grand old dramatist.</p> + +<p>When she was sixteen her uncle took her from school, and then the +perplexities of his honest life began. He wanted her to take her place +as mistress of the house, to superintend the farm and the dairy, to take +affectionate interest in the poultry and birds, to see that the butter +was of a deep, rich yellow, and the new laid eggs sent to market. From +the moment he intrusted those matters in her hands, his life became a +burden to him, for they were entirely neglected.</p> + +<p>Farmer Noel would go into his dairy and find everything wrong, the cream +spilled, the butter spoiled; but when he looked at the dark-eyed young +princess with the Spanish face he dared not say a word to her.</p> + +<p>He would suggest to her meekly that things might be different. She would +retaliate with some sarcasm that would reduce him to silence for two +days at least. Yet she loved, after a fashion of her own, this great, +stolid man who admired her with all his heart, and loved her with his +whole soul.</p> + +<p>So time passed until she was seventeen, and the quiet farm life was +unendurable to her.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she would say, "let me go out into the world. I want to see it. +I want something to do. I often think I must have two lives and two +souls, I long so intensely for more than I have to fill them."</p> + +<p>He could not understand her. She had the farm and the dairy.</p> + +<p>"Be content," he would answer, "be content, my lady lass, with the home +God has given you."</p> + +<p>"I want something to do. If I did all the work on this and twenty other +farms it would not touch my heart and soul. They are quite empty. People +say it is a battlefield. If it be one, I am sitting by with folded +hands. Inactivity means death to me."</p> + +<p>"My lady lass, you can find plenty to do," he answered, solemnly.</p> + +<p>"But not of the kind I want."</p> + +<p>She paced up and down the large kitchen, where everything was polished +and bright; the fire-light glowed on the splendid face and figure—the +face with its unutterable beauty, its restless longing, its troubled +desires.</p> + +<p>Some fear for the future of the beautiful, restless, passionate girl +came over the man, who watched her with anxious eyes. It began to dawn +upon him, that if he were to shut a bright-eyed eagle up in a cage, it +would never be happy, and it was very much the same kind of thing to +shut this lovely, gifted girl in a quiet farmhouse.</p> + +<p>"You will be married soon," he said, with a clumsy attempt at comfort, +"and then you will be more content."</p> + +<p>She flashed one look of scorn from those dark, lustrous eyes that should +have annihilated him. She stopped before him, and threw back her head +with the gesture of an injured queen.</p> + +<p>"May I ask," she said, "whom you suppose I will marry?"</p> + +<p>He looked rather frightened, for he began to perceive he had made some +mistake, though he could not tell what; he thought all young girls liked +to be teased about sweethearts and marriage; still he came valiantly to +the front.</p> + +<p>"I mean that you will surely have a sweetheart some day or other," he +said, consolingly, though the fire from those dark eyes startled him, +and her scarlet lips trembled with anger.</p> + +<p>"I shall have a sweetheart, you think, like Jennie Barnes or Lily Coke. +A sweetheart. Pray, whom will it be, do you think?"</p> + +<p>"I know several of the young farmers about here who would each give his +right hand to be a sweetheart of yours."</p> + +<p>She laughed a low, contemptuous laugh that made him wince.</p> + +<p>"What, marry a farmer! Do you think the life of a farmer's wife would +suit me? I shall go unmarried to my grave, unless I can marry as I +choose."</p> + +<p>Then she seemed to repent of the passionate words, and flung her +beautiful arms round his neck and kissed his face.</p> + +<p>"I hate myself," she said, "when I speak in that way to you, who have +been so good to me."</p> + +<p>"I do not mind it," said Robert Noel, honestly. "Never hate yourself for +me, my lady lass."</p> + +<p>She turned one glance from her beautiful eyes on him.</p> + +<p>"When I seem to be ungrateful to you, do remember that I am not, Uncle +Robert; I am always sorry. I cannot help myself, I cannot explain +myself; but I feel always as though my mind and soul were cramped."</p> + +<p>"Cramp is a very bad thing," said the stolid farmer.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, but did not speak; her irritation was too great; he +never understood her; it was not likely he ever would.</p> + +<p>"I will go down to the mill-stream," she said.</p> + +<p>With an impatient gesture she hastened out of the house.</p> + +<p>The mill-stream was certainly the prettiest feature of the farm—a +broad, beautiful stream that ran between great rows of alder-trees and +turned the wheel by the force with which it leaped into the broad, deep +basin; it was the loveliest and most picturesque spot that could be +imagined, and now as the waters rushed and foamed in the moonlight they +were gorgeous to behold.</p> + +<p>Leone loved the spot; the restless, gleaming waters suited her; it +seemed to have something akin to herself—something restless, full of +force and vitality. She sat there for hours; it was her usual refuge +when the world went wrong with her.</p> + +<p>Round and round went the wheel; on sunlight days the sun glinted on the +sullen waters until they resembled a sheet of gold covered with white, +shining foam. Green reeds and flowers that love both land and water +fringed the edges of the clear, dimpling pool; the alder-trees dipped +their branches in it; the great gray stones, covered with green moss, +lay here and there. It was a little poem in itself, and the beautiful +girl who sat in the moonlight read it aright.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>THE MEETING AT THE MILL.</h3> + + +<p>In the depths of the water she saw the reflection of the shining stars; +she watched them intently; the pure, pale golden eyes. A voice aroused +her—a voice with tone and accent quite unlike any other voice.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," it said, "could you show me the way to Rashleigh? I +have lost myself in the wood."</p> + +<p>Raising her eyes she saw the gentleman who had raised his hat as he +passed her in the morning. She knew that he recognized her by the light +that suddenly overspread his face.</p> + +<p>"Rashleigh lies over there," she replied. "You have but to cross the +field and pass the church."</p> + +<p>"Even that," said the stranger, with a careless laugh, "even that I am +not inclined to do now. It is strange. I am afraid you will think me +half mad, but it seems to me that I have just stepped into fairy land. +Two minutes since I was on the bare highway, now I see the prettiest +picture earth has to offer."</p> + +<p>"It is pretty," she replied, her eyes looking at the clear, dimpling +pool; "prettier now even than when the sun shines on it and the wheel +turns."</p> + +<p>She had told him the way to Rashleigh, and he should have passed on with +a bow, but this was his excuse. The moon was shining bright as day, the +wind murmured in the alder trees, the light lay on the clear, sweet, +fresh water; the music of the water as it fell was sweet to hear. Away +in the woods some night bird was singing; the odor of the sleeping +flowers filled the air; and there on the green bank, at the water's +edge, sat the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.</p> + +<p>The moonlight fell on her exquisite southern face; it seemed to find its +home in the lustrous depths of her dark eyes; it kissed the dark ripples +of her hair, worn with the simple grace of a Greek goddess; it lay on +the white hands that played with the tufted grass.</p> + +<p>He was young and loved all things beautiful, and therefore did not go +away. His mind was filled with wonder. Who was she—this girl, so like a +young Spanish princess! Why was she sitting here by the mill-stream? He +must know, and to know he must ask.</p> + +<p>"I am inclined," he said, "to lie down here by this pretty stream, and +sleep all night under the stars; I am so tired."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a quick, warm glow of sympathy.</p> + +<p>"What has tired you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He sat down on one of the great gray stones that lay half in the water, +half on the land.</p> + +<p>"I have lost myself in the Leigh woods," he said. "I have been there +many hours. I had no idea what Leigh woods were like, or I should not +have gone for the first time alone."</p> + +<p>"They are very large and intricate," she said; "I can never find the +right paths."</p> + +<p>"Some one told me I should see the finest oak-trees in England there," +he said, "and I have a passion for grand old oaks. I would go anywhere +to see them. I went to the woods and had very soon involved myself in +the greatest difficulties. I should never have found the way out had I +not met one of the keepers."</p> + +<p>She liked to listen to him; the clear, refined accent, the musical tone; +as she listened a longing came over her that his voice might go on +speaking to her and of her.</p> + +<p>"Now," he continued, embarrassed by her silence, "I have forgotten your +directions; may I ask you to repeat them?"</p> + +<p>She did so, and looking at her face he saw there was no anger, nothing +but proud, calm content. He said to himself he need not go just yet, he +could stay a few minutes longer.</p> + +<p>"Do you know that beautiful old German ballad," he said,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still tunes its tuneful lay'?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"No; I never heard or read it," she answered. "Say it for me."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still tunes its tuneful lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My darling once did dwell there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now she's far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ring in pledge I gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Hush," she said, holding up one white hand; "hush, it is too sad. Do +you not see that the moonlight has grown dim, and the sound of the +falling waters is the sound of falling tears?"</p> + +<p>He did not seem to understand her words.</p> + +<p>"That song has haunted me," he said, "ever since I heard it. I must say +the last verse; it must have been of this very mill-wheel it was +written.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'But while I hear the mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pains will never cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would the grave could hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For there alone is peace.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Is it a love story?" she asked, pleased at the pathos and rhythm of the +words.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it is the usual story—the whole love of a man's heart given to +one not worthy of it, the vows forgotten, the ring broken. Then he cries +out for the grave to hide himself and his unhappy love."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with dark, lustrous, gleaming eyes.</p> + +<p>"Does all love end in sorrow?" she asked, simply.</p> + +<p>He looked musingly at the moonlit waters, musingly at the starlit sky.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell," he replied, "but it seems to me that it ends more in +sorrow than in joy. I should say," he continued, "that when truth meets +truth, where loyalty meets loyalty, the ending is good; but where a true +heart finds a false one, where loyalty and honor meet lightness and +falsehood, then the end must be bad."</p> + +<p>Leone seemed suddenly to remember that she was talking to a stranger, +and, of all subjects, they had fallen on love.</p> + +<p>"I must go," she said, hurriedly. "You will remember the way."</p> + +<p>"Pray do not go—just this minute," he said. "History may repeat itself; +life never does. There can never be a night half so fair as this again; +the water will never fall with so sweet a ripple; the stars will never +shine with so bright a light; life may pass, and we may never meet +again. You have a face like a poem. Stay a few minutes longer."</p> + +<p>"A face like a poem." Did he really think so?</p> + +<p>The words pleased her.</p> + +<p>"Strange things happen in real life," he said; "things that, told in +novels and stories, make people laugh and cry out that they are +exaggerated, too romantic to be real. How strange that I should have met +you here this evening by the side of the mill-stream—a place always +haunted by poetry and romance. You will think it stranger still when I +tell you your face has haunted me all day."</p> + +<p>She looked at him in surprise. The proud, beautiful face grieved at the +words.</p> + +<p>"How is that?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I saw you this morning when I was going to Rashleigh with my friend, +Sir Frank Euston. You were standing against a white gate, and I +thought—well, I must not tell you what I thought."</p> + +<p>"Why?" she asked, briefly.</p> + +<p>"Because it might offend you," he replied.</p> + +<p>He began to perceive that there was no coquetry in this beautiful girl. +She was proud, with a calm, serene, half-tragic pride. There would be no +flirtation by the side of the mill-stream. She looked as far above +coquetry as she was above affectation. He liked the proud calm of her +manner. She might have been a duchess holding court rather than a +country girl sitting by a mill-wheel. The idea occurred to him; and then +his wonder increased—who was she? and what was she doing here?</p> + +<p>"Do you live near here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she said, "behind the trees there you can see the chimneys of a +farmhouse; it is called Rashleigh Farm; my uncle, Robert Noel, lives +there; and I am his niece."</p> + +<p>"His niece," repeated the young man, in an incredulous voice. She was a +farmer's niece, then, after all; and yet she looked like a Spanish +princess.</p> + +<p>"You do not look like an English girl," he said, gravely.</p> + +<p>"My father was English and my mother a Spanish lady; and I—well, I fear +I have more of the hot fire of Spain than of the chill of England in my +nature; my face is Spanish, so is my heart."</p> + +<p>"A Spaniard is quick to love, quick to hate; forgives grandly and +revenges mercilessly," he said.</p> + +<p>"That is my character," she said; "you have described it exactly."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe it; neither hate nor revenge could exist with a face +like yours. Then your name is Noel?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my name is Leone Noel," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he repeated, "that is a beautiful name. I have never heard it +before; but I like it very much; it is musical and rare—two great +things in a name."</p> + +<p>"It is a German name," she said. "My uncle Robert hates it; he says it +reminds him of Lion; but you know it is pronounced Leon. My mother read +some German story that had the name in it and gave it to me."</p> + +<p>"It suits you," he said, simply; "and I should not think there was +another name in the world that would. I wonder," he added, with a shy +laugh, "if you would like my name? It is Lancelot Chandos. My friends +call me Lance."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I like that. I know all the history of Sir Lancelot. I admire him; +but I think he was a weak man—do not you?"</p> + +<p>"For loving Queen Guinevere? I do not know. Some love is strength, not +weakness," he replied.</p> + +<p>Leone looked up at him again.</p> + +<p>"Are you the son of a great lord?" she asked; "some one told me so."</p> + +<p>"Yes; my father is Earl of Lanswell; and people would call him a great +earl. He is rich and powerful."</p> + +<p>"What has brought you, the son of a great earl, down to Rashleigh?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"My own idleness, to begin with," he said. "I have been at Oxford more +years than I care to count; and I have idled my time."</p> + +<p>"Then you are studying?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is it. I am trying to make up for lost time. I have some +examinations to pass; and my father has sent me down to Dr. Hervey +because he is known everywhere as the cleverest coach in England."</p> + +<p>A cloud came for just one half minute across the face of the moon; the +soft, sweet darkness startled Leone.</p> + +<p>"I must go now," she said; "it is not only getting late, but growing +dark."</p> + +<p>"I shall see you again," he cried, "do promise me."</p> + +<p>"Nay, you have little faith in promises," she replied; and he watched +her as she vanished from among the alder-trees.</p> + +<p>It was an unexpected meeting; and strange and startling consequences +soon followed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>AN INTERESTING TETE-A-TETE.</h3> + + +<p>"Where have you been, Leone?" asks Farmer Noel.</p> + +<p>She had begun a new life. It seemed years since she had left him, while +he sat in the same place, smoking the same pipe, probably thinking the +same thoughts. She came in with the brightness and light of the moon in +her face; dew-drops lay on her dark hair, her beautiful face was flushed +with the wind, so fair, so gracious, so royal, so brilliant. He looked +at her in helpless surprise.</p> + +<p>"Where have you been?" he repeated.</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a sweet, dreamy smile.</p> + +<p>"I have been to the mill-stream." And she added in a lower tone, "I have +been to heaven."</p> + +<p>It had been heaven to her—this one hour spent with one refined by +nature and by habit—a gentleman, a man of taste and education. Her +uncle wondered that evening at the light that came on her face, at the +cheerful sound of her voice, the smile that came over her lips. She was +usually so restless and discontented.</p> + +<p>It was a break in her life. She wanted something to interrupt the +monotony, and now it had come. She had seen and spoken to not only a +very handsome and distinguished man, but a lord, the son of an earl. He +had admired her, said her face was like a poem; and the words brought a +sweet, musing smile to her face.</p> + +<p>When the sun shone in her room the next morning she awoke with a sense +of something new and beautiful in her life; it was a pleasure to hear +the birds sing; a pleasure to bathe in the clear, cold, fresh water; a +pleasure to breathe the sweet, fragrant morning air. There was a half +wonder as to whether she could see him again.</p> + +<p>The poetical, dramatic instinct of the girl was all awake; she tried to +make herself as pretty as she could. She put on a dress of pale pink—a +plain print, it is true, but the beautiful head and face rose from it as +a flower from its leaves.</p> + +<p>She brushed back the rippling hair and placed a crimson rose in its +depths. Then she smiled at herself. Was it likely she should see him? +What should bring the great son of an earl to the little farm at +Rashleigh? But the blue and white pigeons, the little chickens—all +fared well that morning. Leone was content.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon Farmer Noel wanted her to go down to the hay-fields. +The men were busy with the newly mown hay, and he wished her to take +some messages about the stacking of it. She looked like a picture of +summer as she walked through the green, shady lane, a red rose in her +hair and one in her breast, a cluster of woodbine in her hand. She saw +nothing of Lord Chandos, yet she thought of nothing else; every tree, +every field, every lane she passed she expected to see him; but of +course he was not there; and her heart beat fast as she saw him—he was +crossing what people called the Brook Meadow—and she met him face to +face.</p> + +<p>They had met for the first time on a moonlight night; they met for the +second time on a sultry summer afternoon, when the whole world seemed +full of love. The birds were singing of love in the trees, the +butterflies were making love to the flowers, the wind was whispering of +love to the trees, the sun was kissing the earth that lay silent in its +embrace.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he cried; and then he flushed crimson. "I beg your pardon," he +said, "but I ought to say Miss Noel; but I have been thinking of you all +night as Leone. I did not think of it before I spoke."</p> + +<p>She laughed at the long apology.</p> + +<p>"Say it all over again," she said. "Begin at 'Good-afternoon, Miss +Noel.'"</p> + +<p>He repeated it after her, then added:</p> + +<p>"I think my kind and good fortune sent me this way. I was longing for +some one to speak to—and of all happiness to meet you; but perhaps you +are busy."</p> + +<p>"No; I have done all that I had to do. I am never busy," she added, with +regal calm.</p> + +<p>He smiled again.</p> + +<p>"No; I could not fancy you busy," he said, "any more than I could fancy +the goddess Juno in a hurry. To some fair women there belongs by +birthright a calm that is almost divine."</p> + +<p>"My calm covers a storm," she replied. "My life has been brief and dull; +neither my heart nor my soul has really lived; but I feel in myself a +capability of power that sometimes frightens me."</p> + +<p>He did not doubt it as he looked at the beautiful, passionate face; it +was even more lovely in the gleam of the sunlight than in the soft, +sweet light of the moon.</p> + +<p>"You cannot stand in the sunshine," he said. "If you are not busy will +you go with me through Leigh Woods? I shall remember the way this time."</p> + +<p>She hesitated one half minute, and he saw it; he raised his hat and +stood bare-headed, waiting for her answer.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will go," she said at length. "Why should I not?"</p> + +<p>They went together to Leigh Woods, where the great oak-trees made a +pleasant shade, and the ground was a mass of wild flowers; great streams +of bluebells that stirred so gently in the wind, violets that hid +themselves under their leaves, cowslips like little tips of gold, wild +strawberry blossoms that looked like snow-flakes.</p> + +<p>How fair it was. The sunbeams fell through the great green boughs, +throwing long shadows on the grass. It was a beautiful, silent world, +all perfume and light. The poetry of it touched both of them.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos was the first to speak; he had been watching the proud, +beautiful face of Leone; and suddenly he said:</p> + +<p>"You look out of place here, Miss Noel; I can hardly tell you why."</p> + +<p>"That is what my uncle says; he is always asking me if I cannot make +myself more like the girls of Rashleigh."</p> + +<p>"I hope you never will," he cried, warmly.</p> + +<p>"I do not know how," she said. "I must always be what God and nature +made me."</p> + +<p>"They made you fair enough," he whispered.</p> + +<p>And then he owned to himself that she was not like other girls.</p> + +<p>She drew back proudly, swiftly; no smile came to her lips, no laughing +light to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Speak to me as you would to one in your own rank, my lord," she said, +haughtily. "Though fate has made me a farmer's niece, nature made +me——"</p> + +<p>"A queen," he interrupted.</p> + +<p>And she was satisfied with the acknowledgment. They sat down under one +of the great oak-trees, a great carpet of bluebells under their feet.</p> + +<p>Leone looked thoughtful; she gathered some sprays of bluebells and held +them in her hands, her white fingers toying with the little flowers, +then she spoke:</p> + +<p>"I know," she said, "that no lady—for instance, in your own rank of +life—would walk through this wood with you on a summer's afternoon."</p> + +<p>A laugh came over his handsome, happy young face.</p> + +<p>"I do not know. I am inclined to think the opposite."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand what you would call etiquette; but I am quite sure +you would never ask one."</p> + +<p>"I am not sure. If I had met one in what you are pleased to call my rank +of life last night by the mill-stream, looking as you looked, I am quite +sure that I should ask her to walk with me and talk with me at any +time."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see your world," she said. "I know the world of the +poor and the middle class, but I do not know yours."</p> + +<p>"You will know some day," he said, quietly. "Do not be angry with me if +I tell you that in all my world I have never seen one like you. Do not +be angry, I am not flattering you, I am saying just what I think."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think that some day I may see your world?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because with your face you are sure to marry well," he replied.</p> + +<p>"I shall marry where I love," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"And you may love where you will," he replied; "no man will ever resist +you."</p> + +<p>"I would rather you did not speak to me in that fashion," she said, +gravely; and Lord Chandos found, that seated by this farmer's niece, in +the wood full of bluebells, he was compelled to be more circumspect than +if he were speaking to some countess-elect in a Mayfair drawing-room. +Leone, when she had set him quite straight in his place, as she called +it; when she had taught him that he was to treat her with as much, if +not more courtesy, than he bestowed on those of his own rank; Leone, +when she had done all this, felt quite at home with him. She had never +had an opportunity for exercising her natural talent for conversation; +her uncle was quite incapable of following or understanding her; the +girls who were her companions lost themselves in trying to follow her +flights of fancy.</p> + +<p>But now there was some one who understood her; talk as she would, he +appreciated it; he knew her quotations; no matter how original her ideas +were he understood and followed them; it was the first time she had ever +had the opportunity of talking to an educated gentleman.</p> + +<p>How she enjoyed it; his wit seemed waiting on hers, and seemed to catch +fire from it; his eyes caught fire from hers. She described her simple +life and its homely surroundings in words that burned.</p> + +<p>It was in her simple, sweet, pathetic description of stolid Uncle Robert +that she excelled herself; she painted his character with the most +graphic touches.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Miss Noel," said Lord Chandos at last, "that you are a +genius, that you have a talent truly marvelous: that you can describe a +character or a place better than I have heard any one else?"</p> + +<p>"No, I did not know anything about it," she said. "I am so accustomed to +being looked upon as something not to be understood, admired, or +imitated that I can hardly believe that I am clever. Uncle Robert is +really a character; nowadays men and women are very much alike; but he +stands out in bold relief, quite by himself, the slowest, the most +stolid of men, yet with a great heart full of love."</p> + +<p>It was so pleasant to talk to him and see his handsome young face full +of admiration; to startle him by showing her talent, so pleasant that +the whole of the summer afternoon had passed before she thought of the +time; and he was equally confused, for Dr. Hervey's dinner-hour was +over. And yet they both agreed it was the most pleasant hour they had +ever spent.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>THE RECONCILIATION.</h3> + + +<p>It was, of course, the old story; there were one or two meetings by the +mill-stream, a morning spent together in some distant hay-field, an +afternoon in the woods, and then the mischief was done—they loved each +other.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Alas, how easily things go wrong—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sigh too deep or a kiss too long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then follows a mist and a weeping rain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life is never the same again."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It soon became not merely a habit but a necessity for them to meet every +day. Farmer Noel understood perfectly well the art of tilling the +ground, of sowing the crops, of making the earth productive, but he knew +less than a child of the care and watchfulness his young niece required. +He contented himself by asking where she had been; he never seemed to +imagine that she had had a companion. He saw her growing more and more +beautiful, with new loveliness on her face, with new light in her eyes, +with a thousand charms growing on her, but he never thought of love or +danger—in fact, above the hay-making and the wheat, Farmer Noel did not +think at all.</p> + +<p>She had gone into the glowing heart of fairyland—all the old life was +left far behind; she did not even seem to remember that she had been +restless and discontented; that in her soul she had revolted fiercely +against her fate; that she had disliked her life and longed for anything +that would change it; all that was forgotten; the golden glamour of love +had fallen over her, and everything was changed. He was young—this +brave, generous, gallant lover of hers—only twenty, with a heart full +of romance. He fairly worshiped the proud, beautiful girl who carried +herself with the stately grace of a young queen. He had fallen in love +after the fashion of his age—madly, recklessly, blindly—ready to go +mad or to die for his love; after the fashion of his age and sex he +loved her all the more because of her half-cold reserve, her indomitable +pride, her haughty rejection of all flattery.</p> + +<p>Young girls do not always know the secret of their power; a little +reserve goes further than the most loving words. Leone's pride attracted +Lord Chandos quite as much as her beauty. The first little quarrel they +had was an outburst of pride from her; they had been strolling through +the sunniest part of Leigh Woods, and when it was time to part he bent +down to kiss the warm, white hand. She drew it quickly from him.</p> + +<p>"You would not have done that to one of your own class," she cried; "why +do you do it to me?"</p> + +<p>"You are not really angry, Leone?" he cried in wonder.</p> + +<p>She turned her beautiful face, colorless with indignation, to him.</p> + +<p>"I am so far angry," she said, "that I shall not walk through the woods +with you—never again."</p> + +<p>She kept her word. For two whole days Lord Chandos wandered through the +fields and the lanes, through the woods and by the river, yet he saw no +sight of her. It was possible that she punished herself quite as much as +she did him; but he must be taught that, were he twenty times an earl, +he must never venture on even the least liberty with her; he must wait +her permission before he kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>The fourth day—he could bear it no longer—he rode past the farm twenty +times and more; at length he was fortunate enough to see Farmer Noel, +and throwing the reins on his horse's neck he got down and went up to +him.</p> + +<p>"Have you a dog to sell?" he asked. "Some one told me you had very fine +dogs."</p> + +<p>"I have good dogs, but none to sell," replied the farmer.</p> + +<p>"I want a dog, and I would give a good price for a good one," he said. +"Will you let me see yours?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you can see them, but you cannot buy them," said Robert Noel; and +the next scene was the handsome young lordling going round the farm, +with the stalwart, stolid farmer.</p> + +<p>He won the farmer's heart by his warm praises of the farm, the cattle, +the dogs, and everything else he saw; still there was no Leone.</p> + +<p>"I am very thirsty; should you think me very impertinent if I asked you +for a glass of cider?" he said; and the farmer, flattered by the +request, took him into the little parlor. He looked at his visitor in +simple wonder.</p> + +<p>"They say you are a great lord's son," he said; "but if you are, you +have no pride about you."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed; and the farmer called Leone. There was a pause, +during which the young lord's heart beat and his face flushed.</p> + +<p>"Leone," cried the farmer again.</p> + +<p>He turned to his visitor.</p> + +<p>"You will wonder what 'Leone' means, it is such a strange name; it is my +niece. Here she comes."</p> + +<p>The loveliest picture in all the world, trying hard to preserve her +usual stately grace, yet with a blushing, dimpling smile that made her +lovely beyond words.</p> + +<p>"Leone," said the farmer, "will you bring a jug of cider?"</p> + +<p>"Pray," cried the lord, "do not trouble yourself, Miss Noel. I cannot +think——"</p> + +<p>She interrupted him by a gesture of her white hand.</p> + +<p>"I will send it, uncle," she said, and disappeared.</p> + +<p>The farmer turned with a smile to the young lord.</p> + +<p>"She is very proud," he said; "but she is a fine girl."</p> + +<p>The cider came; the visitor duly drank his glass and went; his only +reward for all that trouble was the one glance at her face.</p> + +<p>That same evening a little note was given to her, in which he begged her +so humbly to forgive him, and to meet him again, that she relented.</p> + +<p>He had learned his lesson; he wooed her with the deference due to a +young princess; no word or action of his displeased her after that, +while he loved her with a love that was akin to madness.</p> + +<p>So through the long, bright, beautiful summer days, in the early +morning, while the sweet, fragrant air seemed to sweep the earth, and in +the evening when the dew lay upon flower and tree, they met and learned +to love each other.</p> + +<p>One evening, as they sat by their favorite spot—the mill-stream—Lord +Chandos told her how he had learned to love her, how he had ceased to +think of anything in the world but herself.</p> + +<p>"I knew you were my fate, Leone," he said, "when I saw you sitting here +by the mill-stream. I am quite sure that I have loved you ever since. I +do not remember that there has been one moment in which I have not +thought of you. I shall always thank Heaven that I came to Rashleigh—I +found my darling here."</p> + +<p>For once all the pride had died from her face; all the hauteur was gone +from her eyes; a lovely gleam of tenderness took its place; a love-light +in the shy, sweet eyes that dropped from his.</p> + +<p>"My darling Leone," he said, "if I lived a hundred years I could only +say over and over again—'I love you.' Those three words say everything. +Do you love me?"</p> + +<p>She looked up at him. Then she raised her dark eyes to his and a little +quiver passed over her beautiful mouth.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I love you," she said. "Whether it be for weal or for woe, for +good or ill, I know not; but I love you."</p> + +<p>There was unutterable pathos, unutterable music in those three words; +they seemed to rhyme with the chime of the falling waters. She held out +her white hands, he clasped them in his.</p> + +<p>"Why do you say it so sadly, my darling? Love will bring nothing but +happiness for you and for me," he said.</p> + +<p>She laid her white arms on his neck, and looked earnestly in his face.</p> + +<p>"There can be no comparison," she said. "Love to you is only a small +part of your life, to me it is everything—everything. Do you +understand? If you forget me or anything of that kind, I could not bear +it. I could not school myself into patience as model women do. I should +come and throw myself into the mill-stream."</p> + +<p>"But, my darling, I shall never forget you—never; you are life of my +life. I might live without the air and the sunlight; I might live +without sleep or food, but never without you. I must forget my own soul +before I forget you."</p> + +<p>Still the white hands clasped his shoulders and the dark eyes were fixed +on his face.</p> + +<p>"You and your love are more than that to me," she said. "I throw all my +life on this one die; I have nothing else—no other hope. Ah, think +well, Lance, before you pledge your faith to me; it means so much. I +should exact it whole, unbroken and forever."</p> + +<p>"And I would give it so," he replied.</p> + +<p>"Think well of it," she said again, with those dark, earnest eyes fixed +on his face. "Let there be no mistake, Lance. I am not one of the meek +Griselda type; I should not suffer in silence and resignation, let my +heart break, and then in silence sink into an early grave. Ah, no, I am +no patient Griselda. I should look for revenge and many other things. +Think well before you pledge yourself to me. I should never +forgive—never forget. There is time now—think before you seal your +fate and mine."</p> + +<p>"I need not think, Leone," he answered, quietly. "I have thought, and +the result is that I pledge you my faith forever and ever."</p> + +<p>The earnest, eager gaze died from her eyes, and the beautiful face was +hidden on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Forever and ever, sweet," he whispered; "do you hear? in all time and +for all eternity, I pledge you my love and my faith."</p> + +<p>The water seemed to laugh as it rippled on, the wind laughed as it bent +the tall branches, the nightingale singing in the wood stopped suddenly, +and its next burst of song was like ringing laughter; the mountains +quivered over the mill-stream, the stars seemed to tremble as they +shone.</p> + +<p>"Forever and ever," he repeated. The wind seemed to catch up the words +and repeat them, the leaves seemed to murmur them, the fall of the water +to rhyme with them. "Forever and ever, sweet, I pledge you my love and +my faith; our hearts will be one, and our souls one, and you will give +me the same love in return, my sweet?"</p> + +<p>"I give you even more than that," she replied, so earnestly that the +words had a ring of tragedy in them; and then bending forward, he kissed +the sweet lips that were for evermore to be his own.</p> + +<p>"You are mine now forever," he said, "my wife, who is to be."</p> + +<p>She was quite silent for some minutes; then, looking up at him, she +said:</p> + +<p>"I wish you had never sung that pretty ballad of the mill-wheel to me; +do you know what the water always says when I listen?</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Those vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broken.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"My darling," he said, clasping her to his heart, "no words that have +any ring of doubt in them will ever apply to us, let the mill-stream say +what it will."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>AN IMPATIENT LOVER'S PLANS.</h3> + + +<p>There had been no mistake about the wooing of Lord Chandos. He had not +thought of loving and riding away; the proud, beautiful, gifted girl +whom he loved had been wooed and pursued with the ardor and respect that +he would have shown to a princess.</p> + +<p>There came another day, when something had prevented him from seeing +her; and unable to control his impatience, he had ridden over to the +farm, this time ostensibly to see the farmer, and ask for another glass +of his famous cider; this time, under the farmer's eyes even, he stopped +and spoke to Leone.</p> + +<p>"You will be at the mill-stream this evening?" he whispered, and her +answer was:</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>When he had drunk the cider and ridden away, Farmer Noel turned to his +niece.</p> + +<p>"A fine young man that, Leone; but what did he say to you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing particular; something about the mill-stream," replied the proud +lips, that disdained a lie.</p> + +<p>"Because," said Robert Noel, slowly, "you have a beautiful face of your +own, my lady lass, and a young man like that would be sure to admire +it."</p> + +<p>"What matter if he did, uncle?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Harm would come of it," replied the farmer; "what a man admires he +often loves; and no good would come of such a love as that."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" she asked again, with flushed face and flashing eyes. "Why +not?"</p> + +<p>"We reckon in these parts," said the farmer, slowly, "that there is too +great a difference between the aristocracy and the working-people. To +put it in plain words, my lady lass, when a great lord or a rich man +admires a poor lass, as a rule it ends in her disgrace."</p> + +<p>"Not always," she answered, proudly.</p> + +<p>"No, perhaps not always; but mostly, mostly," repeated Robert Noel. "You +have a beautiful face, and, if you are wise, you will keep out of that +young gentleman's way. I should not like to offend you, Leone; you will +excuse me for speaking plainly."</p> + +<p>"It does not offend me," she said, simply; "although I do not think that +you are right. Why should not a lord, great and rich as this one, marry +a girl who has no drawback but poverty? I do not see such a great +difference."</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell you, my lady lass, either the why or the wherefore," he +replied. "I know that rich men do not marry poor and obscure girls; and +if they do, there is sure to be something wrong with the marriage. We +will not talk about it, only if he seems to admire you at all, do you +keep out of that young man's way."</p> + +<p>She made him no answer; his care for her touched her, but then there was +no need. Lord Chandos was unlike other men; besides which he loved her +so well he could not live without her.</p> + +<p>So, when the sun was setting in the western sky, she went down to the +mill-stream, where her lover awaited her.</p> + +<p>The crimson clouds were reflected in the rippling water, the birds were +singing in the trees, the flowers were all falling asleep; the fair, +fragrant world was getting ready for its time of rest.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he cried, seizing her hands and drawing her toward him, "my +darling, I thought to-day would never come. How many hours did yesterday +hold?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty-four," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Only twenty-four? Why, it seemed to me it was a day as long as a year, +and I asked myself one question, sweet."</p> + +<p>"What was it, Lance?"</p> + +<p>"This: that if one day seemed so terribly long, what would become of me +if I had to pass a week without you?"</p> + +<p>"What would become of you?" she said, laughingly.</p> + +<p>"I should die of my own impatience," he said, his handsome young face +flushing. "Fate may try me as it will," he added, "but it must never +separate me from you. It is because I have found this out that I have +asked you to meet me here to-night. I cannot live without you, Leone; +you understand that the hours are long and dark; life seems all ended, I +cannot feel interest or energy; I am longing for you all the time, just +as thirsty flowers are longing for dew. Leone, I should long until the +fever of my own longing killed me—for you."</p> + +<p>He drew the beautiful face to his own, and kissed it with a passion +words could never tell.</p> + +<p>"Why should I not be happy in my own way?" he said. "If I want the one +only thing on earth that could bring me my happiness, why should I not +have it? Of what use is money, wealth, position, rank, anything else on +earth to me, unless I have you. I would rather lose all I have in the +world than lose you."</p> + +<p>"It is sweet to be loved so well," she said, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I have had letters from home to-day," he said, "and I—I am half afraid +to tell you lest you should say no. I am to leave Rashleigh in one month +from now, and to go to my father's house—Cawdor, it is called. Leone, I +cannot go alone."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with wondering eyes; the ardent young lover who +believed his love to be so great and so generous, yet who, in reality, +loved himself best, even in his love.</p> + +<p>"Darling, I want you to consent to be my wife before I leave Rashleigh," +he continued. "I know it will be the best and easiest plan if I can but +win your consent."</p> + +<p>Her loving heart seemed almost to stand still; the crimson clouds and +the rippling waters seemed to meet; even in her dreams she had never +imagined herself his wife.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos continued:</p> + +<p>"I know my parents well; my father is inflexible on some points, but +easily influenced; my mother is, I believe, the proudest woman in the +wide world. I know that she expects something wonderful from me in the +way of marriage; I hardly think that there is a peeress in England that +my mother would deem too good for me, and it would wound her to the +heart should I marry a woman beneath me in rank. Indeed I know she would +never forgive me."</p> + +<p>She uttered a little, low cry.</p> + +<p>"Then why have you loved me?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Her lover laughed.</p> + +<p>"How could I help it, my darling? In you I have found the other half of +my own soul. I could no more help loving you than a bird can help +singing. But listen, Leone; it is as I say, if I were to go home and +pray all day to them it would be useless. I have another plan. Marry me, +and I can take you to them and say, 'This is my wife.' They could not +help receiving you then, because the marriage could not be undone, and +my mother, with her worldly tact, would made the best of it then. If I +ask permission to marry you, they will never grant it; if I marry you, +they will be compelled to forgive it."</p> + +<p>She drew herself half proudly from him.</p> + +<p>"I do not wish any one to be compelled to receive me, nor do I wish to +be the cause of unpleasantness," she said.</p> + +<p>"My darling, all lovers have something to suffer. The course of true +love cannot run smooth. Surely you would not desert me, or forsake me, +or refuse to love me because I cannot change the opinion of my +conservative parents. I know no lady, no peeress in England, who is half +so beautiful, so clever as you—not one. I shall be more proud to take +you home as Lady Chandos than if you were a queen's daughter. You +believe me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe <i>you</i>," she replied.</p> + +<p>"Never mind any one else, Leone. My father admires beautiful women; he +will be sure to love you; my mother will be very disagreeable at first, +but in a short time she will learn to love you, and then all will be +well."</p> + +<p>The little white hand clung to him.</p> + +<p>"You are quite sure, Lance?" she said, with a sob—"quite sure?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sweet, I am more than sure. You will be Lady Chandos, of Cawdor, +and that is one of the oldest and grandest titles in England."</p> + +<p>"But will your mother forgive you and love you again?" she asked, +anxiously.</p> + +<p>"Yes, believe me. And now, Leone, let me tell you my plans. They are all +rather underhand, but we cannot help that; everything is fair in love +and war. About twenty miles from here there is a sleepy little village +called Oheton. I was there yesterday, and it was there that this plan +came to me. Oh, my darling, turn your sweet face to me and let me be +quite sure that you are listening."</p> + +<p>"I am listening, Lance," she said.</p> + +<p>"No, not with all your heart. See how well I understand you. Your eyes +linger on the water, and the falling of it makes music, and the rhyme of +the music is:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'These vows were all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broken.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>When will you trust me more thoroughly, Leone?"</p> + +<p>She glanced at him with something of wonder, but more of fear.</p> + +<p>"How do you know what I am thinking of?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I can guess from the tragical expression of your face, and the pathos +of your eyes as they linger on the falling water. Now, you shall not +look at the mill-stream, look at me."</p> + +<p>She raised her dark, lustrous eyes to his face, and he went on:</p> + +<p>"Over in this sleepy little village of Oheton, Leone—it is a sleepy +village—the houses are all divided from each other by gardens and +trees. Unlike most villagers, the people do not seem to know each other, +you do not hear any gossip; the people, the houses, the streets, all +seem sleepy together. At one end of the village is a church, one of the +most quaint, an old Norman church, that has stood like a monument while +the storms of the world raged around it; the vicar is the Reverend +Josiah Barnes."</p> + +<p>"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You will soon understand," he replied. "The Reverend Mr. Barnes is over +sixty, and he, together with the people, the houses, and the streets, +seems sleepy; nothing would excite him, or interest him, or startle him.</p> + +<p>"Now, Leone, I have taken lodgings for myself for three weeks in this +sleepy village; no one will take any notice of me; I shall go and come +just as I will; then I shall have the bans of our marriage published. +The dear old vicar will read them in his sleepy tones:</p> + +<p>"'I publish the bans of marriage for the first time between Lancelot +Chandos and Leone Noel.' No one will hear the names plainly, and those +who do will not know to whom they belong, and there will be no +impediment; will there, Leone?"</p> + +<p>The water laughed as it hurried over the stones.</p> + +<p>"No impediment," it seemed to say; "no impediment, Leone."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>A FRIEND'S ADVICE.</h3> + + +<p>"But," asked Leone, anxiously, "will that be safe, Lance? Supposing that +any one should hear and recognize the names, what then?"</p> + +<p>"There is no fear. Nothing can ever be done without risk; but there is +no risk there—at least, none that I fear to run. I guarantee that not +one person in that church hears those names clearly. Then you will see +that I have arranged every detail. Then, when the three weeks have +expired, we will meet there some fine morning and be married. I have a +friend who will come with me as a witness. After that I propose that we +go to London, and there I shall introduce you to my father first; then +we will go down to Cawdor to my mother. Do you like the plan, Leone?"</p> + +<p>"I should like it much better if they could know of it beforehand," she +replied, gravely.</p> + +<p>His face grew grave as her own.</p> + +<p>"That cannot be," he replied. "You see, Leone, I am not of age; I shall +not be twenty-one until September: and if my parents knew of it, they +have power to forbid the marriage, and we could not be married; but done +without their knowledge, they are of course powerless."</p> + +<p>"I do not like it," she said, with a shudder; "I would rather all was +open and sincere."</p> + +<p>"It cannot be. Why, Leone, where is your reason? If even your uncle +knew, he would interfere to prevent it. In his slow, stolid, honest mind +he would think such a marriage quite wrong, you may be sure; he would +talk about caste, and position, and all kinds of nonsense. We must keep +our secret to ourselves, my darling, if we wish to be married at all. +Surely, Leone, you love me enough to sacrifice your wishes to me on this +point?"</p> + +<p>The beautiful face was raised to his.</p> + +<p>"I love you well enough to die for you, and far too well to bring +trouble on you, Lance."</p> + +<p>"My darling, there is only one thing that can bring trouble on me, and +that would be to lose you; that would kill me. You hear me, Leone, it +would not make me grow thin and pale, after the fashion of rejected +lovers, but it would kill me. Do not ask me to leave you an hour longer +than I need. Ah, my love, yield: do not grieve me with a hundred +obstacles—not even with one. Yield, and say that you will agree to my +plan."</p> + +<p>There was no resisting the pleading of the handsome young face, the +loving eyes, the tender words, the passionate kisses; she could not +resist them; it was so sweet to be loved so well.</p> + +<p>"You must keep our secret from that honest, stolid, good uncle of +yours," said Lord Chandos, "or he will think himself bound to call and +tell Dr. Hervey. You promise me, then, Leone, my love, to do what I ask, +and to be my own beloved wife, when the three weeks are over?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I promise, Lance," she replied.</p> + +<p>Her voice was grave and sweet, her beautiful face had on it the light of +a beautiful and noble love.</p> + +<p>"Then kiss me, as the children say, of your own accord, and let that +kiss be our betrothal."</p> + +<p>She raised her lips to his for the first time and kissed him.</p> + +<p>"That is our betrothal," he said; "now nothing can part us. Leone, I +waited for your promise to give you this."</p> + +<p>He opened a small jewel-case, and took from it a diamond ring.</p> + +<p>"This is what ladies call an engagement-ring," he said; "let me put it +on your finger."</p> + +<p>She shrank back.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "do you remember the words of the song,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'A ring in pledge he gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vows of love he spoke.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How strange that by this stream you should offer me a ring!"</p> + +<p>"You seem to think there is a fatality in the water, Leone," he said, +quietly.</p> + +<p>"I have an idea that I cannot express, but it seems to me that story is +told in the falling water."</p> + +<p>"If the water tells of a golden bright life, all happiness, with the +most devoted and loving of husbands, then it may tell you as much as it +likes. Let me put the ring on your finger, Leone."</p> + +<p>She held out her hand—such a beautiful hand, with a soft, pink palm and +tapering fingers. As he went to place the ring on her finger, it fell +from his hand into the water below, and Leone uttered a low cry.</p> + +<p>"It is not lost," he said; "it has not fallen into the stream, it is +here."</p> + +<p>Looking down, she saw the flash of the diamonds in the little pool that +lay between two stones, Lord Chandos wiped it and dried it.</p> + +<p>"You will prize it all the more because it has been dipped in your +favorite stream," he said. "Give me your hand again, Leone; we shall +have better fortune this time."</p> + +<p>He placed the ring securely on her finger, then kissed the white hand.</p> + +<p>"How angry you were with me the first time I kissed your hand," he said; +"and now I have all your heart. There will be neither broken vows nor a +broken ring for us, Leone, no matter what the water sings or says."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," says the girl, brightly.</p> + +<p>"I shall take possession of my lodgings at Oheton to-morrow," he said. +"I shall have to spend some little time there; but you must promise that +I shall see you every evening, Leone. Will you find your way to the +mill-wheel? When we are married, I shall try to buy the mill, the +stream, and the land all round it; it will be a sacred spot to me. In +three weeks, Leone, you will be my wife."</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, "in three weeks."</p> + +<p>The wind fell, the ripple of the green leaves ceased, the birds had sung +themselves to sleep, only the water ran laughingly on.</p> + +<p>"Lance," cried the girl, suddenly, "do you know what the water says—can +you hear it?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, with a laugh; "I have not such a vivid fancy as you. +What does it say?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing but sorrow, nothing but sorrow," she chanted.</p> + +<p>"I cannot hear that; if it says anything at all, it is nothing but love, +nothing but love."</p> + +<p>And then, as the shades of night were coming on, he saw her safely home.</p> + +<p>That same evening Lord Chandos and Sir Frank Euston talked long +together.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Sir Frank, "if you put me on my honor, I cannot speak, +but I beg of you to stop and think."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed; his handsome face was flushed and eager.</p> + +<p>"The man who hesitates is lost," he said. "All the thinking in the world +cannot alter matters, nor make me love my darling less."</p> + +<p>"There is an old proverb I should like to recommend to you," said Sir +Frank Euston; "it is this—a young man married is a young man marred."</p> + +<p>"I am quite as willing to be marred as to be married," said the young +lord, "and married I will be if all the powers on earth conspire against +me."</p> + +<p>"I know how useless all arguments are," said his friend, "when a man +determines to be foolish; but do think for one moment of the terrible +disappointment to your parents."</p> + +<p>"I do not see it; they have no right to be disappointed; my father +married to please himself, why should I not do the same?"</p> + +<p>"You are outraging all the laws of your class," said Sir Frank. "However +beautiful a farmer's niece may be, we cannot suppose even a miracle +could fit her to take the place of the Countess of Lanswell."</p> + +<p>A hot flush came over the young lord's face; a strange quiet came into +his voice.</p> + +<p>"We will discuss what you like, Frank, but you must not touch the young +lady's name, we will leave that out of the question."</p> + +<p>"You have asked me to be the witness of your marriage," said Sir Frank, +"and that entitles me to speak my mind. I do speak it, frankly, +honestly, plainly, as I should thank God for any friend to speak to a +brother of my own if he felt inclined to make a simpleton of himself."</p> + +<p>"I call myself a sensible man to marry for love, not a simpleton," said +Lord Chandos grandly.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance," said his friend, "you make just this one mistake; you +are not a man at all, you are a boy."</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly, for the young lord looked at him with a defiant, +fierce face.</p> + +<p>"You must not say that again, Frank, or we shall be friends no longer."</p> + +<p>"I do not want to offend you, Lance; but you are really too young to +think of marriage. Your tastes are not formed yet; that which pleases +you now you will dislike in six or ten years' time. I assure you that if +you marry this farmer's niece now, in ten years' time you will repent it +in sackcloth and ashes. She is not fit, either by manner, education, or +anything else, to be your mother's daughter, and you know it; you know +that when the glamour of her beauty is over you will wonder at your own +madness and folly. Be warned in time."</p> + +<p>"You may as well reason with a madman as a man in love," said the young +lordling, "and I am in love."</p> + +<p>"And you are mad," said Sir Frank, quietly; "one day you will know how +mad."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed.</p> + +<p>"There is method in my madness. Come, Frank, we have been such friends I +would do anything you asked me."</p> + +<p>"I should never ask you to do anything so foolish, Lance; I wish that I +had not given my word of honor to keep your secret; I am quite sure that +I ought to send word to the earl and countess at once; I cannot, as I +have promised not to do so, but I regret it."</p> + +<p>"My dear Frank, nothing in the world would stop me; if anything were +done to prevent my marriage now, I would simply await another and more +favorable opportunity; my mind is made up. I love the girl with all my +heart, and she, no other, shall be my wife. If you refuse to act for me, +well and good; I shall find some one else."</p> + +<p>"If you would but be reasonable, Lance," said his friend.</p> + +<p>"I am not reasonable. When did you ever see reason and love go hand in +hand together?"</p> + +<p>"They should do so always, and do, when the love is worth having."</p> + +<p>"Now, Frank, I have listened patiently; I have heard all that you have +had to say; I have weighed every argument, and I remain unconvinced. You +have but to say whether you will do this to oblige me or not."</p> + +<p>"If I do it, remember, it is under protest, Lance."</p> + +<p>"Never mind what it is under, if you only promise."</p> + +<p>"I promise, to save you from greater risk, but I do it against my will, +my reason, my good sense, my conscience, and everything else."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed aloud.</p> + +<p>"You will forget everything of that kind," he said, "when you see +Leone."</p> + +<p>And the two friends parted, mutually dissatisfied.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE PROPHECY.</h3> + + +<p>"A very impatient young man," said the good old vicar. "No man in his +senses would want to be married before ten in the morning. I call it +unchristian."</p> + +<p>Good old Mr. Barnes had been roused from his early slumbers by the +announcement that the young man had come to be married.</p> + +<p>Married, while the early morning sun was shining, and the birds singing +their morning hymn.</p> + +<p>He was almost blind, this good old vicar, who had lived so long at +Oheton. He was very deaf, and could hardly hear, but then he did not +require very keen sight or hearing at Oheton; there was never more than +one marriage in a year, and funerals were very rare; but to be called +before nine in the morning to perform the marriage ceremony was +something unheard of. He had duly announced the bans, and no one had +taken the least notice of them; but to come so early, it was positively +cruel.</p> + +<p>Others had risen early that morning. Leone had not slept well, for this +July morning, which was to bring such mingled joy and sorrow to others, +was a day of deepest emotion to her.</p> + +<p>Her love-dream was to be realized. She was to marry the ardent young +lover who swore that he would not live without her.</p> + +<p>She had thought more of her love than of the worldly advantages it would +bring her. She had not thought much of those until they stood, on the +evening before their wedding-day, once more by the mill-stream. It was +bright moonlight, for the smiling summer day was dead. It was their +farewell to the beautiful spot they both loved.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad," said Lord Chandos, "that we can say good-bye to it by +the light of the moon. I wonder, Leone, when we shall see the +mill-stream again? I have a fancy that the pretty water has helped me in +my wooing."</p> + +<p>As they sat there the wind rose and stirred the branches of the +alder-trees. In some way the great wavy masses of dark hair became +unfastened, and fell like a thick soft veil over Leone's shoulders. Lord +Chandos touched it caressingly with his hand.</p> + +<p>"What beautiful hair, Leone—how thick and soft; how beautiful those +wavy lines are—what makes them?"</p> + +<p>"A turn of Dame Nature's fingers," she replied, laughingly.</p> + +<p>"I should like to see diamonds shining in these coils of hair," he said. +"Leone, one of the first things we must do to-morrow when we reach +London, is to buy a very handsome traveling-dress. I have written to-day +to my father to ask him to meet us at Dunmore House."</p> + +<p>She repeated the words.</p> + +<p>"Where is Dunmore House?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"I forgot," he said, "that all places so familiar to me are strange to +you. One of my father's titles is Baron Dunmore, and his London +residence is called Dunmore House. We shall meet him there to-morrow, +and then you will be my wife."</p> + +<p>For the first time she realized what an immense difference there was in +their positions. She glanced at him in sudden fear.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "shall I seem very much out of place in your home, +and among your friends?"</p> + +<p>"My darling, you would grace any home," he replied; "mine has had no +fairer mistress in all the generations it has stood."</p> + +<p>"I am half frightened," she said, gently.</p> + +<p>"You need not be, sweet. Before this time next year all London will know +and admire the beautiful Lady Chandos."</p> + +<p>"It seems a long leap to take in life," she said, "from being Farmer +Noel's niece to bear the name of Lady Chandos."</p> + +<p>"You will grace the name, Leone," he replied. "I shall be the proudest +man in England—I shall have the most beautiful wife in England. This is +our last separation, our last parting; after this, we need never part."</p> + +<p>He stooped down and caught some of the running water in his hand.</p> + +<p>"A libation," he said, as he poured it back again. "I feel as though I +were losing a friend when I leave the mill-stream."</p> + +<p>Loving and loved, no thought came to them there of how they should see +the mill-stream again.</p> + +<p>"Leone, Lady Chandos." More than once that evening she said those words +to herself. It was after eight when she came in, and the farmer had long +finished his supper; he sat thinking over his pipe.</p> + +<p>"You are late, my lady lass," he said; "sit down and talk to me before I +go to rest."</p> + +<p>Obediently enough, she sat down while he told her the history of his +visits to the different markets. She heard, but did not take in the +sense of one single word he uttered. She was saying to herself over and +over again, that by this time to-morrow she should be Lady Chandos. Her +happiness would have been complete if she could have told her uncle. He +had been so kind to her. They were opposite as light and darkness, they +had not one idea in common, yet he had been good to her and she loved +him. She longed to tell him of her coming happiness and grandeur, but +she did not dare to break her word.</p> + +<p>Robert Noel looked up in wonder. There was his beautiful niece kneeling +at his feet, her eyes dim with tears.</p> + +<p>"Uncle," she was saying, "look at me, listen to me. I want to thank you. +I want you always to remember that on this night I knelt at your feet +and thanked you with a grateful heart for all you have ever done for +me."</p> + +<p>"Why, my lady lass," he replied, "you have always been to me as a child +of my own," he replied.</p> + +<p>"A tiresome child," she said, half laughing, half crying. "See. I take +this dear, brown hand, so hard with work, and I kiss it, uncle, and +thank you from my heart."</p> + +<p>He could not recover himself, so to speak. He looked at her in blank, +wordless amazement.</p> + +<p>"In the years to come," she continued, "when you think of me, you must +say to yourself, that, no matter what I did, I loved you."</p> + +<p>"No matter what you did you loved me," he repeated. "Yes, I shall +remember that."</p> + +<p>She kissed the toil-worn face, leaving him so entirely bewildered that +the only fear was lest he might sit up all night trying to forget it.</p> + +<p>Then she went to her room, but not to sleep—her heart beat, every pulse +thrilled. This was to be the last night in her old home—the last of her +girlish life; to-morrow she would be Lady Chandos—wife of the young +lover whom she loved with all her heart and soul.</p> + +<p>The birds woke her with their song, it was their wedding-day. She would +not see Robert Noel again; he took his breakfast before six and went off +to the fields again. She had but to dress herself and go to the station. +Oheton was some three miles from the station, but on a summer's morning +that was a trifle.</p> + +<p>They were all three there at last—Sir Frank looking decidedly vexed and +cross, Lord Chandos happy as the day was long, and Leone beautiful as a +picture.</p> + +<p>"Look," said the young lordling to his friend, "have I no excuse?"</p> + +<p>Sir Frank looked long and earnestly at the beautiful southern face.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied; "so far as beauty and grace can form an excuse, you +have one; but, Lance, if I loved that girl a thousand times better than +my life, I should not marry her."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Lord Chandos, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Because she has a tragedy in her life. She could not be happy. She will +neither have a happy life nor a happy death."</p> + +<p>"My dear Frank, do not prophesy such evil on our wedding-day."</p> + +<p>"I do not mean to prophesy, I say what I think; it is a beautiful face, +full of poetry and passion, but it is also full of power and unrest."</p> + +<p>"You shall not look at her again if you say such things," cried Lord +Chandos.</p> + +<p>And then the good vicar, still distressed at being aroused so early, +came to the church. Had it been less pitiful and pathetic, it would have +been most comical, the number of times the old vicar dropped his book, +forgot the names, the appalling mistakes he made, the nervous hesitation +of his manner. Sometimes Lord Chandos felt inclined to say hard, hot +words; again, he could not repress a smile. But at length, after +trembling and hesitating, the vicar gave the final benediction, and +pronounced them man and wife.</p> + +<p>In the vestry, when the names were signed, some ray of light seemed to +dawn on the old vicar.</p> + +<p>"Chandos," he said, "that is not a common name about here."</p> + +<p>"Is it not?" said the young lord; "it seems common enough to me."</p> + +<p>"Chandos," repeated the minister, "where have I heard that name!"</p> + +<p>"I have heard it so often that I am tired of it," said the young +husband.</p> + +<p>And then it was all over.</p> + +<p>"Thank God to be out in the sunlight," he cried, as he stood, with his +beautiful wife, in the churchyard. "Thank God it is all over, and I can +call my love my wife. I thought that service would never end. Frank, +have you no good wishes for my wife?"</p> + +<p>Sir Frank went to Leone.</p> + +<p>"I wish you joy," he said; "I wish you all happiness—but——"</p> + +<p>And then he played nervously with the hat he held in his hand.</p> + +<p>"But," she said with a bright smile, "you do not think I shall get it?"</p> + +<p>Sir Frank made no answer; he did not think she would be happy, but she +had chosen her own way; he had said all he could. Perhaps his eyes were +clearer than others, for he could read a tragedy in her face. Then Sir +Frank left them, having performed his part with a very ill grace.</p> + +<p>"Leone, have you said good-bye to your uncle?" asked Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"I left a little note to be given him when he returns home this evening. +How he will miss me."</p> + +<p>"And how fortunate I am to have you, my darling; there is no one in the +wide world so happy. We will drive over to Rashleigh Station. I do not +care who sees me now, no one can part us. Dr. Hervey thinks I went home +to London this morning, but I won a wife before starting, did I not, +Leone, my beautiful love? You are Lady Chandos now. What are you +thinking of, my darling?"</p> + +<p>"I was wondering, Lance, if there was anything in our marriage that +could possibly invalidate it and make it illegal?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "I have been too careful of you, Leone, for that. You +are my wife before God and man. Nothing shall take you from me but +death."</p> + +<p>"But death," she repeated slowly.</p> + +<p>And in after years they both remembered the words.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM.</h3> + + +<p>Cawdor took rank among the most stately homes of England: it had been +originally one of the grand Saxon strongholds, one, too, which the +Normans had found hard to conquer.</p> + +<p>As time wore on the round towers and the keep fell into +ruins—picturesque and beautiful ruins, round which the green ivy hung +in luxuriant profusion; then the ruins were left standing.</p> + +<p>Little by little the new place was built, not by any particular design; +wing after wing, story after story, until it became one of the most +picturesque and most magnificent homes in England. Cawdor it was called; +neither court, hall nor park, simply Cawdor; and there were very few +people in England who did not know Cawdor. There was no book of +engravings that had not a view of Cawdor for its first and greatest +attraction; there was no exhibition of pictures in which one did not see +ruins of Cawdor. It had in itself every attribute of beauty, the +ivy-mantled ruins, the keep, from which one could see into five +different counties, the moat, now overgrown with trees; the +old-fashioned draw-bridge which contrasted so beautifully with the grand +modern entrance, worthy of a Venetian palace; the winding river, the +grand chain of hills, and in the far distance the blue waters of the +Channel.</p> + +<p>There could not have been a more beautiful or picturesque spot on earth +than Cawdor. It had belonged to the Lanswell family for many +generations. The Lanswells were a wealthy race—they owned not only all +the land surrounding the fair domain of Cawdor, but nearly the whole of +the town of Dunmore. The Earl of Lanswell was also Baron of Raleigh, and +Raleigh Hall, in Staffordshire, was a very grand estate. In one part of +it an immense coal mine had been discovered, which made Lord Lanswell +one of the wealthiest men of the day.</p> + +<p>Cawdor, Raleigh Hall, and Dunmore House, three of the finest residences +in England, together with a rent-roll counted by hundreds of thousands, +should have made the earl a happy man. He married a wealthy heiress in +accordance with the old proverb that "Like seeks like." His wife, Lucia, +Countess of Lanswell, was one of the proudest peeresses in England; she +was unimpeachable in every relation of life, and had little pity for +those who were not; she had never known sorrow, temptation, doubt, or +anything else; she had lived in an atmosphere of perfect content and +golden ease; she had the grandest mansion, the finest diamonds, the +finest horses in London; she had the most indulgent husband, the +handsomest son, and the prettiest daughter; she did not know the word +want in any shape, she had not even suffered from the crumpled +rose-leaf. The nearest approach to trouble of any kind that she had +known was that her son, Lord Chandos, had failed in one of his +examinations. He asked that he might go into the country for some months +to read, and permission was most cheerfully given to him. With her +daughter, Lady Imogene Chandos, the countess had never had and never +expected to have any trouble; she was one of the fairest, sweetest, and +most gentle of girls; she was docile and obedient; she had never in her +life given the least trouble to any one.</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell was walking up and down one of the broad terraces at +Cawdor one fine morning in July, when one of the servants brought to him +a telegram. He opened it hastily, it was from his son, Lord Chandos:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dearest Father,</span>—Will you run up to town, and meet me at Dunmore +House this evening? I have something very important to tell you. +Not one word to mother yet."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Lord Lanswell stood still to think with the telegram in his hand.</p> + +<p>"What can be the matter now?" he said to himself; "that boy will give me +trouble. He has done something now that he will not let my lady know."</p> + +<p>He had a dull, heavy presentiment that the boy who should have been the +pride and delight of his life would be a drawback and a torment.</p> + +<p>"I must go," said the earl to himself, "I must make some excuse to +satisfy my lady."</p> + +<p>It was typical of Lady Lanswell that her husband seldom spoke of her as +my wife, the children more seldom still as "my mother;" every one alike +called her "my lady." She might have been the only peeress in England, +so entirely did every one agree in giving her that title. "My lady" was +pleased, meant sunshine at Cawdor; "my lady" was angry, meant gloom. She +regulated the moral and mental atmosphere of the house with a smile or a +frown.</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell knew that he dare not show the telegram to Lady Lanswell; +she would have started off at once for Dunmore House, and there would +have been war. He must deceive her. He carefully destroyed the telegram, +in some queer fashion which he did not own even to himself he had a kind +of sympathy with his son.</p> + +<p>He had been wild in his youth and made allowances for the same in +others. His worst thought now was that his handsome young heir, with the +frank blue eyes and sunny hair, had been gambling or betting.</p> + +<p>"A few thousand pounds would set him straight," he thought, "and after +all, one must not be too hard on the follies of youth."</p> + +<p>No need to tell my lady; she looked on these exploits with a keen, cold +eye. He went to the drawing-room, where my lady sat looking regally +beautiful in black velvet and point lace.</p> + +<p>The countess of Lanswell was considered one of the handsomest women in +England. She had married very young, and her beauty was still so well +preserved that she took her place with the beauties of the day. Husband +and children both felt in awe of the beautiful woman, with her queenly +grace and bearing.</p> + +<p>"Lucia," said the earl, "I thought of running up to town this afternoon. +I shall return to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said my lady, slowly. "Why this sudden resolution, Ross?"</p> + +<p>"There is some little business that no one can attend to but myself," he +said. "I shall not be long absent."</p> + +<p>"Business of what nature?" asked my lady, her fine eyes fixed on his +face.</p> + +<p>"Why, dear, it is surely not needful for me to explain my business to +you? I have none of which you would not approve. I want to call on my +bankers—I want to sell some shares. I have several little reasons for +running up to town."</p> + +<p>"You remember, of course, that the Beauvoirs dine here to-day?" said my +lady.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have not forgotten, but with your usual tact you can apologize +for me, Lucia."</p> + +<p>The compliment pleased her.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, I can, if your absence is really needful, Ross," said my +lady.</p> + +<p>"It is needful, I assure you. I can tell you all I have done when I +return; just now I must hurry off, or I shall not catch the train."</p> + +<p>As the earl quitted Cawdor, he regretted deeply that his son should have +complicated the situation by enforcing silence as regarded his mother.</p> + +<p>He pondered a great deal on what he should say when he returned—above +all, if the boy's trouble was, as he imagined, the loss of money.</p> + +<p>"I must not let his mother know," thought the earl. "Boys are boys; she +would think he was lost altogether if she knew that he had betting and +gambling debts. Whatever he owes, no matter what it is, I will give him +a check for it, and make him promise me that it shall be the last time."</p> + +<p>He never thought of any other danger; that his son had fallen in love or +wanted to marry never occurred to him. He was glad when he reached +Dunmore House; the old housekeeper met him in the hall.</p> + +<p>"I have dinner ready, my lord," she said. "Lord Chandos told me you were +coming."</p> + +<p>He looked round expectantly.</p> + +<p>"Is not Lord Chandos here?" he asked.</p> + +<p>It occurred to him that the housekeeper looked troubled and distressed.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "he is not staying here—they are staying in the +Queen's Hotel, in Piccadilly."</p> + +<p>"They," he cried, "whom do you mean by they? Has Lord Chandos friends +with him?"</p> + +<p>The woman's face grew pale. She shrunk perceptibly from the keen, gray +eyes.</p> + +<p>"I understood his lordship that he was not alone," she replied. "I may +have made a mistake. I understood him also that he should be with you by +eight this evening, when you had finished dinner."</p> + +<p>"Why could he not dine with me?" he thought. "Sends a telegram for me, +and then leaves me to dine alone. It is not like Lance."</p> + +<p>But thinking over it would not solve the mystery; the earl went to his +room and dressed for dinner. He had ordered a bottle of his favorite +Madeira, of which wonderful tales were told.</p> + +<p>Then he sat thinking about his son, and his heart softened toward him. +He thought of the handsome, curly-headed young boy whose grand spirit no +one but my lady could subdue. He laughed aloud as he remembered the +struggles between himself and his heir—they had always ended in his +defeat; but when my lady came on the scene it was quite another thing, +the defeat was on the other side then, and my Lord Chandos was usually +carried off defeated and conquered.</p> + +<p>He thought of the handsome stripling who used to wander about the +grounds at Cawdor, trying to conceal from my lady the fact that he +smoked cigars. He did not fear his father and smoked boldly before him, +but at the first sound of my lady's rustling silk he flew rather than +ran. Lord Lanswell laughed aloud as he thought of it all.</p> + +<p>"He is just as frightened at my lady now," he said to himself. "I cannot +help feeling touched and flattered that he has sent for me in his +trouble. I will help him and my lady shall never know."</p> + +<p>His heart warmed to his son and heir—no one knew how dearly he loved +him, nor how completely his life was wrapped up in him. Then he heard a +cab drive up to the door. Surely that must be Lance.</p> + +<p>He listened in impatient suspense—he heard whispering in the outer +hall, as though some consultation were being held.</p> + +<p>"What in the world is the boy making a mystery over?" he asked himself.</p> + +<p>Then he started from his chair in unutterable amazement.</p> + +<p>Before him stood Lance, Lord Chandos, holding the hands of the most +beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>A SHOCKED FATHER.</h3> + + +<p>"I am quite sure of one thing," Lord Chandos had said, as they drew near +London, "and that is, Leone—if my father sees you before my mother has +time to interfere, it will be all right. He can resist anything but a +pretty face—that always conquers him."</p> + +<p>"I wish," said Leone, with a sigh, "that I were less proud. Do you know, +Lance, that I cannot endure to hear you speak as though I were to be +received as a great favor. I wonder why I am so proud? I am a farmer's +niece, and you are the son of a powerful earl, yet I—please do not be +offended; I cannot help it—I feel quite as good as you."</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud. There was nothing he enjoyed better than this proud +frankness of hers, which would never yield to or worship rank or title.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it, Leone," he replied. "For my own part, I think you +very much better than myself. I have no fear, if my father sees you +first, and that is why I have telegraphed to him to meet us at Dunmore +House."</p> + +<p>"But," she insisted, "suppose that he does not like me—what shall we do +then?"</p> + +<p>"Why," he replied, "the right and proper thing for me to do then will be +to try to love you, if possible, even better than I do now. Leone, the +first thing we must do is to drive to one of the court milliners; no +matter what follows, your dress must be attended to at once—first +impressions are everything. You look royally beautiful in all that you +wear, but I would much rather that my father saw you in a proper +costume. Suppose we drive to a milliner's first, and choose a handsome +dress, and all things suitable, then we can go to the Queen's Hotel; the +trunks can be sent after us. We can dine there; and when you have +dressed <i>a la</i> Lady Chandos, we will go to Dunmore House, and carry +everything before us."</p> + +<p>He did as he had said. They drove first to Madame Caroline's. Lord +Chandos was accustomed to the princely style of doing things. He sent +for madame, who looked up in wonder at his fair young face.</p> + +<p>"This is my wife," he said, "Lady Chandos. We have been in the country +and she wants everything new, in your best style."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him hours had passed when madame reappeared. Certainly he +hardly knew the superbly beautiful girl with her. Was it possible that +after all the poets had said about "beauty unadorned" that dress made +such a difference? It had changed his beautiful Leone into a beautiful +empress. Madame looked at him for approval.</p> + +<p>"I hope your lordship is satisfied," she said; with the usual quickness +of her nation, she had detected the fact that this had been a runaway +marriage.</p> + +<p>"I am more than satisfied," he replied.</p> + +<p>Before him stood a tall, slender girl, whose superb figure was seen to +advantage in one of Worth's most fashionable dresses—trailing silk and +rich velvet, so skillfully intermixed with the most exquisite taste; a +lace bonnet that seemed to crown the rippling hair; pearl-gray gloves +that might have grown on the white hands. Her dress was simply perfect; +it was at once elegant and ladylike, rich and costly.</p> + +<p>"I shall not be afraid to face my father now," he said, "I have a +talisman."</p> + +<p>Yet his fair young face grew paler as they reached Dunmore House. It was +a terrible risk, and he knew it—a terrible ordeal. He realized what he +had done when the housekeeper told him the earl awaited him in the +dining-room. A decided sensation of nervousness came over him, and he +looked at the fresh, proud, glowing beauty of his young wife to reassure +himself. She was perfect, he felt that, and he was satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Give me your hand, Leone," he said, and the touch of that little hand +gave him new courage.</p> + +<p>He went in leading her, and the earl sprung from his seat in startling +amaze. Lord Chandos went boldly up to him.</p> + +<p>"Father," he said, "allow me to introduce to you my wife, Leone, Lady +Chandos."</p> + +<p>The earl gave a terrified glance at the beautiful southern face, but +made no answer.</p> + +<p>"I have to ask your forgiveness," continued the young lordling, "for +having married without your consent; but I knew, under the +circumstances, it was useless to ask it, so I married without."</p> + +<p>Still the same terrified look and utter silence.</p> + +<p>"Father," cried Lord Chandos, "why do you not welcome my young wife +home?"</p> + +<p>Then Lord Lanswell tried to smile—a dreadful, ghastly smile.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," he said, "you are jesting; I am quite sure you are +jesting. It cannot be real; you would not be so cruel!"</p> + +<p>"Father," repeated the young lord, in an imperative voice, "will you bid +my wife welcome home?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the earl stoutly, "I will not. The young lady will excuse me +if I decline to bid her welcome to a home that can never be hers."</p> + +<p>"Father," cried the young man, reproachfully, "I did not expect this +from you."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand what else you could expect," cried the earl, +angrily. "Do you mean to tell me that it is true that this person is +your wife?"</p> + +<p>"My dear and honored wife," replied the young man.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean to tell me that you have actually married this lady, +Lance—really married her?"</p> + +<p>"I have, indeed, father, and it is about the best action of my life," +said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"How do you intend to face my lady?" asked the earl, with the voice and +manner of one who proposes a difficulty not to be solved.</p> + +<p>"I thought you would help us, father; at least, speak to my wife."</p> + +<p>The earl looked at the beautiful, distressed face.</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry," he said, "sorry for you, Lance, and the lady, but I +cannot receive her as your wife."</p> + +<p>"She is my wife, whether you receive her or not," said Lord Chandos. +"Leone, how can I apologize to you? I never expected that my father +would receive you in this fashion. Father, look at her; think how young, +how beautiful she is; you cannot be unkind to her."</p> + +<p>"I have no wish to be unkind," said the earl, "but I cannot receive her +as your wife."</p> + +<p>Then, seeing the color fade from her face, he hastened to find her a +chair, and poured out a glass of wine for her; he turned with a stern +face to his son.</p> + +<p>"What have you been doing?" he cried. "While your mother and I thought +you were working hard to make up for lost time, what have you been +doing?"</p> + +<p>"I have been working very hard," he replied, "and my work will bring +forth good fruit; but, father, I have found leisure for love as well."</p> + +<p>"So it seems," said the earl, dryly; "perhaps you will tell me who this +lady is, and why she comes home with you?"</p> + +<p>"My wife; her name was Leone Noel; she is now Lady Chandos."</p> + +<p>For the first time Leone spoke.</p> + +<p>"I am a farmer's niece, my lord," she said, simply.</p> + +<p>Her voice had a ring of music in it so sweet that it struck the earl +with wonder.</p> + +<p>"A farmer's niece," he replied. "You will forgive me for saying that a +farmer's niece can be no fitting wife for my son."</p> + +<p>"I love him, my lord, very dearly, and I will try hard to be all that he +can wish me to be."</p> + +<p>"Bravely spoken; but it is quite in vain; my lady would never hear of +such a thing—I dare not—I cannot sanction it, even by a word, my lady +would never forgive me. Can you tell me when this rash action was +accomplished?"</p> + +<p>"This is our wedding-day, father," cried Lord Chandos. "Only think of +it, our wedding-day, and you receive us like this. How cruel and cold."</p> + +<p>"Nay, I am neither," said the earl; "it is rather you, Lance, who do not +seem to realize what you have done. You seem to think you belong to +yourself; you are mistaken; a man in your position belongs to his +country, his race, to his family, not to himself; that view of the +question, probably, did not strike you."</p> + +<p>"No," replied Lord Chandos, "it certainly did not; but, father, if I +have done wrong, forgive me."</p> + +<p>"I do forgive you, my dear boy, freely; young men will be foolish—I +forgive you; but do not ask me to sanction your marriage or receive your +wife. I cannot do it."</p> + +<p>"Then, of what use is your forgiveness? Oh, father, I did not expect +this from you; you have always been so kind to me. I had fancied +difficulties with my mother, but none with you."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, we had better send for my lady; she is really, as you +know, the dominant spirit of our family. She will decide on what is to +be done."</p> + +<p>"I insist on my wife being treated with due respect," raged the young +lord.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, you must do as you will; I refuse to recognize this lady +in any way. Will you tell me when and where you were married?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly: this morning, by the Reverend Mr. Barnes, at the Church of +St. Barnabas, in Oheton, a little village twenty miles from Rashleigh. +The marriage was all <i>en regle</i>; we had the bans published and witnesses +present."</p> + +<p>"You took great pains to be exact, and the lady, you tell me, is a +farmer's niece."</p> + +<p>"My uncle is Farmer Robert Noel; he has a farm at Rashleigh," said +Leone, "and in his way is an honest, loyal, honorable man."</p> + +<p>The earl could not help feeling the sweet, soft music of that voice; it +touched his heart.</p> + +<p>"I believe you," he said, "but it is a sad thing Farmer Noel did not +take more care of his niece. I am sorry it has happened; I can do +nothing to help you; my lady must manage it all."</p> + +<p>"But, father," pleaded the young man, "it was on you I relied; it was to +your efforts I trusted. Be my friend; if you will receive my wife here +and acknowledge her, no one else can say a word."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, only yesterday your mother and I were speaking of +something on which the whole desire of her heart was fixed; remembering +that conversation I tell you quite frankly that I dare not do what you +ask me; your mother would never speak to me again."</p> + +<p>"Then, Leone, darling, we will go; Heaven forbid that we should remain +where we are not welcome. Father," he cried, in sudden emotion, "have +you not one kind word, not one blessing for me, on my wedding-day?"</p> + +<p>"I refuse to believe that it is your wedding-day, Lance. When that day +does come, you shall have both kind words and blessings from me."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>THE LAWYER'S STATEMENT.</h3> + + +<p>Lady Lanswell stood in the library at Dunmore House, her handsome face +flushed with irritation and annoyance, her fine eyes flashing fire. She +looked like one born to command; her tall, stately figure bore no signs +of age; her traveling dress of rich silk swept the ground in graceful +folds. She had not removed her mantle of rich lace; it hung from her +shoulders still; she had removed her bonnet and gloves. With one jeweled +hand resting on the table, she stood, the picture of indignation and +anger.</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell had sent a telegram at once, when his son left him, +begging her to come at once, as Lance had something important to tell +her.</p> + +<p>My lady lost no time; she was far more quick and keen of judgment than +the earl. She never thought of gambling or betting, her thoughts all +went to love. It was something about a girl, she said to herself; but +she should stand no nonsense. Lance must remember what was due to his +family. If he had made any such mistake as that of falling in love with +one beneath him, then he must rectify the mistake as quickly as +possible; there could be no <i>mesalliance</i> in a family like theirs. As +for any promise of marriage, if he had been so foolish as to make one he +must break it. A sum of money would doubtless have to be expended over +the matter, then it would be all right.</p> + +<p>So thought my lady, and as the express drew near London she promised +herself that all would be well. Her spirits rose, her fears abated; no +son of hers would ever make a mistake so utterly absurd. There was +something of scorn in my lady's face as she entered Dunmore House. The +earl met her in the entrance hall.</p> + +<p>"I have lost no time, as you see," she said. "What is all this nonsense, +Ross?"</p> + +<p>He did not answer until they stood together in the library, with the +door closed, and then she repeated the words. Something in her husband's +face dismayed her.</p> + +<p>"Speak, Ross; I dislike suspense. Tell me at once; what has the boy +done?"</p> + +<p>"He is married," said the earl, solemnly.</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven!" cried my lady. "Married! You cannot mean it. +Married—how—whom—when?"</p> + +<p>"You will be dreadfully distressed," he began, slowly.</p> + +<p>My lady stamped her foot.</p> + +<p>"I can bear distress better than suspense. Tell me quickly, Ross, has he +disgraced himself?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid so," was the brief reply.</p> + +<p>"And I loved him so—I trusted him so; it is impossible; tell me, Ross."</p> + +<p>"He has married a farmer's niece. The girl is beautiful. I have seen no +one so beautiful; she seems to be well educated and refined. Her uncle +has a farm at Rashleigh."</p> + +<p>"A farmer's niece," cried my lady; "you cannot possibly mean it. There +must be some mistake—the boy has been playing a practical joke on you."</p> + +<p>"It is no joke; I only wish it were. Lance gave me the details. He was +married yesterday morning by the Reverend Mr. Barnes, at the Church of +St. Barnabas, at Oheton, a village somewhere near Rashleigh."</p> + +<p>"Married—really and actually married," cried my lady. "I will not +believe it."</p> + +<p>"Unhappily, it is true. He expected, I think, to make his home here; he +had no idea of leaving Dunmore House; but I told him that I could not +receive him or her."</p> + +<p>"Her! You do not mean to say that he had the audacity to bring her here, +Ross?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, they came together last night; but I would not receive her. I told +them plainly that you must settle the matter, as I could not."</p> + +<p>"I should think not," said my lady, with emphasis.</p> + +<p>"I must own, though," continued the earl, "that I was rather sorry for +Lance; he had trusted entirely to my good offices and seemed to think it +very cruel of me to refuse to plead for him."</p> + +<p>"And the girl," said my lady, "what of her?"</p> + +<p>"You will think I am weak and foolish, without doubt," he said, "but the +girl distressed me even more than Lance. She is beautiful enough to +arouse the admiration of the world; and she spoke so well for him."</p> + +<p>"A farmer's niece—an underbred, forward, designing, vulgar country +girl—to be Countess of Lanswell," cried my lady, in horror.</p> + +<p>"Nay," said the earl, "she is a farmer's niece, it is true, but she is +not vulgar."</p> + +<p>"It is not possible that she can be presentable," said my lady. "We must +move heaven and earth to set the marriage aside."</p> + +<p>"I had not thought of that," said the earl, simply.</p> + +<p>Then my lady took the lace mantilla from her shoulders, and sat down at +the writing-table.</p> + +<p>"I will send for Mr. Sewell," she said. "If any one can give us good +advice, he can."</p> + +<p>Mr. Sewell was known as one of the finest, keenest, and cleverest +lawyers in England; he had been for more than twenty years agent for the +Lanswells of Cawdor. He knew every detail of their history, every event +that happened; and the proud countess liked him, because he was +thoroughly conservative in all his opinions. She sent for him now as a +last resource; the carriage was sent to his office, so that he might +lose no time. In less than an hour the brisk, energetic lawyer stood +before the distressed parents, listening gravely to the story of the +young heir's marriage.</p> + +<p>"Have you seen the girl?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have seen her," said the earl.</p> + +<p>"Is she presentable?" he inquired. "Would any degree of training enable +her to take her rank——"</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"The question need never be asked," she said, proudly. "I refuse ever to +see her, or acknowledge her. I insist on the marriage being set aside."</p> + +<p>"One has to be careful, my lady," said Mr. Sewell.</p> + +<p>"I see no need for any great care," she retorted. "My son has not +studied us; we shall not study him. I would rather the entail were +destroyed, and the property go to one of Charles Seyton's sons, than my +son share it with a low-born wife."</p> + +<p>My lady's face was inflexible. The earl and the lawyer saw that she was +resolved—that she would never give in, never yield, no matter what +appeal was made to her.</p> + +<p>They both knew that more words were useless. My lady's mind was made up, +and they might as well fight the winds and the waves. Lord Lanswell was +more inclined to pity and to temporize. He was sorry for his son, and +the beautiful face had made some impression on him; but my lady was +inflexible.</p> + +<p>"The marriage must be set aside," she repeated.</p> + +<p>The earl looked at her gravely.</p> + +<p>"Who can set aside a thoroughly legal marriage?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"You will find out the way," said my lady, turning to Mr. Sewell.</p> + +<p>"I can easily do that, Lady Lanswell; of course it is for you to decide; +but there is no doubt but that the marriage can easily be disputed—you +must decide. If you think the girl could be trained and taught to behave +herself—perhaps the most simple and honorable plan would be to let the +matter stand as it is, and do your best for her."</p> + +<p>"Never!" cried my lady, proudly. "I would rather that Cawdor were burned +to the ground than to have such a person rule over it. It is useless to +waste time and words, the marriage must be set aside."</p> + +<p>The lawyer looked from one to the other.</p> + +<p>"There can be no difficulty whatever in setting the marriage aside," +said Mr. Sewell. "In point of fact, I must tell you what I imagined you +would have known perfectly well."</p> + +<p>My lady looked at him with redoubled interest.</p> + +<p>"What is that?" she asked, quickly.</p> + +<p>The earl listened with the greatest attention.</p> + +<p>"It is simply this, Lady Lanswell, that the marriage is no marriage; +Lord Chandos is under age—he cannot marry without your consent; any +marriage that he contracts without your consent is illegal and +invalid—no marriage at all—the law does not recognize it."</p> + +<p>"Is that the English law?" asked Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>"Yes, the marriage of a minor, like your son, without the consent of his +parents, is no marriage; the law utterly ignores it. The remedy lies, +therefore, in your own hands."</p> + +<p>Husband and wife looked at each other; it was a desperate chance, a +desperate remedy. For one moment each thought of the sanctity of the +marriage tie, and all that was involved in the breaking of it. Each +thought how terribly their only son must suffer if this law was +enforced.</p> + +<p>Then my lady's face hardened and the earl knew what was to follow.</p> + +<p>"It remains for us, then, Mr. Sewell," she said, "to take the needful +steps."</p> + +<p>"Yes, you must make an appeal to the High Court, and the marriage will +be at once set aside," said Mr. Sewell. "It is a terrible thing for the +young wife, though."</p> + +<p>"She should have had more sense than to have married my son," cried my +lady. "I have pity for my son—none for her."</p> + +<p>"I think it would be more fair to tell Lord Chandos what you intend +doing," said Mr. Sewell. "Not that he could make either resistance or +defense—the law is absolute."</p> + +<p>"What will the end be?" asked my lady.</p> + +<p>"The marriage will be declared null and void; they will be compelled to +separate now; but again he has the remedy in his own hand. If he chooses +to remain true and constant to her, the very next day after he becomes +of age he can remarry her, and then she becomes his lawful wife; if he +forgets her the only remedy for her would be money compensation."</p> + +<p>"It shall be the business of my life to see that he does forget her," +said my lady.</p> + +<p>"You can commence proceedings at once," said Mr. Sewell. "You can file +your petition to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"It will make the whole matter public," hesitated my lady.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is the one drawback. After all it does not matter," said Mr. +Sewell, "many young men make simpletons of themselves in the same way. +People do not pay much attention."</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell looked at his wife's handsome, inflexible face.</p> + +<p>"It is a desperate thing to do, Lucia," he said, "for Lance loves her +very dearly."</p> + +<p>"It was a desperate action on his part to marry without consulting us," +said my lady.</p> + +<p>"He will be of age next June," said the earl, "do you think that he will +be true to her?"</p> + +<p>"No," said the countess, proudly. "I can safely pledge you my word that +he will not."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>"THEY WILL NOT FORGIVE ME."</h3> + + +<p>"Thank Heaven," said the countess, "that the matter can be set straight. +If there had been no remedy I should have lost my reason over it. The +boy must have been mad or blinded, or very probably drawn into it in +some disgraceful fashion or other."</p> + +<p>My lady was triumphant, her handsome face lighted with satisfaction, but +the earl looked grave. The lawyer had taken his leave, and they still +remained to discuss matters. Lord Lanswell did not seem so well pleased; +he went up to my lady where she was standing.</p> + +<p>"Lucia," he began, "do you think that if we succeed in parting these two +we shall do quite right?"</p> + +<p>"Right," cried my lady. "I shall think it one of the most virtuous +actions of my life."</p> + +<p>"Well," said the earl, "I am sorry that I cannot quite agree with you. +No doubt this marriage is vexatious enough, but whether it is well to +obliterate all traces of it, or rather to do away with it altogether, is +quite another thing."</p> + +<p>"I am the best judge of what is right in this case," said my lady, +haughtily; "I will have no interference. The business part of it must be +attended to at once."</p> + +<p>"At least you will write to Lance and tell him what you intend doing?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have no objection to that," she replied; "it can make no +possible difference to him."</p> + +<p>"He may try to make some compromise," said Lord Lanswell, whose heart +smote him as he thought of the passionate, beautiful face.</p> + +<p>"There can be no compromise; he must give her up at once, and marry some +one in his own rank," said the countess. "I will write the letter at +once, and I must ask you, Ross, not to be weak. A weak man is the most +contemptible object in creation."</p> + +<p>"I will try not to be weak, my dear," said the earl, submissively; "but +I am concerned for Lance."</p> + +<p>"Lance must take his chance," said my lady, too angry to be conscious of +the rhyme; "he has done wrong, and he must suffer for it. He will thank +Heaven in a year's time from now that I have saved him."</p> + +<p>Still Lord Lanswell looked at his wife with a grave expression of doubt.</p> + +<p>"You think, then, Lucia, that in a year's time he will have forgotten +that poor young wife?"</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure of it. Long before I had heard of this foolish affair I +had decided in my own mind whom he should marry, and I see no reason for +changing my plans."</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell thought with regret and sympathy of the young wife. Could +it be possible, he thought, that his son would be so disloyal, so +unfaithful as to forget in twelve short months the wife he had risked so +much to win? He looked at the countess.</p> + +<p>"The matter then lies in a nutshell and depends entirely upon whether +Lance continues true to his love or not. If he remains true, your scheme +for parting them will have but little effect; if he prove false, why +then all will be well, according to your way of thinking."</p> + +<p>"We will finish with the subject," she said. "You may make your mind +quite easy about it. I guarantee all my knowledge of the world that he +will not only have forgotten her in twelve months' time, but that he +will be ashamed of having ever fancied himself in love with her."</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell went, in obedience to his wife's command, to assist in the +commencement of the proceedings, and as soon as my lady was left alone, +she sat down to write to her son. She told him, in the plainest possible +words, that his marriage was not only unlawful, but invalid, as he, +being minor, could not contract a legal marriage without the consent of +his parents. My lady had faith enough in herself to add openly:</p> + +<p>"You can, of course, please yourself, as soon as you are of age; you can +then remarry the young person without our consent if you will; but my +opinion is you will not."</p> + +<p>The time which had passed so unpleasantly for the earl and countess was +bright and light for the young bride and bridegroom. Leone had shed some +bitter tears when they left Dunmore House, but Lord Chandos laughed; he +was angry and irritated, but it seemed to him that such a state of +things could not last. His father and mother had indulged him in +everything—surely they would let him have his way in marriage. He +kissed the tears from his young wife's face, and laughed away her fears.</p> + +<p>"It will be all right in the end," he said. "My father may hold out for +a few days, but he will give way; in the meantime, we must be happy, +Leone. We will stay at the Queen's Hotel until they invite us to Cawdor. +It will not be long; my mother and father cannot get on without me. We +will go to the opera to-night, that will distract your thoughts."</p> + +<p>The opera had been but hitherto an empty word to Leone. She had a vague +idea that it consisted of singing. After all there was some compensation +to be found; her young husband was devoted to her, she was magnificently +dressed, and was going in a beautiful closed carriage to the opera.</p> + +<p>She uttered no word of surprise, but her whole soul was filled with +wonder. The highest festivity and the greatest gayety she had ever +witnessed was a choir tea-party. She had a most beautiful voice; in +fact, neither herself nor any of those around her knew the value of her +voice or appreciated it.</p> + +<p>On great occasions the choir were entertained by the rector—once during +the summer when they made merry out in the green woods, and once in the +winter when they were entertained in the school-room. Leone had thought +these parties the acme of grandeur and perfection; now she sat in that +brilliant circle and wondered into what world she had fallen.</p> + +<p>Before the curtain was raised she was engrossed in that brilliant +circle. She had never seen such dresses, such diamonds, such jewels, +faces so beautiful, toilets so exquisite; it was all quite new to her. +The beautiful and poetic side of it appealed to her. Her beautiful face +flushed with delight, her dark eyes were lustrous and radiant.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos, looking round the opera-house, where some of the +handsomest women in England were, said to himself that among all these +fair and noble faces there was not one so beautiful as Leone's.</p> + +<p>She herself was quite unconscious of the admiration she excited; she did +not see how the opera-glasses were turned to her face; she could not +hear people asking: "Who is that with Lord Chandos? What a beautiful +face, what a lovely girl! Who is she?" Lord Chandos saw it, and was not +only proud, but flattered by it.</p> + +<p>"My mother will yield at once when she sees her," he thought; "she will +be pleased that the most beautiful woman in England is my wife."</p> + +<p>He made no introductions, though many of his friends bowed to him, with +a secret hope that he would ask them into his box. But he had arranged +his own plans. His mother—the proud, exclusive, haughty Countess of +Lanswell—should be the one to introduce his beautiful wife to the +world; that of itself would be a passport for her. So that he was +careful not to ask any one into his box, or even to exchange a word with +any of the people he knew.</p> + +<p>From the time the curtain was drawn up until the opera ended, Leone was +in a trance. Quite suddenly she had entered this new and beautiful world +of music and art—a world so bright and dazzling that it bewildered her.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos watched her with keen delight—her lustrous eyes, the +intense face, the parted lips.</p> + +<p>The opera was one of the most beautiful—"Norma"—and the part of Norma +was taken by the greatest <i>prima donna</i> of her time. Leone's eyes filled +with tears as those passionate reproaches were sung; she knew nothing of +the language, but the music was full of eloquence for her. She turned +suddenly to her husband; her whole soul seemed awake and thrilling with +dramatic instinct.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said in a low voice, "I could do that; I do not mean that I +could sing so well, but I could feel the jealousy she feels. I could +utter those reproaches. Something seems to have awoke in my soul that +never lived before; it is all new to me, yet I understand it all; my +heart is on fire as I listen."</p> + +<p>"And you have enjoyed it?" he said, when the curtain fell on the last +grand scene.</p> + +<p>She answered him with a low sigh of perfect content.</p> + +<p>So it was that to her her wedding-day became the most marked day of her +life, for on it she awoke to the knowledge of the world of art and +music.</p> + +<p>There was nothing for it but to remain at the hotel.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos merely laughed at the notion of his parents holding out +against him. He was wonderfully sanguine.</p> + +<p>"We shall hear the carriage stop some fine morning," he said, "and they +will be here to seek a reconciliation."</p> + +<p>He laughed when the waiter gave him my lady's letter; he turned +triumphantly to his wife.</p> + +<p>"This is from my mother," he said; "I knew she would relent, it is +probably to ask us to Cawdor."</p> + +<p>But as he read it his face changed; the smile and the triumph died from +it. He said no word to Leone, but tore the letter into shreds. She +looked on with a wistful face.</p> + +<p>"Is it from your mother, Lance?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"My darling, do not trouble about them; you are all the world to me. +They will not forgive me; but it does not matter. I am proud of what I +have done. I am quite independent. I shall take a pretty little villa at +Richmond, and we shall live there until they come to their senses."</p> + +<p>"That will be giving up all the world for me," she said.</p> + +<p>"The world will be well lost, Leone. We will go to-morrow and find a +pretty little house where we shall be quite happy. Remember one thing +always—that my mother will love you when she sees you."</p> + +<p>"Then let her see me now, Lance, at once," she cried, eagerly, "if you +think so. Why wait? I should be more happy than any one else in the +world if you would do that."</p> + +<p>"It is too soon yet," he replied; "all will be right in time."</p> + +<p>She wished that he had offered to show her his mother's letter; but she +did not like to ask what the contents were.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos dare not tell her, besides which he laughed in scorn at the +idea. They might threaten as they would; but he felt quite certain there +was no power on earth which could set aside his marriage, therefore he +should not trouble himself about it. He would go to Richmond and look +out for a house there.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>A PERFECTLY HAPPY WOMAN.</h3> + + +<p>"They would never dare do it," Lord Chandos repeated to himself with a +laugh of contempt. Set his marriage aside. They were mad to think of +such a thing.</p> + +<p>From time to time strange-looking documents came to him; he thrust them +aside without even looking at them. He only laughed at the notion. Part +him from Leone. It was not in the power of any one on earth to do it. He +never mentioned the matter to Leone at all; it was not worth while to +disturb her.</p> + +<p>They had been to Richmond, and had found there a villa so beautiful it +seemed to have been built for them—a quaint, picturesque, old English +house, full of pretty nooks and corners, with large latticed windows, +over which roses and jasmine hung in abundance; a smooth, green lawn on +which stood a superb cedar-tree; beautiful grounds that reached down to +the river. The views from the windows were superb. It was worth anything +to stand on that green lawn and watch the sunset on the Thames.</p> + +<p>Leone was delighted with it; she had never dreamed of a home so +beautiful. Lord Chandos furnished it with the utmost luxury, and there +the first few happy months of their life was spent. Lord Chandos did not +wish exactly that his marriage should be kept secret, but he did not +want it known to the world in general until his mother was willing to +introduce and receive his wife.</p> + +<p>To Leone that life that opened to her was like a heaven on earth; her +husband surrounded her with "kind observances;" he purchased for her a +wardrobe that was a marvel of beauty and elegance; he found a French +lady's-maid, who understood all the duties of the toilet. What was more, +he had the best masters in London to instruct her. Her voice was one of +the finest ever heard, her taste for music so great that she was soon +proficient.</p> + +<p>He taught her himself to ride. There was one thing singular, every +master who attended her was aware of a great hidden power within her, +they said among each other that she was something wonderful—that the +world would hear of her some day. There was an innate sense of power, a +grand dramatic instinct, a keen sense of everything beautiful, noble and +great. There were times when an electric flash of genius made them +marvel.</p> + +<p>"It is a thousand pities," said the music-master to himself, "that she +has married a nobleman. If she had been dependent on her own exertions, +I could have made her one of the finest singers in the world."</p> + +<p>Again, the drawing-master said:</p> + +<p>"If I had the training of Lady Chandos I would make her the finest +artist in England."</p> + +<p>None of them had discovered the real secret of her genius, or what was +the true fire that every now and then seemed to brighten them all as it +flashed over them.</p> + +<p>A few weeks completely changed her; she had that keen, quick insight +into everything, that wondrous tact and intelligence which make some +women seem as though they were magicians.</p> + +<p>When she went first to River View, she had some traces of her rustic +training. Before six weeks had passed over it had all disappeared. Lord +Chandos himself had taught her; her intonation and accent were clear and +refined, her words well chosen, her expressions always poetical and full +of grace; no one meeting her then could have told that she had spent her +life in the rural shades of Rashleigh.</p> + +<p>New beauty came to her with this development of mind; new, spiritual, +poetical loveliness; and Lord Chandos, looking at his peerless young +wife, felt always quite confident that when his mother saw her all would +be well—she would be proud of her.</p> + +<p>While Leone seemed to have gone straight to heaven, she could not +realize that this was the same life she rebelled against with such +fierce rebellion. Now the days were not long enough to hold in them all +the happiness that fell to her share. The birds woke her with their +singing; the sun with its shining; another beautiful day had dawned for +her—a day that was full of beauty and love. They passed like a dream.</p> + +<p>She took breakfast always with her husband; perhaps the happiest hour of +the day was that. The windows of the pretty breakfast-room looked over a +wilderness of flowers; the windows were always open. The soft, sweet +summer air came in, parting the long, white curtains, bringing with it +the breath of roses and the odor of a hundred flowers.</p> + +<p>She looked as fresh and fair as the morning itself. Lord Chandos +wondered more and more at her radiant loveliness. Her soul was awake +now, and looked out of her dark eyes into the world she found so +beautiful.</p> + +<p>Then Lord Chandos went up to town for a few hours, while Leone took her +different lessons and studied. They met again at lunch, and they spent +the afternoon out-of-doors. An ideal life—an idyl in itself. Leone, +while she lived, retained a vivid remembrance of those afternoons, of +the shade of the deep woods, of the ripple of the river through the +green banks, of the valleys where flowers and ferns grew, of the long +alleys where the pleasant shade made a perfect paradise. She remembered +them—the golden glow, the fragrance, the music of them, remained with +her until she died. All the most pleasant times of our lives are dreams.</p> + +<p>Then they dined together; and in the evening Lord Chandos took his +beautiful young wife to the opera or the play, to concert or lecture.</p> + +<p>"As soon as I am of age," he would say, "I shall take you on the +Continent; there is no education we get like that we get by traveling +one year on the Continent; and you will be at home on every subject, +Leone," he would say; and Leone longed for the time to come.</p> + +<p>"When I am of age," was his universal cry.</p> + +<p>When Leone expressed any anxiety or sorrow over his separation from his +parents, he would laugh and answer:</p> + +<p>"Never mind, my darling, it will be all right when I am of age. Never +mind, darling, you will have my mother asking for the pleasure of +knowing you then—the tables will be turned; let the great world once +see you, and you will be worshiped for your beauty, your grace, and your +talent."</p> + +<p>She looked wistfully at him.</p> + +<p>"Do they love beauty so much in your world, Lance?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes, as a rule, a beautiful face has a wonderful influence. I have +known women without a tithe of your beauty, Leone, rise from quite +third-rate society to find a place among the most exclusive and noblest +people in the land. Your face would win for you, darling, an entrance +anywhere."</p> + +<p>"The only thing I want my face to do," she said, "is to please your +mother."</p> + +<p>"And that, when she sees it, it is quite sure to do," replied the +lover-husband.</p> + +<p>"Lance," said Lady Chandos, "what shall we do if your parents will +neither forgive us nor see us?"</p> + +<p>"It will be very uncomfortable," said Lord Chandos; "but we shall have +to bear it. It will not much matter so far as worldly matters are +concerned; when I am of age I shall have a separate and very handsome +fortune of my own. My mother will soon want to know you when you become +the fashion—as you will, Leone."</p> + +<p>So she dismissed the future from her mind. She would not think of it. +She had blind reliance, blind confidence in her husband; he seemed so +carelessly happy and indifferent she could not think there was anything +vitally wrong. She was so unutterably happy, so wonderfully, thoroughly +happy. Her life was a poem, the sweetest love-story ever written or +sung.</p> + +<p>"Why am I so happy?" she would ask herself at times; "why has Heaven +given me so much? all I ever asked for—love and happiness?"</p> + +<p>She did not know how to be grateful enough.</p> + +<p>One morning in autumn, a warm, beautiful morning, when the sun shone on +the rich red and brown foliage—they were out together on the fair +river—the tide was rising and the boat floated lazily on the stream. +Lady Chandos wore a beautiful dress of amber and black that suited her +dark, brilliant beauty to perfection. She lay back among the velvet +cushions, smiling as her eyes lingered on the sky, the trees, the +stream.</p> + +<p>"You look very happy, Leone," said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"I am very happy," she replied. "I wrote to my uncle yesterday, Lance. I +should like to send him a box filled with everything he likes best."</p> + +<p>"You shall, if it pleases you, my darling," he answered.</p> + +<p>She leaned over the side of the boat watching the water, drawing her +hand through the clear stream.</p> + +<p>"Happy," she repeated, rather to herself than to him; "I can safely say +this, that I have had so much happiness since I have been here that if I +were wretched all my life afterward I should still have had far more +happiness than falls to the lot of many people."</p> + +<p>She remembered those words in after years; and she owned to herself that +they had been most perfectly true.</p> + +<p>The few months passed at River View had been most perfectly happy—no +shade of care had come over her, no doubt, no fear—nothing that chilled +the warmth of her love, nothing that marred its perfect trust. In some +lives there comes a pause of silent, intense bliss just before the +storm, even as the wind rests before the hurricane.</p> + +<p>"You make me very proud, Leone," said Lord Chandos, "when you tell me of +your happiness; I can only say may it be like the light of heaven, +eternal."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>"TRUE UNTIL DEATH."</h3> + + +<p>For some long months that case stood on the records. Every paper in +England had some mention of it; as a rule people laughed when they read +anything about it. They said it was a case of Corydon and Phyllis, a +dairy-maid's love, a farce, a piece of romantic nonsense on the part of +a young nobleman who ought to know better. It created no sensation; the +papers did not make much of it; they simply reported a petition on the +part of the Right Honorable the Earl of Lanswell and Lucia, his wife, +that the so-called marriage contracted by their son, Lancelot, Lord +Chandos, should be set aside as illegal, on account of his being a +minor, and having married without their consent.</p> + +<p>There was a long hearing, a long consideration, a long lawsuit; and it +was, as every one had foreseen it would be, in favor of the earl against +his son. The marriage was declared null and void—the contract illegal; +there could be no legal marriage on Lord Chandos' side without the full +and perfect consent of his parents.</p> + +<p>When that decision was given, Lady Lanswell smiled. Mr. Sewell +congratulated her on it. My lady smiled again.</p> + +<p>"I may thank the law," she said, "which frees my son from the +consequences of his own folly."</p> + +<p>"Remember," said the lawyer, "that he can marry her, my lady, when he +comes of age."</p> + +<p>"I know perfectly well that he will not," replied the countess; but Mr. +Sewell did not feel so sure.</p> + +<p>The earl, the countess, and the solicitor sat together at Dunmore House, +in solemn consultation; they were quite uncertain what should be the +next step taken. Due legal notice had been given Lord Chandos; he had +simply torn the paper into shreds and laughed at it—laughed at the idea +that any law, human or divine, could separate him from his young wife; +he took no notice of it; he never appeared in answer to any inquiry or +summons; he answered no questions; the lawyer into whose hands he had +half laughingly placed the whole matter had everything to do for him, +and wondered at the recklessness with which the young lord treated the +whole affair.</p> + +<p>It was all over now; and the decree which had parted them, which severed +the tie between them, had gone forth—the marriage was void and worth +nothing.</p> + +<p>The matrons of Belgravia who read it said it was perfectly right; there +was no doubt that he had been inveigled into it; and if such a thing +were allowed to go unpunished there would be no more safety for their +curled darlings; they would be at the mercy of any designing, underbred +girl who chose to angle for them.</p> + +<p>Men of the world smiled as they read it, and thought Lord Chandos well +out of what might have been a very serious trouble. Young people thought +little about it; the Belgravian belles merely said one to another that +Lord Chandos had been in some kind of trouble, but that his parents had +extricated him. And then all comment ended; even the second day after +the judgment was given it had been forgotten.</p> + +<p>When the Countess of Lanswell held in her hands the letter which told +her the desire of her heart was granted, and her son free, for a few +moments she was startled; her handsome face paled, her hands trembled; +it had been a desperate step, but she had won. She had the greatest +faith in her own resources; she felt a certain conviction that in the +end she would win; but for one moment she was half startled at her own +success.</p> + +<p>"Let us send for Lance here to Cawdor," she said to the earl, "while Mr. +Sewell sees the girl and arranges with her. He must have <i>carte blanche</i> +over money matters; whatever he thinks fit to mention I shall agree to. +If a thousand a year contents her, I am willing."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—it is no question of money," said the earl. "It will be a +great trouble to her naturally, and we are bound to make what +compensation we can. If you wish me to send for Lance I will do so at +once. I will send a telegram from the station at Dunmore; he will be +here soon after noon."</p> + +<p>There had been little or no communication between the young heir and his +parents since the lawsuit began. Once or twice Lord Chandos and the earl +had met; but the earl always refused to discuss matters with him.</p> + +<p>"You must talk to my lady, my dear boy," he would reply; "you know that +she manages everything;" and Lord Chandos, fearing no evil, laughed at +what he considered an amiable weakness on his father's part.</p> + +<p>"I love my wife," he said to himself, "but no woman should ever be so +completely mistress of me. I shall always keep my independence, even +though I love my wife perhaps better than any man living; but I will +never give up my independence."</p> + +<p>He was somewhat startled that morning in September to find a telegram +waiting him at River View, from Cawdor, stating that Lord Lanswell +wished him to take the first train, as he had news of the utmost +importance to him. Lady Lanswell, who was a most complete woman of the +world, had warily contrived that a piece of real good fortune should at +the same time fall to his lot. She had great influence at court, and she +had used it to some purpose. There was a royal wedding on the Continent, +and he was one of the two English noblemen chosen as the representatives +of English royalty. There could be no refusal of such an honor, Lady +Lanswell knew that; and she, knowing that Lord Chandos would be +delighted over it, had used all her influence, hoping that it would +distract his attention from the decision given and from his wife. She +had arranged a little programme in her mind—how it should all be +managed; she would send a telegram summoning him to Cawdor; she would +first show him the letter of appointment, induce him to answer by +accepting it, then when the letter accepting the appointment had gone, +and he was committed beyond recall, she would tell him the judicial +decision over his marriage.</p> + +<p>The telegram reached River View one morning when Lord Chandos and Leone +sat at a late breakfast-table, Leone looking like a radiant spring +morning, her beautiful face, with its exquisite coloring, and her dainty +dress of amber and white.</p> + +<p>"A telegram," she said. "Oh, Lance, how I dread the sight of those +yellow envelopes; they always fill me with horror; they always seem to +be the harbinger of bad news."</p> + +<p>He kissed the beautiful face before he opened the telegram.</p> + +<p>"There is no very bad news here," he said. "I must go to Cawdor at once; +my father has some very important news for me."</p> + +<p>Some instinct seemed to warn her of coming danger; she rose from her +seat and went over to him; she laid her tender arms round his neck; she +laid her beautiful face on his.</p> + +<p>"It means harm to us, Lance," she said; "I am sure of it."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, my darling," he cried; "how can it be about us? Most likely +there is a general election, or some business of that kind coming on, +and he wants to see me about it."</p> + +<p>Still the beautiful face grew paler, and the shadows deepened in the +dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"Shall you go at once?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>"The train starts at twelve," he said. "I must go in half an hour's +time, Leone."</p> + +<p>"Half an hour," she said, and the tender hands clasped him more tightly, +"only half an hour, Lance?"</p> + +<p>Some prophetic instinct seemed to come over her; the passionate love on +her beautiful face deepened into tragedy; yet he had never breathed one +word to her of what had taken place. She knew nothing of the lawsuit; +and Lord Chandos never intended her to know anything about it; but with +the chill of that autumn morning came a chill of doubt and fear such as +she had never known before.</p> + +<p>"How long shall you be away?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Not one moment longer than I am compelled to stay," he replied. "If my +father really wants to see me on election affairs I may be absent two +days; trust me, Leone; the first moment I am free I shall return;" and +drawing her beautiful face down to his own the young husband kissed it +with passionate devotion, little dreaming of what lay before him.</p> + +<p>"Only half an hour," said Leone. "Oh, Lance, let me spend it with you. I +will order your portmanteau to be packed; my dear, do not let me leave +you for one moment."</p> + +<p>She drew a little stool and sat down at his feet.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed.</p> + +<p>"One would think we were lovers still."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with that wonderful expression of face, so earnest, so +intent, so lofty.</p> + +<p>"So we are," she said; "we will be lovers until we die; shall we not, +Lance?"</p> + +<p>"I hope so; but we shall be unlike most married people, Leone, if we do +that," he replied.</p> + +<p>"I will not believe you," she answered. "You laugh, sometimes, Lance, at +love; but I am sure if I were your wife for fifty years you would never +tire of me or love me less."</p> + +<p>"I never wish to do so," he replied.</p> + +<p>"You never will," said Leone, "my faith is as strong as my love, and you +have it all. I could rather believe now that the heavens would fall over +my head than you could ever for one moment forget me."</p> + +<p>"I shall never forget you, sweet," he said; "this is the first time we +have ever been parted since we have been married; you must not be sad +and lonely, Leone."</p> + +<p>"I shall spend all my time in thinking of your return," she said. +"Lance, it will comfort me all the time you are away; you will say some +of those beautiful words I love to hear."</p> + +<p>He took both her white hands in his.</p> + +<p>"My darling," he said, "I love you with all my heart, and I will be true +to you until death."</p> + +<p>The sweetness of the words seemed to content her for a time; she laid +her face on his hands for some minutes in wistful silence.</p> + +<p>"Leone," said the rich, cheerful voice of the young earl, "I have an +idea that I will bring you good news from home. My father would not have +sent for me unless he wanted me, and I shall make a bargain with him. If +he wants me to do anything, I shall consent only on condition that I +take you to Cawdor."</p> + +<p>They talked of it for some minutes; then Leone rose and busied herself +for some time in helping him—her face was pale and her hands trembled. +When the moment came for him to say good-bye he held her in his arms.</p> + +<p>"Once again," she whispered.</p> + +<p>And he answered:</p> + +<p>"My darling wife, I love you, and will be true to you until death."</p> + +<p>And those were the last words that for some time she heard him speak.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>AN EXCITING INTERVIEW.</h3> + + +<p>Lady Lanswell looked somewhat startled when her son entered the room. +During those few months of his married life he had altered much; he +looked taller and stronger; the handsome face was covered with a golden +beard and mustache; he looked quite three years older than before his +marriage.</p> + +<p>He was a handsome stripling when his mother kissed him and sent him, +with many injunctions as to study, to Dr. Hervey's, a handsome +stripling, with golden down on his lip, and the hue of a ripe peach on +his face; now he was a man of the world, assured, confident, easy in his +carriage and bearing.</p> + +<p>He looked at his mother with half-defiance, half-amusement in his eyes.</p> + +<p>The strong, handsome woman, whose brave nature had never known fear, +trembled for one moment when she remembered what she had to tell her +son.</p> + +<p>He bent down to kiss her, and for one moment her heart relented to her +son. She steeled herself with the recollection that what she had done +was for his benefit.</p> + +<p>"I have good news for you, Lance," she said, with her stately grace; +"very excellent news."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it, mother," replied Lord Chandos, thinking to +himself how much more this interview resembled that of a queen and a +crown prince than of mother and son.</p> + +<p>"You have traveled quickly and would probably like some refreshment—you +would like a glass of Madeira?"</p> + +<p>The truth was that her ladyship herself, with all her courage, felt that +she required some artificial stimulant—the courage and pride of the +proudest woman in England ebbed; she feared what she had to say.</p> + +<p>"An honor has been bestowed on you," she said, "one which would make any +peer in England proud."</p> + +<p>His face brightened—he was keenly susceptible to the flattery implied +in his mother's words.</p> + +<p>"You have been asked, together with Lord Dunferline, to represent our +gracious sovereign at the marriage of the Princess Caroline at +Hempsburg. Such an invitation, I need not tell you, is equivalent to a +royal command."</p> + +<p>"I know it, mother, and I am delighted," he said, wondering in his own +mind if he should be able to take Leone with him.</p> + +<p>"The notice is rather short," continued the countess; "but that is owing +to some delay on the part of Lord Dunferline. I hear that you are the +envy of every man at the club. You will have to leave England for +Germany in three days; to-morrow you must be at the palace. I +congratulate you, Lance; it is very seldom that a man so young as you +receives so signal a favor."</p> + +<p>He knew it, and was proud accordingly; yet he said to himself that Leone +must go with him; he could not live without Leone.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell continued:</p> + +<p>"Your father is delighted over it; I cannot tell you how pleased he is."</p> + +<p>Then Lord Chandos looked wonderingly around.</p> + +<p>"Where is my father?" he said. "I have not seen him yet."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell knew that he would not see him. The earl had fled +ignominiously; he had declined to be present at the grand fracas between +his wife and his son; he had left it all in my lady's hands.</p> + +<p>"Your father had some business that took him away this morning; he knew +that I could say for him all that he had to say."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos smiled, and the smile was not, perhaps, the most respectful +in the world. My lady did not observe it.</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure," he said, "that you can interpret all my father's +ideas."</p> + +<p>It was then, with her son's handsome face smiling down on her, that the +countess grew pale and laid her hand, with instinctive fear, on the +papers spread before her. She nerved herself for the struggle; it would +never do to give way.</p> + +<p>"I have other news for you, Lance," she said, and he looked with clear, +bright, defiant eyes in her face.</p> + +<p>She drew herself to her full height, as though the very attitude gave +the greatest strength; there was no bend, no yielding in her. Stern, +erect, proud, she looked full in her son's face; it was as though they +were measuring their strength one against the other.</p> + +<p>"I have never said to you, Lance, what I thought of this wretched +mistake you call your marriage," she began; "my contempt and indignation +were too great that you should dare to give the grand old name you bear +to a dairy-maid."</p> + +<p>Leone's beautiful Spanish face flashed before him, and he laughed at the +word dairy-maid; she was peerless as a queen.</p> + +<p>"Dare is not the word to use to a man, mother," he retorted.</p> + +<p>"Nor should I use it to a man," said my lady, with a satirical smile. "I +am not speaking to a man, but to a hot-headed boy; a man has +self-control, self-denial, self-restraint, you have none; a man weighs +the honor of his name or his race in his hands; a man hesitates before +he degrades a name that kings have delighted to honor, before he ruins +hopelessly the prestige of a grand old race for the sake of a +dairy-maid. You, a hot-headed, foolish boy, have done all this; +therefore, I repeat that I am not speaking to a man."</p> + +<p>"You use strong language, mother," he said.</p> + +<p>"I feel strongly; my contempt is strong," she said. "I know not why so +great a humiliation should have fallen on me as that my son—the son of +whom I was proud—should be the first to bring shame on his name."</p> + +<p>"I have brought no shame on it, mother," he said, angrily.</p> + +<p>"No shame!" said the countess, bitterly. "I can read, fancy, the short +annals of the Lanswells—'Hubert, Earl Lanswell, died while fighting +loyally for his king and his country; Ross, Earl Lanswell, was famed for +political services; Lancelot, Earl Lanswell, married a dairy-maid.' I +would rather," she cried, with flashing eyes, "that you had died in your +childhood, than lived to bring such bitter shame on a loyal race."</p> + +<p>His face grew pale with anger, as the bitter words were hurled at him.</p> + +<p>"Will you understand, once for all, mother, that I have <i>not</i> married a +dairy-maid?" he cried. "My wife is a wonder of beauty; she is dainty and +lovely as a princess. Only see her, you would change your opinion at +once."</p> + +<p>"I hope never to do that. As for seeing her, I shall never so far lose +my own self-respect as to allow such a person to speak to me."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos shook his head with a rueful smile.</p> + +<p>"If you had ever seen Leone, mother, you would laugh at the idea of +calling her a person," he said.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell moved her hand with a gesture of superb pride.</p> + +<p>"Nay, do not continue the subject. If the girl was not actually a +dairy-maid, in all probability she was not far removed from it. I have +no wish to discuss the question. You have stained the hitherto stainless +name of your family by the wretched mistake you call a marriage."</p> + +<p>"I do not <i>call</i> it a marriage; it <i>is</i> one," he said.</p> + +<p>And then my lady's face grew even paler.</p> + +<p>"It is not one. I thank Heaven that the law of the land is just and +good; that it very properly refuses to recognize the so-called marriage +of a hot-headed boy. You have ignored our letters on the subject, you +have laughed at all threats, treated with disdain all advice; now you +will find your level. The judicial decree has been pronounced; the +marriage you have talked of with such bravado is no marriage; the woman +you have insulted me by mentioning is not your wife."</p> + +<p>She neither trembled nor faltered when he turned to her with a white, +set face.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me; I must speak plainly; that which you have said is a lie!"</p> + +<p>"You forget yourself, Lord Chandos," she said, with cold dignity.</p> + +<p>"You force me to use words I do not like, mother," he cried "Why do you +irritate me—why say those things?"</p> + +<p>"They are perfectly true; here on the table lie the papers relative to +the suit; the judicial opinion has been pronounced; our petition is +granted, and your marriage, as you choose to call it, is set aside, is +pronounced illegal, null, void!"</p> + +<p>The fierce, white anger of his face startled her.</p> + +<p>"It shall not be!" he cried.</p> + +<p>"It must be," she repeated; "you cannot prevent it. You must have been +singularly devoid of penetration and knowledge not to know from the +first that it must be decided against you; that no minor can marry +without the consent of his parents. A wise law it is, too; there would +soon be an end of the aristocracy of England if every hot-headed, +foolish boy of nineteen could marry without the consent of his parents +or guardian."</p> + +<p>If his antagonist had been a man, there would have been hot, angry +words, perhaps blows; as it was, to a lady, and that lady his mother, he +could say nothing. He sunk back with a white face and clinched hands; +his mother resolutely stifled all pity, and went on, in her clear voice:</p> + +<p>"The law has decided for us against you; you know now the truth. If you +have any respect for that unfortunate girl, you will not see her again; +she is not your wife, she is not married to you. I need not speak more +plainly; you know what relationship she will hold to you if you do not +leave her at once."</p> + +<p>The handsome face had in these five minutes grown quite haggard and +worn.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he cried; "I refuse to believe it, I refuse to believe one +word of it!"</p> + +<p>With her clear, pitiless voice, she went on telling him what would +happen.</p> + +<p>"You have one resource," she said, "and I tell you quite honestly about +it; when you are of age you can remarry this person if you wish."</p> + +<p>He sprung from his seat with a cry of wounded pain and love.</p> + +<p>"Mother, is it really true?" he asked. "I married that young girl before +Heaven, and you tell me that if I persist in returning to her she loses +her fair name! If it be so, you have done a very cruel thing."</p> + +<p>"It is so," said my lady, coldly. "I grant that it seems cruel, but +better that than tarnish the name of a whole race."</p> + +<p>"I shall remarry Leone, mother, the day after I am twenty-one," he said.</p> + +<p>The countess raised her eyebrows.</p> + +<p>"The same man does not often make a simpleton of himself in the same +fashion, but if you will do it, you will. For the present, if you have +any regard for the person who is not your wife, you will let her go home +again. I will return and talk over your journey with you."</p> + +<p>So saying, the Countess of Lanswell quitted the room, leaving her son +overwhelmed with a sense of defeat.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>LEONE'S DETERMINATION.</h3> + + +<p>Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, stood alone in the superb drawing-room at +Cawdor. It was evening, one of the warmest and brightest in September. +Nearly three months had passed since the fatal marriage which had +grieved and distressed her, and now she fondly hoped all her distress +was ended. The decree had gone forth that the marriage was null and +void; was, in fact, no marriage, Lord Chandos being under age when it +was contracted. She said to herself all was null now. True, her son was +in a most furious rage, and he had gone to consult half the lawyers in +London, but she did not care for that; he was sure to rage and rave; he +was a spoiled child, who never in his life had been contradicted or +thwarted. The more angry he was the better; she knew by experience the +hotter the fire the more quickly it burns away. Had he been cool, calm, +collected and silent she would have dreaded the after consequences.</p> + +<p>"He will exhaust himself with furious words," she said to herself with a +slow smile. "When he has done that, all danger will be over."</p> + +<p>She had smiled when she heard of his rapid journeys, his fierce +denunciations, his violent invectives, his repeated oaths that no power +on earth should take him from his young wife.</p> + +<p>She had smiled when the earl, whose conscience was more tender than her +own, had said over and over again that it was a terrible thing to set +aside a marriage, to call a religious ceremony null and void. He would +not have done it himself, but my lady had firm nerves, and a will of +iron; nothing daunted her. She laughed at his persuasions and arguments. +She told him the day would come on which he would thank Heaven that the +honor of his name and race had been saved from destruction. My lady was +triumphant. Knowing her son was spending his whole time in these +journeys, she had requested Mr. Sewell himself to go to the pretty +little villa at Richmond, to see the young wife himself, and tell her +the truth about the marriage; to speak what she was pleased to call +plain English to her; to tell her that in the eyes of the law and of all +honest, honorable men she was not his wife; that every hour she called +herself by his name, or lived under his roof, added to her disgrace and +increased her shame.</p> + +<p>"You can tell her," said my lady, with ill-concealed contempt, "that +next June he will be twenty-one, and then he can please himself; he can +remarry her if he will; no one then will have the least control over +him; he will be his own master and can do as he likes. In all +probability," she continued, "the girl will please herself with fanciful +ideas about his being true to her; do not contradict her if she believes +it—she will part from him more easily; but, believe me, my son will +never return to her—never!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Sewell had tried in vain to escape the interview; he was neither +particularly tender of heart nor given to sentiment, but he shrunk from +seeing the young girl who called herself Lady Chandos; he shrunk from +telling her the truth; but my lady was inexorable; he must do it, and no +one else.</p> + +<p>He did it, but until the day of his death he never forgot it; he could +not bear to think of it, and he never mentioned it. Until the day of his +death he was haunted by a beautiful, passionate face, white with +terrible despair.</p> + +<p>He was compelled to speak in what my lady called plain English, or she +would never have understood him. She could not understand in the least +why the fact of Lord Chandos being under twenty-one should make her +marriage null and void; illegal, because contracted without his parents' +consent. She had turned to him with flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>"Are the laws of England all framed for the convenience of the rich?" +she asked.</p> + +<p>And, proud as he was of his legal knowledge, the lawyer had hesitated +before the fire of her question.</p> + +<p>She understood at last—she saw what Mr. Sewell called the justice of +the case—the reasons why such a law was needful, and she knew that she +was not the lawful wife of Lancelot, Lord Chandos. She looked into the +stern face of her companion with eyes filled with awful despair.</p> + +<p>"He did not know it," she said; "only tell me that, and I shall be +happier. He did not know it?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. Sewell; "I am quite sure that Lord Chandos was ignorant +of the fact—it never occurred to him; if it had done so, he would have +deferred his marriage until he came of age."</p> + +<p>"I shall take some comfort in that," she said, slowly. "If he has erred, +it has been done in ignorance and innocence. You say that the wrong can +be righted next June; that he can marry me then without the consent of +either of his parents."</p> + +<p>"Certainly he can," replied the lawyer.</p> + +<p>Something of the shock of despair passed from her face as he uttered +these words. She folded her arms over her breast with the repressed +passion of a tragedy queen.</p> + +<p>"Then I have no fear," she said. "Were the time twice as long, the +cruelty twice as great, the law twice as strong, he would return to me +true and faithful, as he loves me. You can tell his mother that."</p> + +<p>"I will," said Mr. Sewell, relieved to see some of the horror fall from +her face.</p> + +<p>She would not discuss her future arrangements with him. Lady Lanswell +was anxious that she should take a large sum of money and return home. +She looked at him with the dignity of an outraged queen.</p> + +<p>"Before Heaven, and in my own eyes, Lord Chandos is my husband," she +said, with calm dignity; "and with him only will I discuss my future. +You can tell his mother that also. No other creature living shall +interfere with my fate or destiny."</p> + +<p>She tried hard—and she was a woman of wonderful resource—she tried +hard to keep her dignity, not to fail or falter before him, the cold +emissary of that cruel mother; but unutterable woe looked out of her +eyes at him, her white face had on it the passion of despair, her voice +the ring of anguish, the small white hands on which the wedding-ring +shone, trembled like leaves stirred in the summer wind; the very +repression of her passionate despair made it seem more terrible. He +clearly explained to her her position at last, she must consent to an +immediate separation from Lord Chandos; she must give up his name, leave +the shelter of his roof, or men and women, too, would brand her with the +scarlet letter—would look on her as one lost and dead to all sense of +honor.</p> + +<p>"You will see for yourself," added the lawyer, "that the wisest and best +plan is for you to go away at once—this very day even—then you will +stand a better chance when next June comes. Even one more day spent +under this roof would be fatal to your character and reputation. You +must go at once."</p> + +<p>Once more she raised her despairing eyes to him. Her voice trembled as +though it were all tears.</p> + +<p>"Tell me," she said, gently, "has this been done by Lady Lanswell's +desire more than by the earl's?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I believe it is so," he said.</p> + +<p>Leone continued:</p> + +<p>"If the countess relented now, and gave her consent, could we be legally +married at once?"</p> + +<p>"If the earl and countess consent you could be remarried to-day. Nothing +is wanted but their permission."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, gently. Then with pathos and dignity that touched +him greatly she held out her hand to him. "I do not blame you for the +message you have brought," she said; "the fault lies with Lady Lanswell +and the English law, not with you. You have fulfilled your mission as +kindly as you could. I forgive you what you have done and what you have +said."</p> + +<p>The white lips closed firmly, no other sound came from them, but Mr. +Sewell looked back as he closed the door, and she lay then with her face +on the floor. He did not go to her; he thought it was better to leave +her alone. He said to himself, as he quitted the house, that not for all +the wealth of the Lanswells would he pass through another such scene.</p> + +<p>The hour came in which she raised her face once again to the sunlight, +and tried to realize what had happened. She had risen that morning the +happiest girl in all England, her only anxiety being to make herself +more beautiful than ever in her husband's eyes. The morning itself was +not more fresh and fair; everything had been <i>couleur de rose</i>.</p> + +<p>Her husband, as she believed him, thought so little of the quarrel with +his parents that she had imbibed his careless, happy ideas about it. +There was no cloud in her sky, no doubt in her heart; now her heart was +full of despair. She looked at the blue September sky, and asked herself +if it were possible to realize what had happened. She was dazed, +stunned, as though some one had struck her a violent blow. She went out +of the pretty drawing-room where she had heard what seemed to her her +death-warrant. She opened her white lips to breathe the pure, fresh air +of heaven.</p> + +<p>As she stood there panting for breath, one of the servants came to her, +holding a letter in her hand. Leone opened it. The few hastily-written +lines were from her husband. They said, simply:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My Darling,</span>—I shall not be able to return home to-day. I have +some disagreeable business in town, of which I will tell you more +anon. I shall be at home for luncheon to-morrow. Believe me, always +your loving husband,</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Lance.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>She looked at the word "husband" until the letters seemed to burn like +fire. He had signed himself her husband. Ah, then, it was quite plain +that he neither believed, or, perhaps, had not even heard, of what had +been done. As she stood there with the fading boughs of a spreading tree +over her head, the words came to her again and again:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Those vows were all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She seemed once more to hear the falling of the waters. Would the vows +made to her ever be broken? Ah, no! a thousand times no!</p> + +<p>She would go to his mother and appeal to her. A woman must, of course, +be merciful to a woman. She would go herself and appeal to Lucia, +Countess of Lanswell.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>"I WOULD RATHER SEE MY SON DEAD."</h3> + + +<p>The countess stood alone in the drawing-room. The sun was setting over +the trees in the park, and a warm glow filled the beautiful room with +rosy light—a light that fell on costly pictures, on marble statues, on +buhl and jasper, on silver and gold, on mirrors and flowers, whose +fragrance was delicious even to breathe, but it fell on my lady's proud +face and figure as though it liked best to linger there.</p> + +<p>The dressing-bell had not rung, and she, waiting for it, had fallen into +a reverie. She was sure she had done right, yet, without doubt, the girl +would feel it keenly. What matter? "Women must weep," it was part of +their lives. Whoever paused or cared for a woman's tears? Women had wept +before and would weep again. She looked round on the superb home where +she reigned mistress, and laughed with scorn as she tried to picture the +farmer's niece queen of these ancient walls.</p> + +<p>Right? Most certainly she had done right; let weak minds and weak hearts +think as they would. The golden sunset, the rosy clouds, the soft, sweet +song of the birds, the fragrance of the thousand blooming flowers, the +faint whisper of the odorous wind appealed to her in vain. What was a +bleeding heart and weeping eyes to her?</p> + +<p>Yet she was but a woman; and these sweet voices of nature could not +leave her quite unsoftened. She wondered where Lance was. She remembered +him a fair-haired, laughing, defiant boy, playing there under the trees +when the red light fell. She started suddenly when one of her +well-trained footmen opened the door, and said a lady wished to see her. +The countess looked at him in haughty vexation.</p> + +<p>"Why do you bring a message so vague? I see no lady who gives neither +card nor name."</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, my lady," said the man, humbly. "I did not forget. The +lady herself said you did not know her, but that her business was most +important."</p> + +<p>"You must say that I decline to see any one who gives neither name nor +card," said the countess. Then, seeing the man look both anxious and +undecided, she added, sharply: "Is it a lady?"</p> + +<p>He looked greatly relieved.</p> + +<p>"It is, my lady. She is young and beautiful," he would have added, if he +had dared.</p> + +<p>"You would surely be able to discriminate between a lady and—a person +of any other description?" said the countess.</p> + +<p>The man bowed.</p> + +<p>"The lady wishes me to add that her business was of great importance, +and that she had traveled some distance to see you."</p> + +<p>"Show her in here," said the countess.</p> + +<p>The red light of the setting sun had moved then, and fell over her in +great gleams on her dark velvet dress, on her exquisite point lace, and +fine, costly gems. She looked regally proud, haughty, and unbending—the +type of an English aristocratic matron, true to her class, true to her +order, intolerant of any other. As she stood in the heart of the rosy +light the door opened, and this time the countess of Lanswell was +startled out of her calm. There entered the most beautiful girl she had +ever beheld—tall, slender, graceful, exquisitely dressed, moving with +the most perfect grace and harmony; her face like some grand, passionate +poem—a girl lovely as a houri, who walked up to her with serene and +queenly calm, saying:</p> + +<p>"Lady Lanswell, I am your son's wife."</p> + +<p>The countess, taken so entirely by surprise, looked long and keenly into +that beautiful face—looked at the clear, bright eyes, so full of fire +and passion—at the lovely, imperial mouth, and the whole face so full +of tragedy and beauty; then in a clear, distinct voice, she answered:</p> + +<p>"My son has no wife."</p> + +<p>Leone drew the glove from her left hand, holding it before my lady's +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Will you look at my wedding-ring?" she asked.</p> + +<p>A scornful smile played round my lady's lips.</p> + +<p>"I see a ring," she said, "but not a wedding-ring. There can be no +wedding-ring where there is no marriage."</p> + +<p>"Do you believe that marriages are known in Heaven?" Leone asked. "Do +you believe that if a marriage had been contracted in the presence of +Heaven, witnessed by the angels, do you suppose that a mere legal +quibble can set it aside?"</p> + +<p>"You choose your arguments badly," said the countess. "If you appeal to +Heaven, so can I. One of the greatest commandments given from there +says, 'Children, obey your parents.' My son is commanded by a divine +voice to obey me, and I forbid him to marry until he is of age."</p> + +<p>"You have not the power!" cried Leone.</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken; not only the power is mine, but I have used it. The +foolish ceremony you choose to call your marriage is already set aside."</p> + +<p>Leone drew one step nearer to her with flashing eyes.</p> + +<p>"You know that in your heart you cannot believe it. You cannot think +it," she cried. "You know that I am your son's wife. You have brought +the great strong arm of the law upon me. You have taken from me my +husband's name. Yet neither you, nor any human power can make me less +his wife. He married me," she continued, her eyes flashing, her face +flushing, "he married me before God, and I say that you cannot undo that +marriage. I defy you."</p> + +<p>"True, I could not undo it, but the law both can and has done so. +Half-educated young ladies, who wish to make such grand marriages, +should have common sense first. No youth under age, like my son, can +legally marry without the consent of his parents."</p> + +<p>The flush faded from the beautiful face, and gave place to a white +horror. Leone looked at the countess.</p> + +<p>"You do not surely think that I married your son for any other reason +except that I loved him?" she cried.</p> + +<p>"Pray, believe that I have never troubled myself in the least to think +of your motive," said my lady.</p> + +<p>"I loved him, Lady Lanswell, you could never know how much. You are +proud and haughty; you love a hundred things. I loved but him. I love +him with my whole heart and soul. If he had been a peasant, instead of +an earl, being what he is, I should have loved him just the same."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell's face darkened with scorn.</p> + +<p>"I am willing to listen to anything you may wish to say, but I beg of +you leave all such nonsense as love out of the discussion. You have +probably come to see me because you want money. Let us come to the point +at once."</p> + +<p>The pride that flushed the beautiful face of the girl startled the +haughty patrician who stood before her.</p> + +<p>"Money," cried Leone, "I have never thought of money. I do not +understand. Why should I want money from you?"</p> + +<p>To do her justice, the countess shrunk from the words.</p> + +<p>"I should suppose," she said, "that you will require some provision made +for you, now that you are leaving my son?"</p> + +<p>It was with difficulty that Leone controlled herself. Her whole frame +trembled with indignation. Then the color receded from her face and left +her white, silent, and motionless.</p> + +<p>"I have been too hard," thought the countess, "no one can suffer beyond +her strength."</p> + +<p>She motioned the girl to take a chair, sitting down herself for the +first time since the interview began. There was no feeling of pity in +her heart, but she felt there were certain things to be said, and the +best way would be to say them and have it all over.</p> + +<p>Leone did not obey. She stood silent for a few minutes. Then she said, +simply:</p> + +<p>"I would never take money from you, Lady Lanswell, not even if I were +dying of hunger. You do not like me; you are cruel to me."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell interrupted her with a superb gesture of scorn.</p> + +<p>"I could not possibly like or dislike you," she said; "you are less than +nothing to me. It was natural that I should think you came to me for +money. If that be not your object, may I ask what it is?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I will tell you. I thought, as you were a woman, I might appeal to +you."</p> + +<p>My lady smiled haughtily.</p> + +<p>"You are the first that has ever ventured to address me as a woman. What +appeal do you want to make to me?"</p> + +<p>The passion of despair seemed to die away from her. A great calm came +over her. She went up to Lady Lanswell, and knelt at her feet. The +countess would have given much for the power of moving away, but there +was that in the beautiful, colorless face raised to hers which compelled +her to listen.</p> + +<p>"I humble myself to you," pleaded the sweet voice. "I pray of you, who +are so great, so powerful, so mighty, to have pity upon your son and +upon me. One word from you will go so far; you can undo all that has +been done. If you will give your consent all will be well."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell looked at her in silent wonder. Leone went on:</p> + +<p>"I plead to you. I pray to you, because I love him so. In my heart I am +as proud as you, may be prouder; but I lay my pride under my feet, I +humble myself. I pray of you to take pity upon your son, and on myself. +I love him so well, he loves me too. Life would hold nothing for either +of us if we are parted. For the sake of all the love you have ever felt +for husband, father, brother, son—for God's sake, I pray you to take +pity on us, and do not separate us."</p> + +<p>The passionate torrent of words stopped for one minute; tears streamed +down the beautiful upraised face; then she went on:</p> + +<p>"I would do all that you wished me; I would try hard to improve myself; +I would work so hard and work so well that no one would even guess, ever +so faintly, that I belonged to a different class. I would be the most +devoted of daughters to you; I would live only to please you, I——"</p> + +<p>The countess held up her hand with a warning gesture.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she said; "you are talking the most arrant nonsense."</p> + +<p>But Leone this time would not be controlled. All the passion and love +within her seemed to find vent in the next few words. They might have +burned the lips which uttered them, but they fell unheeded on the ears +of the proudest woman in England.</p> + +<p>"Hush," she said again. "Neither pleading nor prayers will avail with +me. I speak the simple truth when I say that I would rather see my son +dead than see you his wife."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A WRONGED WOMAN'S THREAT.</h3> + + +<p>For some five minutes there was silence, and the two who were to be +mortal enemies looked at each other. Leone knew then that all prayers, +all pleadings were in vain; that they were worse than useless; but in +the heart of the foe there was no relenting, no pity, nothing but scorn +and hate. She had poured out the whole of her soul in that supplication +for pity, and now she knew that she had humbled herself in vain; the +mother's cruel words smote her with a pain like that of a sharp sword. +She was silent until the first smart of that pain was over, then she +said, gently:</p> + +<p>"Why do you say anything so cruel?—why do you hate me?"</p> + +<p>"Hate you?" replied my lady, "how can you be so mistaken? It is not you +I hate, but your class—the class to which you belong—although the word +hate is much too strong. I simply hold them in sovereign contempt."</p> + +<p>"I cannot help my class," she said, briefly.</p> + +<p>"Certainly not; but it is my place to see that my son takes no wife from +it. To you, yourself, I can have no dislike; personally I rather like +you; you have a pleasant face, and I should take you to be clever. But +you have not even one of the qualifications needful—absolutely +necessary for the lady whom my son calls wife."</p> + +<p>"Yet he chose me," she said, simply.</p> + +<p>"You have a nice face, and my son has fancied it," said the countess +contemptuously. "You ought to be grateful to me for separating you from +my son now. I am doing for him the kindest thing that any one could do. +I know Lord Chandos better than any one else, and I know that he tires +of everything in a short time. He would have wearied of you by +Christmas, and would have loathed the chains he had forged for himself. +When he was a child he tired of a new toy in half an hour—his +disposition has not changed."</p> + +<p>"I cannot believe it," cried Leone. "I will not believe it, great lady +as you are. You are wicked to malign your own son."</p> + +<p>"I do not malign him," said the countess, indifferently. "Many gentlemen +think it quite complimentary to be called changeable. My son has always +been known as one of the most variable of men; nothing pleases him long; +it is seldom that anything pleases him twice. You think he will always +love you; let me ask you why? You have a pretty face, granted; but there +is nothing under the sun of which a man tires sooner. You have nothing +else; you have no education, no accomplishments, no good birth; I should +say no good breeding, no position, rank, or influence. If I may speak my +mind plainly, I should say that it was a most impertinent presumption +for you, a farmer's niece, even to dream of being Lady Chandos—a +presumption that should be punished, and must be checked. You would, +without doubt, make an excellent dairy-maid, even a tolerable +housekeeper, but a countess never. The bare idea is intolerable."</p> + +<p>She grew more angry as she spoke; for the girl's grace and beauty, the +wonderful sweetness of her voice, the passion, the power, the loveliness +of her face, began to tell upon her; she could not help owning to +herself that she had seen nothing so marvelous as this wonderful girl.</p> + +<p>"Then," said Leone, calmly, "I have appealed to you in vain?"</p> + +<p>"Quite in vain," replied my lady. "Remember that against you personally +I have nothing to say, neither have I any dislike; but if you have +common sense, you will see that it is utterly impossible for my son to +take the future Countess of Lanswell from a farmhouse. Now try and act +rationally—go away at once, leave my son, and I will see that you have +plenty to live upon."</p> + +<p>"Whatever may be said of the class from which I spring," cried Leone, "I +believe in the sanctity of marriage, and I would scorn to barter my love +for anything on earth."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is all very pretty and very high-flown," said the countess, +with a contemptuous laugh; "but you will find a few thousand pounds a +very comfortable matter in a few years' time."</p> + +<p>"You said you would rather see your son dead than married to me, Lady +Lanswell; I repeat that I would rather die of hunger than touch money of +yours. I did not know or believe that on the face of God's earth there +was ever a creature so utterly hard, cold and cruel as you."</p> + +<p>The light of the setting sun had somewhat faded then, and it moved from +the proud figure of the countess to the lovely young face of Leone, but +even as the light warmed it, new pride, new energy, new passion seemed +to fill it. The prayer and the pleading died—the softened light, the +sweet tenderness left it; it was no longer the face of a loving, +tender-hearted girl, pleading with hot tears that she might not be taken +from her husband—it was the face of a tragedy queen, full of fire and +passion. She stood, with one hand upraised, like a sibyl inspired.</p> + +<p>"I have done, Lady Lanswell," she said; "you tell me that Lord Chandos +is free to marry as he will when he is twenty-one."</p> + +<p>"If you can find any comfort in that statement, I can verify it," she +replied; "but surely you are not mad enough to think that, when my son +is of age, he will return to you."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it," said Leone. "I believe in my husband's love, and my +husband's constancy, as I believe in Heaven."</p> + +<p>"I hope your faith in Heaven will be more useful to you," sneered the +countess. "I have womanly pity enough to warn you not to let your hopes +rest on this. I prophesy that Lord Chandos will have utterly forgotten +you by next June, and that he does not see you again."</p> + +<p>"I will not believe it, Lady Lanswell. You are my superior by birth and +fortune, but I would neither exchange mind nor heart with you. You have +sordid and mean ideas. My husband will be true, and seek me when the +time comes."</p> + +<p>My lady laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are very happy to have such faith in him; I have not half so much +in any creature living. You hold that one card in your hand—you seem to +think it a winning one; it may or may not be. I tell you one thing +frankly: that I have already settled in my own mind who shall be my +son's wife, and I seldom fail in a purpose."</p> + +<p>"You are a wicked woman," cried Leone. "I have no fear of you. You may +try all that you will. I do not believe that you will take my husband +from me. You are a wicked woman, and God will punish you, Lady Lanswell. +You have parted husband and wife who loved each other."</p> + +<p>"I am not very frightened," laughed my lady. "I consider that I have +been a kind of providence to my son. I have saved him from the effect of +his own folly. Will you allow me to say now that, having exhausted a +very disagreeable subject, this interview must be considered closed! If +you would like any refreshments my housekeeper will be pleased to——"</p> + +<p>But the girl drew back with an imperial gesture of scorn.</p> + +<p>"I want nothing," she said. "I have a few words to say to you in +parting. I repeat that you are a wicked woman, Lady Lanswell, and that +God will punish you for the wicked deed you have done. I say more, +whether Heaven punishes you or not, <i>I will</i>. You have trampled me under +your feet; you have insulted, outraged, tortured me. Listen to the +word—you have tortured me; you have received me with scorn and +contumely; you have laughed at my tears; enjoyed my prayers and +humiliation. I swear that I will be revenged, even should I lose all on +earth to win that revenge. I swear that you shall come and plead to me +on your knees, and I will laugh at you. You shall plead to me with +tears, and I will remind you how I have pleaded in vain. You have wrung +my heart, I will wring yours. My revenge shall be greater than your +cruelty; think, then, how great it will be."</p> + +<p>"I repeat that I am not frightened," said the countess, but she shrunk +from the fire of those splendid eyes.</p> + +<p>"I was mad to think I should find a woman's heart in you. When the hour +of my revenge comes, my great grief will be that I have a heart of +marble to deal with!" cried Leone.</p> + +<p>"You cannot have such great affection for your husband, if you speak to +his mother in this fashion," said the countess, mockingly.</p> + +<p>The girl stretched out her white arms with a despairing cry.</p> + +<p>"Give me back my husband, and I recall my threats."</p> + +<p>Then, seeing that mocking smile on that proud face, her arms fell with a +low sigh.</p> + +<p>"I am mad," she said, in a low voice, "to plead to you—quite mad!"</p> + +<p>"Most decidedly," said the countess. "It appears to me there is more +truth in that one observation than in any other you have made this +evening. As I am not particularly inclined to the society of mad men or +mad women, you will excuse me if I withdraw."</p> + +<p>Without another word, my lady touched the bell. To the servant who +entered she said:</p> + +<p>"Will you show this person out as far as the park gates, please?"</p> + +<p>And, without another look at Leone, she quitted the room.</p> + +<p>Leone followed in silence. She did not even look around the sumptuous +home one day she believed to be hers; she went to the great gates which +the man-servant held open as she passed through. The sun had set, and +the gray, sweet gloaming lay over the land. There was a sound of falling +water, and Leone made her way to it. It was a cascade that fell from a +small, but steep rock. The sound of the rippling water was to her like +the voice of an old friend, the sight of it like the face of some one +whom she loved. She sat down by it, and it sung to her the same sweet +old song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A ring in pledge he gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It would not be so with her, ah no! If ever the needle was true to the +pole, the flowers to the sun, the tides to the moon, the stars to the +heavens, Lord Chandos would be true to her.</p> + +<p>So she believed, and, despite her sorrow, her heart found rest in the +belief.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>LEONE'S PROPHECY.</h3> + + +<p>No words could do justice to the state of mind in which Lord Chandos +found himself after that interview at Cawdor. He rushed back to London. +Of the three previous days remaining he spent one in hunting after the +shrewdest lawyers in town. Each and all laughed at him—there was the +law, plain enough, so plain that a child could read and understand it. +They smiled at his words, and said, half-contemptuously, they could not +have imagined any one so ignorant of the law. They sympathized with him +when he spoke of his young wife, but as for help, there was none.</p> + +<p>The only bright side to it was this, he could remarry her on the day he +came of age. Of that there was and could be no doubt, he said, but he +was bent on finding some loop-hole, and marrying her at once, if it were +really needful for the ceremony to be performed again. It could not be, +and there was nothing for it but to resign himself to the inevitable. He +did not know that Leone had heard the terrible sentence, and he dreaded +having to tell her. He was worn out with sorrow and emotion. In what +words was he to tell her that she was not his wife in the eyes of the +law, and that if they wished to preserve her character unspotted and +unstained she must leave him at once?</p> + +<p>He understood his mother's character too well to dare any delay. He was +sure that if Leone remained even one day under his roof, when the time +came that he should introduce her to the world as his wife, his mother +would bring the fact against her, and so prevent her from even knowing +people.</p> + +<p>There was no help for it—he must tell her. He wrote a letter telling +her he would be at River View for luncheon on the following day; he knew +that he must leave that same evening for the Continent.</p> + +<p>He would have given the world to have been able to renounce the royal +favor, of which he had felt so proud, but he could not. To have done so +would have been to have deprived him not only of all position, but to +have incurred disgrace. To have refused a favor so royally bestowed +would have been an act of ingratitude which would have deprived him of +court favor for life.</p> + +<p>He must go; and when the first pain was over, he said to himself it was, +perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. He could not have +borne to know that Leone was near him, yet not see or speak to her.</p> + +<p>It was all for the best, painful as it was. If for these long months +they must be parted, it was better for him to be abroad—he dare not +have trusted himself at home. He loved Leone so well that he knew his +love would have broken down the barriers which the law had placed +between them. He would go to River View, and, let it pain him as it +would, he would tell her all, he would leave her as happy as was +possible under the circumstances. He would stay away until the time was +over; then, the very day he came of age, he would return and remarry +her. He laughed to scorn his mother's prophecy. He prove untrue to his +darling! The heavens must fall first. Not for him the mill-wheel +story—not for him the broken ring.</p> + +<p>How happy they would be, then, when the time had passed, and he could +introduce Leone as his beloved wife to the whole world. He would try and +think of that time without dwelling more than he could help on the +wretched present. He went home to River View, but the first glance at +Leone's face told him that she knew all.</p> + +<p>It was not so much that the beauty had gone from it, that the beautiful +eyes were dim with long, passionate weeping, or that the lips trembled +as she tried to smile. Her whole face had changed so completely; its +tragic intensity, the power of its despair, overmastered him.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos clasped her in his arms, and covered the sad young face +with kisses and tears.</p> + +<p>"My darling," he said, "you know all; I can see you know all."</p> + +<p>The ring of happy music had quite died from her voice—he hardly +recognized it.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered him, "I know all."</p> + +<p>"My darling," he cried, "it is not my fault. You will think I ought to +have known it; but I swear to Heaven that I never even thought or +suspected it. I would rather have been dead than have put you in a false +position, Leone—you know that."</p> + +<p>She laid her fair arms on his neck, and hid her white face on his +breast.</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it," she said, gently; "I have never thought of that: I +know that you intended to make me your wife."</p> + +<p>"So you are my wife, let who will say to the contrary—you are my +beloved, revered, honored wife, Leone. Why, my darling, all the strength +has left you! Look up, Leone. They have done the worst they can do, and +what is it? They have parted us for a few months. When the parting is +ended we shall be together for life."</p> + +<p>She tightened the clasp of her fair arms around his neck.</p> + +<p>"I know; I have faith in you, but it is so hard to bear, Lance. We were +so happy, and you were all the world to me. How shall I live through the +long months to come? Lance, perhaps you will be angry with me—I have +done something that perhaps you will not like."</p> + +<p>"That would not be possible, Leone. I must always like everything you +do. Why, my darling, how you tremble! Sit down, there is nothing in all +the world to fear."</p> + +<p>"No; let me tell you what I have to say with my head here on your +breast. You must not be angry with me, Lance. When I had seen Mr. +Sewell, I felt that I could not bear it. I went down to Cawdor and saw +Lady Lanswell."</p> + +<p>He started with surprise. She raised her face to his, longing to see if +he were angry, yet half afraid.</p> + +<p>"You went to Cawdor to see my mother," he repeated. "My darling, it was +a strong measure. What did she say or do?"</p> + +<p>"You are not angry with me for it, Lance?" she asked, gently.</p> + +<p>"I angry, my darling? No, a thousand times no. I could not be angry with +you. Why did you go—for what purpose?"</p> + +<p>"I went to ask her to have pity on us; not to enforce this cruel +sentence; to be pitiful to me, because I love you so dearly."</p> + +<p>"And her answer?" asked Lord Chandos, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Her answer was everything that was cruel and wicked. Ah, forgive me, +Lance, she is your mother, I know, but she has taken in her cruel hands +a divine power. She has parted us and I prayed her to be merciful. I +told her how dearly we loved each other, but she had no pity—no +mercy—no woman's kindness, no sympathy. She was cold, cruel, proud, +haughty. She insulted, humiliated and outraged me. She refused to hear +one word, and when I left her, I swore to be revenged on her."</p> + +<p>The slender form trembled with passion. He drew her even more closely to +his breast.</p> + +<p>"My darling, you need not think of vengeance," he said. "I am grieved +that my mother was unkind to you. Had you consulted me, I should most +certainly have said do not go. Mind, I am not angry or annoyed, only so +far as this, that I would not have you irritated for the world. I must +say that I had always felt that if my mother could see you our cause was +won. I did not believe that any creature living could resist that face."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with unutterable love.</p> + +<p>"Do you really care so much for it, Lance? Have you never seen a face +you like as well?"</p> + +<p>"No, and never shall see one, my darling; when we are parted it will +live in my heart bright and fair until we meet again."</p> + +<p>Then the tender arms clung more tightly to him.</p> + +<p>"Must we be parted, Lance?" she whispered. "We were married in the sight +of Heaven—must we leave each other? Oh, Lance, it cannot be true; no +one can say that I am not your wife."</p> + +<p>Quietly and calmly trying to command himself, he told her then how +inevitable it was that they must submit to the voice of the law during +the next few months, so as to insure their future happiness and fair +name. And then he told her of the favor conferred upon him, and how he +was compelled to accept it or never to hope for court favor again.</p> + +<p>She listened with a face that seemed turned to stone. Slowly the tender +arms unwound themselves and fell by her side; slowly the beautiful eyes +left his and filled with despair. He tried to console her.</p> + +<p>"You see, my darling," he said, "that in any case we must have parted. +Though this appointment is a mark of royal regard, still it is quite +imperative. I could not have refused it without ruin to my future +career, and I could not have taken you with me, so that for a time we +must have parted."</p> + +<p>"I see," she said, gently, but her hands fell, and a shudder that she +could not control passed over her.</p> + +<p>"Leone," said Lord Chandos, "we have not long to be together, and we +have much to arrange. Tell me, first, what you thought of my mother?"</p> + +<p>"She is very beautiful, very proud, very haughty, cold and cruel—if not +wicked," said the young girl, slowly.</p> + +<p>"That is not very flattering," said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"I could have loved and worshiped her if she had been kind to me," said +Leone; "but she was cruel, and some time or other I shall have my +revenge."</p> + +<p>He looked gravely at her.</p> + +<p>"I do not like to hear that, my darling. How can you be revenged?"</p> + +<p>A light came over her face.</p> + +<p>"I do not know. I have a prophetic insight at times into the future. As +I stand here, I know that a time will come when your mother will weep to +me as bitterly as I wept to her, and just as much in vain."</p> + +<p>"I hope not," he answered. "All will be well for us, Leone. But revenge, +my darling, is a horrible word, and does not suit those sweet lips at +all. Let me kiss away the sound of it."</p> + +<p>He bent his handsome head and kissed her lips with love that seemed +stronger than death and true as eternity.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>THE PARTING.</h3> + + +<p>They had been talking for more than an hour. He had given her the whole +history of the royal wedding, of what his embassy consisted of, of the +length of time he would be absent, how he should think of her +continually, how he implored her to write to him every day, and she had +given him every detail of her interview with Mr. Sewell and Lady +Lanswell. Then he said to himself that it was time they made some +arrangement over the future.</p> + +<p>"So we are to live apart until next June, Leone," he said, gently. "It +is a terrible sentence; but the time will soon pass. Tell me, my +darling, where you would like to live until June comes?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with startled eyes.</p> + +<p>"Need I leave home, Lance? Let me live here; I could not fancy any other +place was home. I feel as though if I once left here I should never see +you again."</p> + +<p>"My darling, that is all fancy—nothing but fancy. No matter where you +are, my birthday comes on the thirtieth day of June, and on that day I +shall return to you to make you what I have always believed you to +be—my wife."</p> + +<p>"I am your wife, Lance; let others say what they will, you will not deny +it."</p> + +<p>"Not I, Leone. You are my wife; and the very first day the law permits +you shall bear my name, just as you now share my heart and life."</p> + +<p>"On the thirtieth day of June," she sighed. "I shall count every hour, +every minute until then. I wish, Lance, I could sleep a long sleep from +the hour of parting until the hour of meeting—if I could but turn my +face from the light of day and not open my eyes until they rest on you +again. I shall have to live through every hour and every minute, and +they will be torture."</p> + +<p>"The time will soon pass, Leone, my darling; it will be full of hope, +not despair. When the green leaves spring and the sunshine warms the +land, you will say to yourself, 'June is coming, and June brings back my +love;' when the lark sings and the wood-pigeons make their nests, when +the hawthorn blooms on the hedges and the lilac rears its tall plumes, +you will say 'June is near.' When the roses laugh and the lilies bloom, +when the brook sings in the wood, when the corn grows ripe in the +meadows, you will say 'June is come, and it brings my love.'"</p> + +<p>"My love—oh, my love," sighed the girl, and her voice had the +passionate sweetness of a siren.</p> + +<p>"I shall come back to you, Leone, with everything bright, smiling, and +beautiful; every rose that blooms, every bird that sings, every green +leaf that springs will be a message from me to you to say that I am +coming; when the wind whispers, and the trees murmur, it will be the +same story, that I am coming back to my darling. Let us picture the +thirtieth of June, and your mind shall rest on that picture. It will be +a bright day, I know, the sky all blue and clear, not a cloud in it; but +with the half-golden light one sees in June skies. You can see that +picture, Leone?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied, drawing nearer him, and resting her head again on +his breast.</p> + +<p>"The sun will be low on the hills, and every living thing will be +laughing in its light. The great trees will have grown strong in it, the +flowers will have brightened, and the river there, Leone, will be +running so deep and clear, kissing the green banks and the osier beds, +carrying with it the leaves and flowers that will fall on its bosom, and +the garden will be filled with the flowers we love the best. You see +that picture, too, my love?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I see it," she whispers.</p> + +<p>"Wherever I may be," he continued, "I shall so arrange my journey that I +may be with you on the morning of my birthday. You see the pretty white +gate yonder where the tall white roses climb in summer? My darling, rise +early on the thirtieth of June and watch that gate. Even should such an +impossible thing be as that you should never have one word of or from +me, get up and watch that gate on the thirtieth of June. You will see me +enter. I will part the clustering roses; I shall gather the sweetest, +together with the fairest lily that blooms, and bring them to you as +emblems of your own dearest self. You will see me walk down the broad +path there, and you will meet me at the door."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my love, my love!" sighed the girl, "would that it were June now."</p> + +<p>He bent down to kiss the loving lips.</p> + +<p>"It will come," he said; "let me finish the picture. I shall have a +special license with me so that we can be remarried that day; and then +the world shall know who is Lady Chandos. Then my lady mother shall seek +you who have sought her; then she shall ask to know you, my darling, and +this hideous past shall be to us a dream and nothing more. Leone, when +sad thoughts come to you promise me that you will dwell on this side of +the picture and forget the other."</p> + +<p>"I promise, Lance," she said, gently.</p> + +<p>"You see, my love—whom I shall so soon call again by the beautiful name +of wife—you see that your life does not lie in ruins round you; the +only difference is that I shall be away."</p> + +<p>"And that makes the difference of the whole world to me," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"And to me," said Lord Chandos; "but it will soon be over, Leone. You +can go on living here—it is no unusual thing for a lady to live alone +while her husband is abroad. You can keep the same servants; you need +not make the least alteration in your life in any way. Only remain here +in silence and patience until I return. Now do you see, my darling, it +is not so dreadful?"</p> + +<p>"It is hard enough," she replied; "but you have taken away the sting. +Oh, my darling, you will be true to me? I am only a simple village girl, +with nothing, your mother says, to recommend me; but I love you—I love +you. You will be true to me?"</p> + +<p>"My dearest Leone, you may as well ask if the stars will be true to +heaven, or heaven to itself, as ask me if I will be true to you. You are +my life—a man is not false to his own life. You are soul of my soul—no +man betrays his soul! It would be easier for me to die than be false to +you, my love."</p> + +<p>The passionate words reassured her—something of hope came over the +beautiful face.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "do you remember the mill-wheel and how the water +used to sing the words of the song?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I remember it; but those will never come true over us, Leone, +never. I shall never break my vows or you yours."</p> + +<p>"No; yet how the water sung it over and over again:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Those vows were all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broke.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>I can hear it now, Lance. It seems to me the wind is repeating it."</p> + +<p>"It is only your fancy, my darling," he said.</p> + +<p>But she went on:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'I would the grave would hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there alone is peace.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, Lance, my love—Lance, will it happen to either of us to find peace +in the grave?"</p> + +<p>"No, we shall find peace in life first," he said.</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "I had a terrible dream last night. I could not sleep +for many hours. When at last my eyes closed I found myself by the old +mill stream. I thought that I had been driven there by some pain too +great for words, and I flung myself into the stream. Oh, Lance, my +love—Lance, I felt myself drowning. I felt my body floating, then +sinking. My hair caught in the bending branches of a tree. The water +filled my eyes and my ears. I died. In my sleep I went through all the +pain of death. My last thought was of you. 'Lance,' I cried, in death as +in life, 'Lance, come back to me in death!' It was a horrible dream, was +it not? Do you think it will ever come true?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied; but his handsome face had grown paler, and the shadows +of deep trouble lay in his eyes.</p> + +<p>She raised her face to his again.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she asked gently, "do you think that any creature—any one has +ever loved another as well as I love you? I often wonder about it. I see +wives happy and contented, and I wonder if their husbands' smiles make +heaven to them as yours do to me."</p> + +<p>"I do not think there are many people capable of loving as you do, +Leone," he replied, "and now, my darling, I must leave you. Leone, spend +all your time in study. A few months more of work as hard as the last +three months, and my beautiful wife will be as accomplished as she is +graceful. Study will help you to pass away the time."</p> + +<p>"I will do anything you tell me, Lance. You will let me write to you +every day, and you must write often to me."</p> + +<p>"I will, sweet; but you will not be uneasy if my letters are not so +frequent as yours; the foreign post is not so regular as ours; and if we +travel in Germany I may not always be able to write."</p> + +<p>"I will trust you," said the loving voice. "I am sure you will never +fail me."</p> + +<p>She was proud as an empress, she had the high spirit of a queen; but now +that the moments of parting had come, both failed her. She clung to him, +weeping passionate tears—it was so cruelly hard, for she loved him so +well. Her tears rained on his face, her trembling lips could utter no +words for the bitter sobs. Never was sorrow so great, or despair so +pitiful. She kissed his face with all the passion of her love.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my love," she sighed. "Oh, Lance, be true to me—my life lies +in yours."</p> + +<p>"If ever I prove untrue to you, my darling, let Heaven be false to me," +he said. "Leone, give me one smile; I cannot go until I have seen one."</p> + +<p>She tried. He kissed the white lips and the weeping eyes.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my beloved," he said. "Think of the thirteenth of June, and +the roses I shall bring back with me."</p> + +<p>And then he was gone.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>WAITING FOR THE DAY.</h3> + + +<p>How the days of that dreary summer passed Leone never knew; the keenest +smart of the pain came afterward. At first she was too utterly stunned +and bewildered by the suddenness of the blow to realize all that +happened. It was impossible to believe that her marriage had been set +aside, and that her husband, as she called him, had gone away; but, as +the days rolled on, she slowly but surely realized it. There was no +break in the terrible monotony. The voice that made such music in her +ears was silent, the footsteps that had made her heart beat and her +pulse thrill were heard no more; the handsome face, always brightened +with such tender love for her, no longer brought sunshine and warmth; it +was as though the very light had gone out of her life, and left it all +bleak, dark and cold.</p> + +<p>For some days the proud heart, the proud, unyielding spirit gave way, +and she longed for death; life without Lance seemed so utterly +unbearable. Then youth and a naturally strong constitution triumphed. +She began to think how much she could learn so as to surprise him on his +return. Her soul was fired with ambition; in a few months she would +achieve wonders. She set herself so much; she would become proficient on +the piano and the harp; she would improve her singing; she would +practice drawing; she would take lessons in French and Italian.</p> + +<p>"I can learn if I will," she said to herself; "I feel power without +limit in myself. If I fix my own will on attaining a certain object I +shall not fail. Lance shall find an accomplished wife when he returns."</p> + +<p>She resolved to give her whole time and attention to it. Thanks to the +old books in Farmer Noel's house, she was better read than the +generality of ladies. No toil, no trouble daunted her. She rose in the +morning long hours before the rest of the household were awake, and she +read for hours after they were asleep. The masters who attended her, not +knowing her motive, wondered at her marvelous industry. They wondered, +too, at the great gifts nature had bestowed upon her—at the grand +voice, capable of such magnificent cultivation; at the superb dramatic +instinct which raised her so completely above the commonplace; at the +natural grace, the beauty of face and attitude, the love of the +beautiful and picturesque. They wondered why so many great gifts, such +remarkable beauty and talent should have been lavished on one creature. +They strove with her—the more she learned the more they tried to teach +her; the harder she worked the harder they worked with her.</p> + +<p>As the weeks passed on her progress was wonderful. She was often amazed +at herself. It was so sweet to study for his sake, to rise in the early +morning and work for him.</p> + +<p>She watched with the keenness of love the last leaves fall from the +trees—she watched with the keen avidity of love for the white snow and +the wail of wintery winds, for the long, dark nights and gray, cold +dawn. Each one brought her nearer and nearer; every day was a pain past +and a nearer joy. Welcome to the nipping frost and the northern winds; +welcome the hail, the rain, the sleet—it brought him nearer. How she +prayed for him with the loving simplicity of a child. If Heaven would +but spare him, would save him from all dangers, would send him sunny +skies and favorable winds, would work miracles in his behalf, would +avert all accident by rail and road, would bring him back to her +longing, loving arms—ah, if the kind, dear Heaven would do this. When +she went out for her daily walks she met the poor, the wretched—she +would give liberal alms; and when they said:</p> + +<p>"God bless your bonny face, my lady," she would say:</p> + +<p>"No, not mine; ask him to bless some one else; some one whom I love and +who is far away."</p> + +<p>It seemed to her like the turning point of a life-time when Christmas +Day was passed. Now for the glad New Year which was to bring him back to +her.</p> + +<p>The first days of the year were months to her. This year was to bring +her love, her husband, her marriage—all—blessed new year. When the +bells chimed on the first day she went to church, and kneeling with +those true of heart and simple of faith as herself she prayed the new +year might bring him home.</p> + +<p>It was pitiful to see how the one precious hour of the day was the hour +in which she wrote to him those long, loving letters that were poems in +themselves. He wrote, but not so often; and she saw from the newspaper +reports of all that he did and where he went.</p> + +<p>She will never forget the day on which she saw the first snow-drop. It +was like a message from a lovely modest flower, raising its white head +as though it would say to her, "No more tears; he is coming."</p> + +<p>She went into a very ecstasy of delight then. Golden primroses and pale +cowslips came; the sweet violets bloomed, the green leaves budded, the +birds began to sing; it was spring, delicate, beautiful spring, and in +June he would come.</p> + +<p>She was almost ready for him. It was April now, and she had worked +without intermission. She loved to think of his pleasure when he found +her so improved. She delighted in picturing what he would say, and how +he would reward her with kisses and caresses; how he would praise her +for her efforts; how proud even he would be of her.</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell me the exact truth," she said to one of the masters.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you any truth you wish to hear," he said.</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell me this. If you met me anywhere, and did not know +that in my youth I had received no training, should you, from anything +in my manner, find it out?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, frankly. "I would defy any one to know that you have +not been born the daughter of a duke. Permit me to say, and believe me I +am sincere, your manner and conversation are perfection."</p> + +<p>She was happy after that; people would not be able to laugh at him and +say he had married a low-born wife. She would be equal to any lady in +the land when she was Lady Chandos.</p> + +<p>The spring was giving place to the laughing, golden-hued summer. He had +gone to Italy; his parents were there; they had been spending the spring +in Rome and he had joined them.</p> + +<p>Nothing, Leone thought, could be more natural. His letters from Rome +were not so frequent or so long; but that was no matter; he had less +time, perhaps; and being with his parents not so much opportunity.</p> + +<p>Her faith in him never lessened, never faltered, never wavered.</p> + +<p>True, she wondered at times why he had gone to his parents, why he had +joined them after the cruel way in which they had behaved. She could not +quite understand.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her at times almost disrespect to her that he should +associate with them until they had apologized to her, and made amends +for the wrong done; but then, she said to herself, he knew best; all he +did was well done, and there was nothing to fear.</p> + +<p>Then May came—so short the time was growing. Everything he had spoken +of was here—the green leaves, the singing birds, the soaring lark, the +cooing wood-pigeon. Only a few more weeks now, and the girl grew more +beautiful every day as her hope grew nearer its fulfillment.</p> + +<p>She was much struck by a conversation she had one day with Signor Corli, +her singing-master. She had sung, to his intense delight and +satisfaction, one of the most difficult and beautiful cavatinas from +"Der Freischutz," and he marveled at her wonderful voice and execution.</p> + +<p>"It is ten thousand pities," he said, "that you have a position which +forbids you to think of the stage."</p> + +<p>She laughed at the time.</p> + +<p>"The stage?" she repeated. "Why, signor?"</p> + +<p>"Because you have the genius which would make you the finest dramatic +singer in the world," he replied; "you would be the very queen of song. +I repeat it—it is ten thousand pities you have been placed in such a +position the stage could never attract you."</p> + +<p>"No, it certainly will not," she said. "But do you think I have really +talent for it, signor?"</p> + +<p>"No, not talent," he replied, "but genius. Once in every hundred years +such a one is given to the world. If you went on the stage I venture to +prophesy you would drive the world mad."</p> + +<p>She laughed.</p> + +<p>"It is just as well, then, that the world is saved from madness," she +said.</p> + +<p>"It is not well for the world of art," said Signor Corli.</p> + +<p>She smiled after he was gone, half flattered by his words, yet half +amazed. Could what he said be true? Was this dramatic power, as he +called it, the power she had felt within herself which made her +different to others? Then she laughed again. What did it matter to +her—her life would be spent under the shelter of her husband's +love—the husband who was to claim her in June.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>THE RECONCILIATION.</h3> + + +<p>Those few months had been filled with excitement for Lord Chandos. The +pain he had felt at leaving his wife had been great and hard to bear, +but life differs so greatly for men and women. Women must sit at home +and weep. For them comes no great field of action, no stir of battle, no +rush of fight; their sorrow weighs them down because they have nothing +to shake it off. With men it is so different; they rush into action and +forget it.</p> + +<p>Leone was for some days prostrate with the pains of her sorrow. Lord +Chandos suffered acutely for a couple of hours; then came the excitement +of his journey, the whirl of travel and adventure, the thousand sources +of interest and pleasure.</p> + +<p>He was compelled to take his thoughts from Leone. He had a hundred other +interests; not that he loved or cared for her less, but that he was +compelled to give his attention to the duties intrusted to him. He was +compelled to set his sorrow aside.</p> + +<p>"I must work now," he said to himself, "I shall have time to think +afterward."</p> + +<p>He would have time to look his sorrow in the face—now it must stand +aside.</p> + +<p>When he really brought himself face to face with the world, it was +impossible to help feeling flattered by the position he held. Every one +congratulated him.</p> + +<p>"You start to-morrow," one would say. "Glad to hear you have been +chosen," said another. One prophesied continual court favor. Another +that he would receive great honors. Every one seemed to consider him +quite a favorite of fortune. No one even ever so faintly alluded to his +marriage, to the lawsuit, or to the decision.</p> + +<p>He was divided between gratitude for the relief and irritation that what +had been of such moment to him had been nothing to others. Yet it was a +relief to find his darling's name held sacred. He had dreaded to hear +about it—to have the matter discussed in any word or shape; but it +seemed as though the world had formed one grand conspiracy not to +mention it.</p> + +<p>Then came the excitement of traveling. His companion, Lord Dunferline, +one of the most famous statesmen and noblest peers of England, was many +years older than himself. He was a keen, shrewd, clever man, full of +practical knowledge and common sense; he was the best friend who could +have been chosen for the young lord; and Lady Lanswell congratulated +herself on that as a magnificent piece of business. Lord Dunferline had +not an iota of sentiment in his whole composition; his idea was that +people came into this world to make the very best use they can of it—to +increase in wealth, prosperity, and fortune; he believed in buying well, +selling well, doing everything well, making the best use of life while +it is ours to enjoy; he believed in always being comfortable, bright, +cheery; he knew nothing of trouble; sickness, poverty, loss of friends, +were all unknown evils to him; he had a prosperous, busy, happy life.</p> + +<p>He was one on whom no honor was ever wasted, lost, or thrown away. He +made the most of everything; he was rigid in the observation of +etiquette, and exacted the utmost deference in his turn. He talked so +long and so grandly of the honor conferred on them both that at last +Lord Chandos began to find the importance of it too.</p> + +<p>The marriage was to take place at Berlin; and they were received with +something like royal honors. Society opened its arms to them; the +<i>elite</i> of Berlin vied with each other in giving <i>fetes</i> of all kinds to +the English noblemen who represented the English queen.</p> + +<p>Still Lord Chandos made time for his letters; he would rather have gone +without food than have missed that daily letter from Leone. He wrote to +her as often as possible; and his letters would have satisfied even the +most loving and sensitive heart. He told her how he loved her, how he +missed her, how empty the world seemed, in spite of all its grandeur, +because she was not near him—words that comforted her when she read +them. Were they true or false? Who shall tell?</p> + +<p>Then when the wedding festivities were held, it was not possible for him +to write often, his time was so fully occupied. He wrote one sentence +that consoled her and it was this—that, although he was surrounded by +some of the loveliest women in Europe, there was not a face or a figure +that could compare with hers. How she kissed the words as she read them, +as women do the written words of the men they love!</p> + +<p>It was such a different world, this he lived in now. It was all a blaze +of color and brightness, a blaze of jewels, a scene of festivity and +mirth, a scene of regal splendor and ever-changing gayety. There was no +time for thought or reflection. Lord Chandos was always either being +feted or feting others.</p> + +<p>The few hasty words dashed off home said but little—it was a different +world. If ever at night he found himself under the light of the stars, +if he heard the ripple of water, if he stood for a moment watching the +swaying of green boughs, his thoughts at once flew to her—the happy, +simple home-life at Richmond was like some quiet, beautiful dream, the +very memory of which gives rest. He found himself at times wondering how +he liked it so well, it was such a contrast to the feted courtier's life +he led now. He thought of its calm as he thought of a far-off summer +lake.</p> + +<p>There had been no flash of jewels, no sheen of cloth of gold there, no +grand uniforms, no thrones there, no crowns, no kings or queens—Leone +and himself; yet how happy they had been. How he loved her; and his +young heart warmed with his love.</p> + +<p>What would the world say when she came forth in her imperial loveliness? +He liked to think about it. There were many handsome women and beautiful +girls, but none to compare to her—not one.</p> + +<p>He had intended to love her always with the same warmth and truth; he +meant to be constant to her as the needle to the pole. He believed +himself to be so; but insensibly the new life changed him—the gay, +bright, glistening world influenced him.</p> + +<p>After a time—even though he loved her just the same—after a time his +thoughts ceased to dwell with such fervent interest on the pretty, +simple home. After a time he began to feel his old keen sense of +pleasure in all that the world had of the beautiful and bright; he began +to feel an interest in its honors and titles.</p> + +<p>"I have been lotus-eating," he said to himself; "there is nothing for it +but to rouse myself."</p> + +<p>In a short time he became very popular in Berlin. The young English +noble, Lord Chandos, was as popular as any young sovereign, and there +was little need to hurry home.</p> + +<p>He went one evening to a very select ball given by the wife of the +English embassador, Lady Baden. She smiled when she saw him.</p> + +<p>"I have a surprise for you," she said, warmly. "I have what I know to be +a most charming surprise. Will you go to the little <i>salon</i>, the third +on the left? The door is closed, open it, and you will see what you will +see."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos bowed and went in the direction she indicated. He did not +expect to see anything particular, but he respected the caprices of <i>les +grandes dames</i>. He opened the door carelessly enough and started back in +amaze. There stood his father and mother, his mother's handsome face +pale with anxiety, her jeweled arms outstretched, her fine eyes full of +love.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "my dear son, how good it is to see you again!"</p> + +<p>With the cautious avoidance of anything like a scene that distinguishes +Englishmen, Lord Chandos turned first and carefully closed the door. +Then the earl spoke:</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," he said, "I am so pleased to see you!"</p> + +<p>But there was no response for either on the face of their son. He bowed +coldly, and his mother's jeweled arms fell by her side.</p> + +<p>"This is a surprise, indeed," he said. "I should have considered some +little notice more agreeable."</p> + +<p>"Lance, you may say what you will to me," said the earl, "but remember, +not one word to your mother."</p> + +<p>"My mother was very cruel to me," he said, coldly, turning from her.</p> + +<p>But my lady had recovered herself. She held out her hands with charming +grace; she looked at her son with a charming smile.</p> + +<p>"My dearest Lance," she said, "children call the physician who cuts off +a diseased limb cruel, yet he is most merciful. I am even more merciful +than he. I did what I did in the spirit of truest kindness to you, my +son."</p> + +<p>"Let there be no mention of the word kindness between us," he said. "You +nearly broke the heart, and certainly ruined the life of the girl whom I +loved. Mother, if that be what you call kindness, then I do not +understand the English tongue."</p> + +<p>"I did it for your sake, my dearest Lance," said my lady, caressingly.</p> + +<p>"One would have thought that, loving the girl with my whole heart, for +my sake you would have loved her also."</p> + +<p>"Love plays but a poor part in life, Lance," said the Countess of +Lanswell. "You have too much sense to mar one of the brightest futures a +man has before him for the sake of sentimental nonsense called love."</p> + +<p>"Mother," said the young lord, "I shall marry her on my twenty-first +birthday. I shall not delay one hour. You understand that clearly?"</p> + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell shrugged her graceful shoulders.</p> + +<p>"You will certainly be able to do as you like then," she said; "but we +need not quarrel over it in prospective; we can wait until the event +happens; then it will be quite time enough to discuss what we shall do."</p> + +<p>"I am quite resolved," said Lord Chandos. "No persuasion, no argument +shall induce me to change."</p> + +<p>"I have no arguments to use," said my lady, with a proud laugh. "When +you are of age you shall do as you like, marry whom you will—no +interference of mine will avail; but let us wait until the time comes. +My object in coming here is to seek a reconciliation with you. You are +our only son, and though you think me proud and cold, I still love and +do not care to be at variance with you. Let us be friends, Lance, at +least until you are of age."</p> + +<p>She held out her hands again with a smile he could not resist.</p> + +<p>"I tell you frankly," continued my lady, "that the young person has been +to see me. We had quite a melodramatic interview. I do not wish to vex +you, Lance, but she would make a capital fifth-rate actress for a +tragedy in a barn."</p> + +<p>"Come, my lady, that is too bad," said the earl.</p> + +<p>The countess laughed.</p> + +<p>"It was really sensational," she said. "The conclusion of the interview +was a very solemn threat on her part that she would be revenged upon me, +so that I must be prepared for war. But, Lance, let it be as it may, we +must be friends. You will not refuse your mother when she asks a favor, +and it is the first favor, mind."</p> + +<p>"I cannot refuse," he replied. "I will be friends, as you phrase it, +mother, but you must change your opinion about Leone."</p> + +<p>"Another time," said my lady, with a wave of the hand. "Kiss me now, +Lance, and be friends. Shake hands with your father. We are staying at +the Hotel France. When the ball is over, join us at supper."</p> + +<p>And in that way the solemn reconciliation was effected.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>A SHREWD SCHEME.</h3> + + +<p>There had been nothing very sentimental in the reconciliation scene +between parents and son. The earl and Lord Chandos walked home through +the quiet streets of Berlin, while my lady drove. They smoked the cigar +of peace, while Lord Chandos reported his social triumphs to his father. +No more passed between them on the most important of all subjects—his +love, his marriage, and the lawsuit; they spoke of anything and +everything else. The only words which went from the heart of the father +to the heart of the son, were these:</p> + +<p>"I am glad you have made friends with my lady, Lance. She has pined +after you, and she is so proud. She says nothing, but I know that she +has felt the separation from you most keenly. I am glad it is all right; +you must not vex her again, Lance."</p> + +<p>"I will not, if I can help it," replied the young lord; and so the +conversation ended.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos was a clever man, but he was in the hands of a far more +clever woman. When a woman has the gift of strategy, she excels in it, +and the countess added this to her other accomplishments. She was a +magnificent strategist. Her maneuvers were of the finest; quite beyond +the power of one less gifted to detect. A man in her skillful hands was +a toy, to be played with as she would. The strongest, the wisest, the +most honest, the best, were but wax in her hands. She did just as she +would with them, and it was so cleverly done, so skillfully managed, +that they never had the faintest idea my lady was twining them around +her little fingers. She had two modes of strategy. One was by grand +moves, one alone of which was enough to carry a nation. The other means +was by a series of finest possible details of intrigue.</p> + +<p>She said to herself that her son's marriage with this person should be +set aside in some fashion or other, and in the end she prevailed. That +was by one grand move.</p> + +<p>She was equally resolved that her son should marry Lady Marion Erskine, +the beauty, the belle, the wealthiest heiress of the season, and by a +series of fine, well-directed maneuvers, she was determined to +accomplish that.</p> + +<p>The fates were propitious to her. Lady Marion Erskine was the niece and +ward of Lady Cambrey, and Lady Cambrey, though guardian of one of the +wealthiest heiresses in Europe, was herself poor and almost needy. She +was a distant relative of Lady Marion's mother, who had asked her to +undertake the charge of her child, and Lady Cambrey had been only too +pleased to undertake it. It was arranged that she should remain with +Lady Marion Erskine until her marriage, and Lady Cambrey was wise enough +to know that she must find her future fortune from the marriage. She +must use all her influence in favor of the lover who offered the +greatest advantages, and Lady Lanswell was the only woman in England who +had the wit to find it out.</p> + +<p>That was the darling wish of her life, that her son should marry Lady +Marion Erskine, the belle, beauty and heiress; and she saw the beginning +of her tactics from this fact, that Lady Cambrey's influence would go +with the most munificent lover.</p> + +<p>They had one interview in London. The countess had invited Lady Cambrey +to a five-o'clock tea.</p> + +<p>"We have hardly met this year," said the countess. "We are staying in +London for a week or two, though it is quite out of season, and I am so +pleased to see you. Is Lady Erskine in town?"</p> + +<p>"No; I merely came up to give orders for the redecoration of Erskine +House; Lady Marion is tired of it as it is."</p> + +<p>"I call it a special providence that you should be in town just now," +said Lady Lanswell; "I was quite delighted when I heard it. There is +nothing I enjoy more than a cup of tea and a chat with a congenial +friend."</p> + +<p>This from the countess, to whom champagne and politics were baby play, +was refreshing. Lady Cambrey was delighted, and before long the two +ladies had opened their hearts to each other. The countess, in the most +ingenuous manner possible, told her friend the sad history of her dear +boy's entanglement and infatuation; how, in his simplicity, he had +positively married the girl, and how, fortunately, the law had freed +him.</p> + +<p>"You know, my dear Lady Cambrey," she said, "it might have been his +ruin, but now, thank Heaven," she added, piously, "it is all over, and +my boy is free. I have looked all round England to find a suitable wife +for him, and there is no one I should like him to marry half so well as +Lady Marion Erskine. You see that I show you the cards in my hands very +freely."</p> + +<p>"It would be a very good match," said Lady Cambrey, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"If you use your influence, you will not find me ungrateful," continued +the countess; "indeed, I should consider myself bound to assist you in +every way—my home, carriages, purse, would always be at your services."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," said Lady Cambrey, and in those few words they +perfectly understood each other.</p> + +<p>The mother knew that she had virtually sold the honor and loyalty of her +son, as Lady Cambrey had sold the free will of her niece.</p> + +<p>Then they enjoyed a cup of tea, after which my lady became more +confidential.</p> + +<p>"Promise," she said, "to persuade Lady Marion to spend the winter in +Rome and I shall be quite content."</p> + +<p>"She will do it if I advise it," said Lady Cambrey. "She is very +docile."</p> + +<p>"We can decide on our plans of action when we meet there," said the +countess. "The chief thing is to keep all idea of 'our ideas' from my +son. Instead of drawing his attention to Lady Marion, we must seem to +avoid bringing them together. I understand men. The first result of that +will be an intense anxiety on his part to see her. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Quite," said Lady Cambrey. "It is really a pleasure to meet some one +who understands human nature as you do, Lady Lanswell."</p> + +<p>The countess smiled graciously at the compliment, feeling as though it +were well deserved.</p> + +<p>So it was arranged, and Lady Cambrey's part of the plot was very easy. +She had but to suggest to her niece that she should spend the winter in +Rome and she would at once fall in with her wish.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell had settled in her own mind the plan of the whole +campaign. She intended to go to Berlin, there to seek a reconciliation +with her son, and persuade him to go to Rome with them. She managed it +all so well, saying nothing at first of their intended journey, but +making herself very agreeable to her son. She brought to him all the +flattering things said of them. She studied every little whim, wish, or +caprice. She put him on a pedestal and made an idol of him. She was all +that was gay, amiable, pleasant and kind. She made herself not only his +friend and companion, but everything else in the world to him. She was +gay, amiable, gracious, witty. With her still beautiful face and fine +figure, she made herself so attractive and charming that Lord Chandos +was soon entirely under her influence.</p> + +<p>How many mothers might have taken a hint for the management of their +sons from her. She found no fault with cigars or latch-keys. She was the +essence of all that was kind, yet, at the same time, she was so +animated, so bright, so witty, that the time spent with her passed +quickly as a dream. Lord Chandos did not even like to think of parting +from her; and then, when she was most kind and most attentive to him, +she mentioned Rome.</p> + +<p>"We are going to Rome, Lance, for the winter," said the countess to her +son.</p> + +<p>He looked up from the paper he was reading in blank amazement.</p> + +<p>"To Rome, mother? Why, what is taking you there?"</p> + +<p>"I find there will be some very nice English people there," she said; "I +am tired of Paris; it is one eternal glare; I long for the mysterious +quiet and dreamy silence of Rome. It will be a pleasant change. I really +like a nice circle of English people out of England."</p> + +<p>That was the beginning. She was too wise and diplomatic to ask him to go +with them. She contented herself by speaking before him of the gayeties +they expected, the pleasures they anticipated; then, one day, as they +were discussing their plans, she turned to him and said:</p> + +<p>"Lance, what do you intend doing this winter? Are you going back to +England to think over the fogs?"</p> + +<p>"I am not quite sure," he said; and then he wondered why she said +nothing about going to Rome with them. At last, when she saw the time +had come, she said, carelessly:</p> + +<p>"Lance, if you do not care about returning to England, come with us to +Rome."</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted."</p> + +<p>He looked up with an air of relief. After all, he could not see Leone +until summer: why return to England and melancholy? He might just as +well enjoy himself in Rome. He knew what select and brilliant circles +his mother drew around her. Better for him to be the center of one of +those than alone and solitary in England.</p> + +<p>"Of course," said the countess, diplomatically, "I will not urge you, I +leave it entirely to you. If you think what the fashion of the day calls +your duties demand that you should return, do not let me detain you, +even for one day."</p> + +<p>"I have no particular duties," he said, half gloomily.</p> + +<p>He would have liked his mother to have insisted on his going, to have +been more imperative, but as she left it entirely to him, he thought her +indifferent over the matter.</p> + +<p>He was a true man. If she had pressed him to go, urged him, tried to +persuade him, he would have gone back to England, and the tragedy of +after years would never have happened. As it occurred to him that his +mother simply gave the invitation out of politeness, and did not care +whether he accepted or not, he decided on going. So when the festivities +of Berlin were all ended, he wrote to Leone, saying that he was going to +spend the winter with his parents in Rome; that if he could not spend it +with her, it mattered little enough to him where is was; but that he was +longing with all his heart for the thirtieth of June.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>IN THE HANDS OF A CLEVER WOMAN.</h3> + + +<p>"In Rome," said Lady Marion Erskine, to her cousin; "how strange it +seems to be really here! Do you know that when I was a little girl and +learned Roman history I always thought it a grand fable. I never +believed such a place really existed. Rome is a link between the old +world and the new."</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Lady Cambrey, "it is quite true, my dear."</p> + +<p>She had no notion, even ever so vague, of what her beautiful young +kinswoman meant.</p> + +<p>Lady Cambrey was not given to the cultivation of ideas, but she was +always most amiably disposed to please Lady Marion. It was something +very delightful to be the chaperon of a beautiful young heiress like +Lady Erskine, and she was always delighted to agree with Lady Marion's +words, opinions, and ideas.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion was submissive and gentle by nature. She was one of the +class of women born to be ruled and not to rule. She could never govern, +but she could obey. She could not command, but she could carry out the +wishes of others to the last letter.</p> + +<p>Lady Cambrey, from motives of her own, wanted her to go to Rome. She had +managed it without the least trouble.</p> + +<p>"Marion," she said, "have you decided where to spend the winter?"</p> + +<p>"No," was the quiet reply, "I have not thought much about it, Aunt Jane; +have you?"</p> + +<p>The words were so sweetly and placidly spoken.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have thought a great deal about it. I hear that a great many +very nice English people have gone to Rome. They say that there will be +one of the nicest circles in Europe there."</p> + +<p>"In Rome," said Lady Marion, musingly. "Do I know many of those who are +going?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, some of our own set. One of the great Roman princes, Dorio, has +just married a beautiful English girl, so that for this year at least +the English will be all the rage in Rome. I should like to go there. I +knew some of the Dorio family, but not the one just married."</p> + +<p>"Then, if you would like it, we will go there," said Lady Marion; "I +shall be pleased if you are."</p> + +<p>So without any more difficulty the first part of the programme was +carried out, and Lady Marion Erskine, with her chaperon, Lady Jane +Cambrey, settled in Rome for the winter. They took a beautifully +furnished villa, called the Villa Borgazi, near to some famous gardens. +Lady Cambrey took care that, while she reveled in Italian luxuries, no +English comfort should be wanting—the Villa Borgazi soon had in it all +the comforts of an English home.</p> + +<p>She came home one morning, after many hours of shopping, with a look of +some importance on her face.</p> + +<p>"Marion," she said, "I have heard that the Lanswells are here. I am very +pleased. I thought of calling this afternoon; if you are tired, I will +go alone."</p> + +<p>And from the tone of her voice, rather than her words, Lady Marion +fancied that she would prefer to pay her visit alone.</p> + +<p>"You remember the Countess of Lanswell; she was la grande dame par +excellence in London last summer. She admired you very much, if you +recollect."</p> + +<p>"I remember her," said Lady Marion; then, with some interest, she added, +"It was her son, Lord Chandos, who got himself into such difficulties, +was it not?"</p> + +<p>Lady Cambrey was slightly taken by surprise; her ward had always shown +such a decided distaste for gossip of all kinds that she trusted she had +never even heard of this little escapade. However, Lady Marion's +question must be answered.</p> + +<p>She shook her head gravely.</p> + +<p>"It was not his fault, poor boy!" she said; "his mother has told me all +about it. I am very sorry for him."</p> + +<p>"Why does he deserve so much pity?" she asked.</p> + +<p>And Lady Cambrey answered:</p> + +<p>"He was but a boy at the time, and she, this person, a dairy-maid, I +believe, took advantage of his generosity, and either persuaded him to +marry her, or wrung from him some promise of marriage when he should be +of age."</p> + +<p>"I thought," said straightforward Lady Marion, "that he was married, and +his parents had petitioned that the marriage be considered null and void +as he was under age."</p> + +<p>"I think, my dear," said the diplomatic aunt, "that it would be as well +not to mention this. Two things are certain, if Lord Chandos had been +properly married, his marriage could never have been set aside; the +other is, that the countess can never endure the mention of her son's +misfortune."</p> + +<p>"Do you know Lord Chandos?" asked Lady Marion, after a time.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know him, and I consider him one of the most charming men I have +ever met, a perfect cavalier and chivalrous gentleman."</p> + +<p>"That is high praise," said Lady Marion, thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I know of none higher," said her aunt, and then with her usual tact +changed the subject; but more than once that day Lady Marion thought of +the man who was a cavalier and a gentleman.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the time passed pleasantly for the countess and her son. They +were staying at the grand palace of the Falconis—once the home of +princes, but now let by the year to the highest bidder. Lady Lanswell +took good care that her son should be well amused; every morning a +delicious little sketch of the day's amusement was placed before him; +the countess laid herself out to please him as man had never been +pleased before.</p> + +<p>The countess saw that he received letters from England continually. She +was above all vulgar intrigue, or she might have destroyed more than +one-half which came, without his seeing them. She would not do that; the +war she carried into the enemy's camp was of the most refined and +thorough-going kind. She would set aside a marriage on a mere quibble, +but she would not destroy a letter. She had said, openly and defiantly +to her son's face, that she felt sure he would not remarry Leone in +June, but she would stoop to no vulgar way to prevent it.</p> + +<p>It often happened that the countess herself opened the letter-bag. When +she did so, and there was a letter from Leone, she always gave it to her +son with a smile, in which there was just a shade of contempt.</p> + +<p>"Another letter," she would say; "my dear Lance, you contribute quite +your share to the inland revenue."</p> + +<p>She never alluded to Leone, but she did permit herself, at rare +intervals, to relate some ludicrous anecdotes of people who had suffered +from a severe attack of love.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos found the time pass very pleasantly; he said to himself he +might as well remain in Rome and enjoy himself, as go back to England +and be miserable. Wherever he went, he could not see Leone. He would not +trust himself; he loved her too much, if he were in the same land, not +to be near her.</p> + +<p>Being in Rome, he did as the Romans did; he amused himself to the very +utmost of his power; he seized every golden hour that passed, and though +he loved Leone as much as ever, he ceased to feel the keen pain which +their separation had caused him at first. One morning, from the Countess +of Lanswell to Lady Jane Cambrey, there passed a little note. It said, +simply:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Shall we take the first step to-night? Bring Lady Marion to the +Princess Galza's concert, and leave the rest to me."</p></blockquote> + +<p>Lady Cambrey lost no time. She sought her ward and said so much to her +about the concert, for which they both had invitations, that Lady Marion +was eager to go.</p> + +<p>"I must superintend your toilet, Marion; as it is your first appearance +in Roman society, you must make a favorable impression."</p> + +<p>She selected one of the loveliest toilets that could have been chosen—a +white brocade, embroidered with flowers of the palest blue.</p> + +<p>"You must wear pearls and pale-blue flowers," she said, "and you will +find that to-morrow every one will be talking of the new beauty that has +risen over Rome."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion looked perfectly beautiful; she was perfect in her style, +the very queen of blondes, with her soft, shining hair, and eyes blue as +the summer skies. Her face was the purest mixture of rose and white, +with the dainty, delicate color described in that one line:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Crimson shell, with white sea foam."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She had a beautiful, fresh mouth, a dimpled chin, a neck and shoulders +white as ivory, arms so rounded and white it was a treat to see them. +She was of the queenly type—tall, with the promise of a grand +womanhood; her white throat was firm, her arms rounded and strong; she +was the ideal of an English gentlewoman; her pure, proud face, clear +eyes, and sweet lips were beautiful beyond words. When she was dressed +that evening for the princess' concert she looked most charming. Lady +Cambrey had said truly that among the dark-eyed daughters of Italy she +would shine white and fair as a white dove among colored ones.</p> + +<p>Her dress was the perfection of taste—it was trimmed with pale-blue +forget-me-nots and white heath; a string of pearls was twisted in her +fair hair, and another round her white throat.</p> + +<p>"If he does not fall in love with her," said Lady Cambrey to herself, +"it will be because he has no admiration left in him for any one except +his dairy-maid."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell had been very successful in her diplomacy. She had spoken +of the concert before her son, who had received an invitation, but said +nothing about his going. He listened in silence, wondering if she would +ask him to go with her, saying to himself that he should decline, for he +did not like concert-going. Then, as she did not ask him, he began to +feel piqued over it and wonder why.</p> + +<p>After a short time he volunteered to go, and my lady took it very +coolly, reminding him of how often he had grown tired of a hot +concert-room. Then he resolved to go and made arrangements accordingly, +his mother smiling sweetly all the time. When all was settled, and he +had quitted the room, my lady laughed quietly. It was wonderful with +what bland sweetness and fine tact she managed men. She could lead her +son as though he were deaf, blind, and dumb, yet of all men he believed +himself most firm and secure in his opinion.</p> + +<p>Heaven help the man who falls helplessly into the hands of a clever +woman!</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>THE INTRODUCTION.</h3> + + +<p>If Lady Lanswell had purposely designed the meeting between her son and +the beautiful blonde to have taken place in the most picturesque spot in +Europe, she could not have chosen better. The great <i>salon</i> of the +Palazzo Golza had, in former days, been used as a royal audience-room; +the noblest princes in Rome had met there, and had given audience to the +grandest nobles. It was a superb apartment; there was a background of +purple tapestry from which the blonde loveliness of the English girl +shone resplendent as a snow-drop on a black ground. There were many +beautiful women present; the Princess Ainla, whose dark beauty was the +wonder of all who saw it; the famous American belle, Miss Sedmon, whose +auburn hair resembled that given by the old masters to the Madonna; but +there was not one in that vast assembly who could vie with Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell, with her son, was one of the last to enter the +<i>salon</i>; with one keen, comprehensive glance the countess took in, as it +were, the whole situation; she saw the pure, proud face of Lady Erskine, +saw that she was seated in the very place where her beauty was seen to +the best advantage, then she took her seat, never even looking in that +direction, and saying nothing to her son.</p> + +<p>It was just like laying a trap for a bird—he fell into it with the same +helplessness.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell neither looked at Lady Erskine nor her son, yet she knew +exactly the moment when his eyes first fell on her. She saw him start; +then she sat quite still, waiting for the question she knew must follow.</p> + +<p>It came at last.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "who is that beautiful girl?"</p> + +<p>My lady looked at him with languid eyes.</p> + +<p>"What beautiful girl, Lance? There are so many."</p> + +<p>"An English girl, I am sure. She has a string of pearls in her hair. Who +can she be?"</p> + +<p>Still Lady Lanswell feigned ignorance. She looked on the wrong side of +the room, and she affected not to understand where he meant, and when +she could affect no longer, she said:</p> + +<p>"Do you mean Lady Marion Erskine, the young lady near Princess Golza?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it must be Lady Erskine," he replied. "How beautiful she is, +mother. She shines like a fair pearl with that background of dark +tapestry. I heard some one say yesterday that she was in Rome. What a +perfect face."</p> + +<p>My lady looked at it coldly.</p> + +<p>"Do you think so, Lance?" she said. "I thought that you gave the +preference to dark beauties."</p> + +<p>His heart went back for one moment to the beautiful, passionate face he +had seen by the mill stream. The gorgeous <i>salon</i>, the beautiful women, +the peerless face of Lady Marion, the exquisite music, all floated away +from him, and he was once more by the mill-stream, with Leone's face +before him. So strong, so vivid was the memory, that it was with +difficulty he refrained from calling the name aloud.</p> + +<p>My lady guessed by the sudden expression of pain on his face where his +thoughts had gone. She recalled them.</p> + +<p>"Tastes differ so greatly," she said. "Do you really consider Lady +Marion beautiful, Lance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have seen no one more lovely," he answered.</p> + +<p>Then the countess dismissed the subject—too much must not be said at +once. She did not mention Lady Marion's name again that evening, but she +saw that her son looked often at her, and she smiled to think the bait +had taken.</p> + +<p>Again they were walking through the vast gardens of one of the Roman +palaces, when the whole party met. Lady Cambrey was with her niece; Lord +Chandos was near the countess, but not close by her side. The ladies +met, exchanged a few words, then parted, the countess not having made +the least effort to introduce her son; he spoke of it afterward.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "you did not introduce me to Lady Erskine."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell smiled calmly.</p> + +<p>"It was out of pure consideration for her; they tell me she has so many +admirers in Rome. From what I know of her, you would not be quite in her +style."</p> + +<p>The words piqued him.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked.</p> + +<p>His mother laughed again.</p> + +<p>"She is very proud, Lance, and very exclusive. I need say no more."</p> + +<p>My lady always knew exactly when to leave off. She turned away now, +leaving her son with the impression that Lady Erskine would not care to +know him, on account of his unfortunate love affair.</p> + +<p>They were destined to meet again that evening. A ball was given by an +English lady, Mrs. Chester, who had one of the best houses in Rome. Lady +Erskine looked very beautiful; her dress was of pale blue velvet, +superbly trimmed with white lace; she wore diamonds in her hair, and +carried a bouquet of white lilies in her hand. She was the belle of the +ball, and it was Mrs. Chester who introduced Lord Chandos to her. She +was quite innocent of any intrigue, but had she been the chosen +confidante of Lady Lanswell, she could not have done more to further her +views. She had been dancing with Lord Chandos herself, and began to +speak to him of the beautiful blonde.</p> + +<p>"Lady Marion Erskine realizes my idea of a fair woman," said Mrs. +Chester. "I have read the words in prose and poetry, now I understand +them."</p> + +<p>"I do not know Lady Erskine," said the young earl.</p> + +<p>"Not know her. Why, I should have thought that all the Englishmen in +Rome knew their beautiful country-woman."</p> + +<p>"I have never been introduced to her," said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"Then this is the last hour in which you shall lay any such complaint +against fate," said Mrs. Chester. "Come with me, my lord."</p> + +<p>Like all other English ladies in Rome, Mrs. Chester had a great +admiration for the heir of the Lanswells. It was impossible to withhold +it. He was so handsome, so brave and gallant, with the bearing of a +prince, the chivalry of a knight, and in his temper the sweet, sunny +grace of a woman. They all liked him; he seemed to have the geniality, +the generosity, the true nobility of an Englishman, without the +accompanying reserve and gloom. At that time there was no one more +popular in Rome than the young lord, about whom so many romantic stories +were told. He followed Mrs. Chester to where Lady Marion stood, the +brilliant center of a brilliant group. It pleased him to see what +deference was paid to him—how Italian princes and French dukes made way +when Mrs. Chester presented him to the beautiful heiress.</p> + +<p>The first moment the proud clear eyes smiled in his face he liked her. +She was most charming in her manner; she had not the fire and passion of +Leone; she was not brilliant, original or sparkling, but she was sweet, +candid, amiable, and gentle.</p> + +<p>One found rest in her—rest in the blue eyes, in the sweet, smiling +lips, in the soft, low voice, in the graceful, gentle movements—rest +and content.</p> + +<p>She never irritated, never roused any one to any great animation; she +received rather than gave ideas; she was one of those quiet, gentle, +amiable women whose life resembles the rippling of a brook rather than +the rush of a stream. She looked with a smile into the handsome face of +the young lord, and she, too, liked him.</p> + +<p>They stood together for a few minutes while Lord Chandos begged for a +dance, and even during the brief time more than one present thought what +a handsome pair they were. Lord Chandos was much pleased with her—the +low voice, the exquisitely-refined accent, the gentle grace, all +delighted him.</p> + +<p>She lacked passion, power, fire, originality, the chief things which +went for the making up of Leone's character; no two people could be more +dissimilar, more unlike; yet both had a charm for Lord Chandos; with the +one he found the stimulant of wit and genius, with the other sweetest +rest.</p> + +<p>They had several dances together; in her quiet, gentle way Lady Marion +confided to him that she preferred Englishmen to Italians, whom she +thought wanting in frankness and ease.</p> + +<p>"Why did you come to Rome?" asked Lord Chandos; and the beautiful blonde +was almost at a loss how to answer the question. The only answer that +she could give was that Lady Cambrey had first mentioned it.</p> + +<p>"It was not from any great wish, then, to see the antiquities or the art +treasures of Rome?" asked Lord Chandos, thinking as he spoke with what +rapture Leone would have thought of a visit to Italy.</p> + +<p>"No, it was not that, although I would not have missed seeing Rome on +any account. What brought you here, Lord Chandos?"</p> + +<p>He also hesitated for a moment, then he answered:</p> + +<p>"I really do not know. I came, so far as I know my own mind, because my +mother came," and then their eyes met with a curious, half-laughing +gaze.</p> + +<p>It was strange that they should have both come there without having any +clear or distinct notion why.</p> + +<p>"It seems to me," said Lord Chandos, "that we are both under guidance."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, for my own part," said Lady Erskine. "It is much easier to +be guided than to guide. I find it easier to obey than to command."</p> + +<p>"Do you?" he asked, laughingly. "You will find it very easy then some +day 'to love, honor and obey.'"</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt it," said the beautiful heiress, calmly. "I should not +care to go through life alone; I want a stronger soul than my own to +lean on."</p> + +<p>And again Lord Chandos went back in thought to the noble, self-reliant +girl who would hold her own against the world if need should be.</p> + +<p>And yet he liked Lady Marion; her graceful, languid helplessness had a +great charm for him. When he bade her good-evening, it was with the hope +that they would soon meet again.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>MAN'S FICKLENESS.</h3> + + +<p>They did meet again and again, always with pleasure on his part, and +very soon with something else on hers. Wherever she was she looked out +above the dark Italian heads for the tall, erect figure and brave +English face of Lord Chandos. She did not talk much to him, but there +was a light in her eyes and a smile on her face most pleasant to see +when he was near. She never sought him, she never, either directly or +indirectly, gave him any idea of where she was going. She never +contrived to meet him, but there were very few days during which they +did not spend some hours together.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell paid not the least attention when Lady Erskine joined +their party. She was kind and cordial, but she never made the least +effort either to entertain her or to induce her to stay. If ever by +chance Lord Chandos named her, his mother received the remark in total +silence—in fact, she completely ignored her—in which she showed her +tact. Had she ever made the least attempt to bring them together, he +would have seen through the little plot, and would have taken fright; as +it was, the net was so skillfully woven, that he was caught in it before +he knew there was a net at all. If the countess arranged a party for any +place, she never included the young heiress among her guests.</p> + +<p>So that their frequent interviews were so completely accidental, neither +of them thought anything of it; they drifted unawares into an intimacy +at which every one smiled but themselves. It flattered Lord Chandos to +see dukes and princes drawback when he came near the beautiful heiress, +as though it were quite understood that he had the right to claim her +attention—to see a proud Roman prince, with a long pedigree, make way +with a bow—to see a courtly French duke resign the seat he had waited +half the night for—to see the eyes of envy that followed him—it +flattered him, and he never asked where it would end.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell saw it all with well-pleased eyes, but said nothing; she +was biding her time.</p> + +<p>One evening they met at Mrs. Chester's. There was neither ball nor +party, but a quiet at home; and their friendship made greater strides +than it hitherto had done.</p> + +<p>Some one asked Lady Erskine to sing. Lord Chandos looked at her.</p> + +<p>"Do you sing?" he asked.</p> + +<p>And she answered with a quiet smile:</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is one of the few things I do well enough to content myself. I +have a good voice and I sing well."</p> + +<p>"Are you what people call fond of music?" he asked.</p> + +<p>And she answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I often put my own thoughts to music, and if I meet any words that +seem to me very good or very sweet I never rest until I have found a +melody that fits them. I came across some the other day. Shall I sing +them to you?"</p> + +<p>There was a slight commotion in the room when people saw the beautiful +English girl led to the piano. She turned with a smile to Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"My song is English," she said, "and will not be understood by every +one."</p> + +<p>"I shall understand it," he said; "you must sing it to me."</p> + +<p>When he heard the words he understood the blush that covered her face.</p> + +<p>"I should change my song," she said, "if another came into my mind. +These words are by a poetess I read and admire much. It is called +'Somewhere or Other.'"</p> + +<p>She sung in a sweet, pure voice; there was neither fire, power, nor +passion in it; but the words were clear and distinct.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Somewhere or other there must surely be<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The face not seen, the voice not heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that never yet—never yet—ah, me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Made answer to my word.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Somewhere or other, may be near or far,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Past land and sea, clear out of sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond the wandering moon, the star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That tracks her night by night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Somewhere or other, may be far or near,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With just a wall, a hedge between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With just the last leaves of the dying year<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fallen on a turf so green.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>He stood by her side while she sung, his eyes fixed on her face, +thinking how pure and fair she was. When the sweet strain of music +ended, he said:</p> + +<p>"Somewhere or other—you will find it soon, Lady Marion."</p> + +<p>"Find what?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"'The heart that has never yet answered a word,'" he replied, quoting +the words of her song. "People do often meet their fate without knowing +it."</p> + +<p>When he saw the fair face grow crimson he knew at once that she thought +she was speaking of himself and her. After that there seemed to be a +kind of understanding between them. When others were speaking he would +quote the words: "Somewhere or other," and then Lady Marion would blush +until her face burned. So a kind of secret understanding grew between +them without either of them quite understanding how it was.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell was quite happy; the bait was taking; there was no need +for her to interfere, all was going well.</p> + +<p>"Mother," said Lord Chandos, "I cannot understand it; you invite all the +old dowagers and spinsters in Rome to your afternoon teas and <i>soirees</i>, +but you never invite any young ladies, and there are some very pretty +ones."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, I know it, and deeply regret it; but you see I have no +one to entertain young ladies."</p> + +<p>He raised his head with an injured air.</p> + +<p>"You have me," he replied.</p> + +<p>The countess laughed.</p> + +<p>"True, I have you, but I mean some one free and eligible."</p> + +<p>"Am I not free and eligible?" he asked, quickly; and then his brave +young face grew fiery red under his mother's slow, sneering smile. "I do +not mean that; of course I am not free or eligible in that sense of the +word, yet I think I am quite as well able to entertain young and pretty +girls as old dowagers."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell looked keenly at him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, I will do anything to please you," she said, "but if you +persist in considering yourself an engaged man, you must forego the +society of charming girls. I have no desire for another visit from that +tempestuous young person."</p> + +<p>Lance, Lord Chandos, shuddered at the words—"a tempestuous young +person"—this was the heroine of his romance, his beautiful Leone, whose +voice always came to him with the whisper of the wind, and the sweet +ripple of falling water. "A tempestuous young person," his beautiful +Leone, whose passionate kisses were still warm on his lips, whose bitter +tears seemed wet on his face—Leone, who was a queen by right divine. He +turned angrily away, and Lady Lanswell, seeing that she had gone far +enough, affected not to see his anger, but spoke next in a laughing tone +of voice.</p> + +<p>"You see, Lance, in my eyes you are very eligible, indeed, and it seems +to me almost cruel to bring you into a circle of young girls, one of +whom might admire you, while I know that you can never admire them. Is +it not so?"</p> + +<p>"I am not free, mother, you know as well as all the world knows; still, +I repeat it that it is no reason why you should fill the house with +dowagers and never bring the bloom of a young face near it."</p> + +<p>"I will do as you wish, Lance," said my lady, and her son smiled.</p> + +<p>"Though I consider myself, and am, in all solemn truth, engaged, still +that does not make me a slave, mother. I am free to do as I like."</p> + +<p>"Certainly," said my lady, and for some minutes there was silence +between them.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos broke in.</p> + +<p>"Why do you never ask Lady Erskine to visit you, mother? She is a +charming girl, and you like her."</p> + +<p>The countess looked at him straight in the face.</p> + +<p>"I think it more prudent not to do so," she said. "Lady Marion is one of +the most perfect women I know; I know, too, that she admires you, and as +you are not free to admire her, you are better apart."</p> + +<p>He flung himself down on the carpet, and laid his handsome head on his +mother's knee, looking up to her with coaxing eyes, as he had done when +he was a boy.</p> + +<p>"Does she really admire me, mother? This beautiful girl, who has all the +grandees in Rome at her feet—does she really admire me?"</p> + +<p>"I have said it," laughed my lady.</p> + +<p>"Who told you, mother? How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I shall not tell you, Lance; sufficient for you to know that it is +quite true, and that I consider I am simply acting as prudence dictates. +I should admire you, Lance, if I were a young girl myself."</p> + +<p>"I am very much flattered," he said, slowly. "Even if it be true, +mother, I do not quite see why you should think so much prudence +needful. I admire Lady Marion; why should we not be friends?"</p> + +<p>"Would the tempestuous young person like it, Lance?" asked my lady.</p> + +<p>And it is very painful to state that an exceedingly strong and highly +improper word came from between Lord Chandos' closed lips.</p> + +<p>"Do not tease me, mother. I see no harm in it; if I did, be quite sure I +would not do it. Lady Marion and I can always be friends. I like her and +admire her; there is a certain kind of repose about her that I enjoy. +Why should we not be friends?"</p> + +<p>"Be friends if you like," said Lady Lanswell; "but if, in the course of +a few weeks, you find that mutual admiration does not answer, do not +blame me."</p> + +<p>From that day Lady Lanswell laid aside all pretense at scruple, and +allowed matters to go as they would; she visited the young heiress +constantly, and smiled when she saw that her son was becoming, day by +day, more attracted to her. She noticed another thing, too, with keen +pleasure, and it was that, although the same number of letters came from +England, not half so many went there.</p> + +<p>"A step in the right, direction," thought my lady; "I shall succeed +after all."</p> + +<p>To do Lord Chandos justice, he was quite blind to the danger that +surrounded him. He intended to be true to Leone—he had no other desire, +no other wish—he had never contemplated for one moment the act of +deserting her; he would have denounced any one who even hinted at such a +thing.</p> + +<p>But he was young, she was beautiful, they were in sunny Italy. And he +never dreamed of loving her.</p> + +<p>They were friends, that was all; they were to be exceptions to the +general rule—they were to be friends, without any of the elements of +love or flirtation marring their intercourse.</p> + +<p>Only friends. Yet in the beginning of May when Lady Cambrey and her ward +declined to return to England for the summer, but resolved to spend it +in Naples, Lord Chandos went there also, without feeling at all sure +that he would be back in London by June.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>"TELL ME YOUR SECRET."</h3> + + +<p>The sunny summer days at Nice—who can tell of their beauty, the glory +of the sunny blue sky, the glory of the foliage, the sweet, balmy breath +of the wind, which seemed daily to bring with it the perfume from a +hundred new flowers? How did the time pass? No one knew; it was a long +roll of pleasure and gayety. There was pleasure enough in being +out-of-doors; a picnic there was a very simple matter. They heard of a +very beautiful spot, drove there, remained there so long as it suited +them, then went back again. There were, as there always are, some very +nice English people at Nice, but none like fair, sweet Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>As the charm of her sweet character grew upon him, Lord Chandos liked +her more and more. He enjoyed her society. She was not witty, she could +not amuse a whole room full of people, she could not create laughter, +she was not the cause of wit in others, nor did talking to her awake the +imagination and arouse all the faculties of one's mind.</p> + +<p>Talking to her was rest, grateful as the shade of green trees after the +glare of the summer's sun. The sweet voice, the clear, refined accent, +the gracious and gentle thoughts, the apt quotations, all were something +to remember. She was by no means a genius, but she was well read, and +had the power of remembering what she read, had the gift of making most +of her knowledge. If you wished for an hour's interesting conversation, +there was no one like Lady Marion. She had such curious odds and ends of +information; her reading had been universal. She had some knowledge on +every point. She had her own ideas, too, clearly defined and +straightforward, not liable to vary with every paper she read, and in +these days one learns to be thankful for consistency. On those warm, +lovely, life-giving days, when the sun and sky, earth and air, flower +and tree did their best, it was Lord Chandos who liked to linger under +the vines talking to this fair girl whose very face was a haven of rest.</p> + +<p>He never thought of love at all in connection with her, he felt so sure +of the one great fact that he loved his wife; he forgot that there could +be such a thing as danger or temptation. Lady Marion had grown to love +him; it was impossible to help it; he had great and grave faults, as all +men have, but he was so brave and fearless, so gallant and generous, so +kind and chivalrous, no one could help loving him; his faults were +lovable, a fact that was much to be regretted; since, if they had been +disagreeable, he might have been cured of them.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion, in her quiet, gentle fashion, had learned to love him. She +appealed to him continually; the reading of a book, the singing of a +song, the arrangement of a day's plans, the choosing of acquaintances, +on each and all of these points she made him her confidant and guide; it +was so gently and so naturally done that he insensibly guided her whole +life without knowing it. What Lord Chandos said or thought was her rule. +It was such a pleasure to guide and advise her, she was so yielding, so +gentle, she took such a pride in obeying him; she would apologize to him +at times and say:</p> + +<p>"I told you, Lord Chandos, that I must always have a stronger mind than +my own to lean upon."</p> + +<p>He listened to the words with a smile, but it did just occur to him that +she would not have his mind to lean upon much longer, for he must go +home to England to Leone. Once or twice lately he had been much struck +with Lady Marion's manner. She was so gracious, so charming with him. +When he had suddenly entered the room where she was sitting he had seen +the crimson blush that rose over her white neck and brow. He noticed +too, that she had rarely, if ever, raised her eyes to his face until +that blush had passed away, lest they should tell their own secret. And +one day he said to her:</p> + +<p>"Why do you never give me a frank, open look, Lady Marion—such as you +gave me always when I knew you first? now you turn your face away, and +your eyes droop. Have I displeased you?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, gently; "it is not that; you could not displease me."</p> + +<p>"Then you are keeping some secret from me," he said, and she smiled a +slow, sweet, half-sad smile that stirred his heart with curious power.</p> + +<p>"I have no secret," she said; "or if I have it matters little to any one +but myself."</p> + +<p>"Tell me your secret, Lady Marion," he said, with a sigh.</p> + +<p>"I will answer you in the words of my favorite poet," she said; "listen, +Lord Chandos."</p> + +<p>They were standing under the shade of a clustering vine, the wind that +kissed both fair young faces was full of perfume, the flowers that +bloomed around them were full of sweetest odors, the whisper of the +odorous wind was no sweeter than the voice in which she quoted the +words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Perhaps some languid summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When drowsy birds sing less and less,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And golden fruit is ripening to excess;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If there's not too much wind or too much cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the warm wind is neither still nor loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps my secret I may say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or—you may guess.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"What beautiful words," he cried. "It seems to me, Lady Marion, that you +have a whole storehouse full of the most apt and beautiful quotations. +You ought to have been a poet yourself."</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "I can appreciate, but I cannot invent. I can make +the words and the thoughts of a poet my own, but I cannot invent or +create; I have no originality."</p> + +<p>"You have what is rarer, still," he cried; "a graceful humility that +raises you higher than any other gift could do."</p> + +<p>He spoke so warmly that she looked up in wonder, but Lord Chandos turned +abruptly away; there might be danger if he said more.</p> + +<p>So the lovely, leafy month of May ended, and June began. Then Lord +Chandos began to think of home—his birthday was on the thirtieth of +June, and he knew what he had promised for that day. He could see the +pretty, flower-covered window—the roses which must be thrust aside—the +gate he had promised to open; he remembered every detail. Well, it was +all very pretty and very pleasant; but, he could not tell why, the bloom +of the romance was gone, that was quite certain. He had learned to +associate poetry with the pale moonlight and golden hair, with a very +fair face and a soft ripple of sweet speech. Still he intended most +honorably to keep his promise; he took great delight, too, in thinking +of Leone's passionate happiness, of her beautiful face, of the ecstasy +of welcome she would give him. Then, of course, he must marry her; the +very day after that would be the first of July, and, for the first time, +he thought of his coming marriage with a sigh—it would separate him so +entirely from his mother, and from Lady Marion; in all probability he +would never see much of her again. He thought more of her loss than of +his own.</p> + +<p>"How she will miss me," he said to himself; "she will have no one to +consult, no one to advise her. I wish we could always be the same good +friends as now."</p> + +<p>Then it occurred to him that perhaps, after all, his wife would not care +to know that he was on such confidential terms with any one but herself.</p> + +<p>He would have felt far less sure of either his return or his marriage if +he had overheard a slight conversation that took place between his +mother and Lady Marion. The Countess of Lanswell called one day and took +the young heiress out for a drive with her; when they were seated, +driving through scenery so beautiful one could hardly believe it to be a +fallen world, the countess in her sweetest manner, which she knew how to +make quite irresistible, said:</p> + +<p>"Lady Marion, I want you to help me to do something, if you will."</p> + +<p>"You know I will do anything I can for you, Lady Lanswell," said the +girl, gently; "I could have no greater pleasure."</p> + +<p>She did not add, because I love your son, but this was in her mind, and +the countess quite understood it.</p> + +<p>She continued:</p> + +<p>"You know how I love my dear and only son, how anxious I am for his +welfare, how devoted to his interests."</p> + +<p>"I can imagine it all," said Lady Marion, warmly.</p> + +<p>The countess went on:</p> + +<p>"He has an idea, a quixotic, foolish and most unhappy one, one that if +carried out will mar his life and ruin his prospects, and in the end +break his heart. Now, I want you to help me break off this idea; he +thinks of returning to England in June, and if he does, all hope is +over. He never allows himself to be coerced or persuaded; as to the word +'marriage' it would be a fatal one, but we might, I am sure, influence +him—that is, if you will help me."</p> + +<p>"I will do all I can," said Lady Marion, earnestly; her sweet face had +grown very pale.</p> + +<p>"He must not go back to England," said the countess: "we must keep him +here until August—how can we do it?"</p> + +<p>"Ask him to stay," said the young girl, simply; "that seems the most +straightforward plan."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it would not be of the least use; he must be influenced. Now I +think that he prefers your society to any other; suppose you plan a tour +through Spain, and ask him to go with us."</p> + +<p>The pale face flushed.</p> + +<p>"I will if you think he would agree," she replied.</p> + +<p>"I believe he would; if he seems inclined to refuse, and you are in the +least degree disturbed over it, I believe firmly that he will go. I do +not think that he knows the strength of his own feelings for you. Let us +try it. You can speak to me about it before him, then I will leave you +with him and you can finish your good work."</p> + +<p>"He is not likely to be vexed, is he?" asked Lady Marion, timidly.</p> + +<p>"Vexed, my dear child, no; he will consider himself highly favored. You +see it is in this way. I cannot show any eagerness for it, and you can. +My son would suspect my motive; he knows yours must be a good one, and +will feel sure that it is liking for his society—you do like it, do you +not, Lady Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I cannot deny it," replied the young girl, "and I will help you +all I can. You do not wish him to return to England in June. I will do +my best to keep him away."</p> + +<p>And the question was—would she succeed?</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>HOW IT HAPPENED.</h3> + + +<p>"Mother," said Lord Chandos, "I never knew a month pass as this has +done—the days have wings. It is the sixteenth to-day, and it does not +seem to be twenty-four hours since it was the first."</p> + +<p>"That shows, at least, that life has been pleasant to you," said the +countess.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it has been very pleasant," he replied, and then he sighed deeply.</p> + +<p>"Why do you sigh, Lance? The future can be as pleasant as the past, can +it not?"</p> + +<p>He looked up half impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I sigh to think that my share in it is all ended. I must be in England +by the end of June."</p> + +<p>"Make the most of the time left," said my lady; "there's another week, +at least. Let us go everywhere and see everything. In all probability, +we shall not meet at Nice again."</p> + +<p>He had expected contradiction, he had expected his mother to oppose his +desire of returning home, and he was slightly piqued to find that so far +from opposing him, she seemed to fall into the idea as though it were +the most natural one.</p> + +<p>"I think," he pursued, "that if I leave here on the twenty-seventh that +will be soon enough."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the countess, quietly. "It is not such a long journey, after +all."</p> + +<p>So she would not oppose him, she would not argue with him, but left him +to take his own way. The handsome face grew shadowed, the frank eyes +troubled. It is very hard when a man cannot force any one to contradict +him. He rose from his chair, he walked uneasily up and down the room; he +spoke almost nervously on one or two points and then he said:</p> + +<p>"Mother, I suppose you know what I intend doing."</p> + +<p>She looked up at him with the blandest smile and the sweetest air.</p> + +<p>"Doing, Lance—about the boat to-night, do you mean?"</p> + +<p>She purposely affected to misunderstand him.</p> + +<p>"The boat?" he repeated. "No, I mean about—my—my—future—my +marriage."</p> + +<p>"I cannot say that I know what you intend doing, Lance, but I am quite +sure you will never again have the bad taste to offend your father and +me. I can trust you so far."</p> + +<p>He looked still more uncomfortable; he could always manage the countess +better when she was angry than when she was amiable. He stopped abruptly +before her, and looking at her said:</p> + +<p>"I must marry Leone, mother, I must."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Lance. When you are twenty-one, you can do as you like."</p> + +<p>"Oh, mother," cried the young lord, "be more humane, do not be so frigid +and cold; speak to me about it. I am your only son, surely my marriage +is a matter of some importance to you."</p> + +<p>There was a passion of entreaty in his voice, and Lady Lanswell looked +kindly at him.</p> + +<p>"Certainly your marriage is of more importance than anything else on +earth; but you cannot expect me to look with favor on that tempestuous +young person who ranted at me like a third-rate actress from a traveling +theater; you must excuse me, Lance, but there are limits to human +endurance, and she is beyond mine."</p> + +<p>"Mother, let me be happy, let me go and marry her, let me bring her back +here and we shall all be happy together."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, I should not consider a person of her position a fit +companion for my maid; for myself, I quite declare I shall not oppose +your marriage with the girl—it is quite useless, since you are of age, +to do as you like; but I shall never see you or speak to you again; when +you leave me here for that purpose our good-bye will last beyond death. +Still you understand I do not seek to win you from your purpose, you are +free to do as you will."</p> + +<p>The misery on his handsome young face touched her a little, and she had +to remind herself that she was doing all she did for his own good.</p> + +<p>"We will not talk any more about it, Lance," she said, kindly; "words +will not alter facts. Did your father tell you what we proposed about +the boat to-night?"</p> + +<p>His lips trembled as he tried to answer her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot throw off sorrow as you can, mother; I am talking to you about +that which will make the misery or the happiness of my life, and you +think of nothing but a boat."</p> + +<p>"Words are so useless, Lance," repeated my lady; "they are but empty +sounds. I am going out to look for some cameos; I think I should like a +set, they are very elegant and <i>recherche</i>."</p> + +<p>So saying, my lady left the room as though no serious thought occupied +her mind.</p> + +<p>Then, for the first time, something like impatience with his fate came +over the young lord, something like impatience with Leone, for whose +love he had so much to suffer. He loved his proud, beautiful mother, who +had, unknown to him, such great influence over him. He could not endure +the thought of life-long separation from her. The glamour of a boy's +first mad love had fallen from him, and he saw things as they were; he +could estimate better than he had done before, what it meant to give up +father, mother and friends all for one love.</p> + +<p>He did not recover his spirits all day, but the temptation never once +came near him to break his word or forget Leone. That night, one of the +loveliest that ever dawned on earth, they were all going to a <i>fete</i> +given by the Countess Spizia, and one part of the entertainment was that +the beautiful grounds were to be illuminated.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos had never seen his mother look so proud, so brilliant or so +handsome as on that night. She wore a superb dress of green velvet, with +a suit of diamonds worth a king's ransom. Lady Marion wore a dress of +rich lace, with cream color roses and green leaves. The <i>fete</i> was well +attended; a great number of French people and English were there. The +earl had declined. Moonlit gardens and illuminated grounds had not much +attraction for him.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos sat for some little time by his mother's side; he was +enjoying an ice, and as he watched her he felt a sensation of pride in +her beauty—a keen sense of regret that they should ever be parted.</p> + +<p>An involuntary cry of admiration came from the countess, and Lord +Chandos looking in the direction where her eyes were fixed, saw Lady +Erskine. Never had the great queen of blondes looked so lovely; the +fine, fairy-like web of costly lace fell in graceful folds around a +figure that stood alone for grace and symmetry. She wore nothing but +green leaves in her golden hair; her arms, bare to the shoulders, were +white, firm, and statuesque. Over her face, when she saw Lord Chandos, +came a beautiful, brilliant flush.</p> + +<p>The countess and her son were sitting in one of the pretty <i>salons</i>, +where some of the most famous works of art were collected. There was an +exquisite bust of Clytie which attracted much attention; they had been +commenting on it, and Lady Lanswell was saying how much she would like a +copy of it.</p> + +<p>"Here comes something more beautiful than Clytie," she said, as Lady +Marion advanced to meet them.</p> + +<p>She made room for the young heiress by her side. Lady Marion had +schooled herself well, but her task was no easy one—she was so candid, +so loyal, so true in all her dealings, that the least attempt at +anything savoring of deception was unpleasant to her; still, she would, +of course, do anything to help Lady Lanswell. So she sat down by her +side and talked with her usual gentle grace.</p> + +<p>She said, after a time:</p> + +<p>"Lady Lanswell, I have a great favor to ask of you. If you do not wish +to go back to England just yet, will you join me? I am trying to +persuade Lady Cambrey to make a tour through Spain."</p> + +<p>She drew a long breath of relief when the words were spoken, she was so +thankful to have them said and done with. She mentally resolved that +never would she promise to do anything of this kind again. Lady +Lanswell's calm restored hers.</p> + +<p>"To Spain?" repeated the countess. "What a traveler you are, Lady +Marion. What has put Spain into your mind?"</p> + +<p>"I have always longed to see the Alhambra," said Lady Marion, with +perfect truth. "As we are so near, it would be a pity to go back without +seeing it."</p> + +<p>"I quite agree with you. It may be some years before you come on the +Continent again—you are quite right to go to Spain. And you really wish +us to join your party?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, I should be delighted; it would increase my pleasure a +hundred-fold," replied the young heiress, promptly.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind to say so. I will go if you can persuade Lord Chandos +to go with us."</p> + +<p>"How can I do that?" she asked, with a smile. "Teach me how to +'persuade,' Lady Lanswell. I have never been able to 'persuade' any +one."</p> + +<p>The countess rose from her seat with a light laugh.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that in this case, persuasion, argument, and reason would +be in vain. Lance, take Lady Marion to see the lamps in the almond +trees—they are really very fine."</p> + +<p>He took the soft, silken wrapper from her and wrapped it round her +shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Let us go and see the lamps," he said, and they went.</p> + +<p>Ah, well. The sky above was filled with pale, pure stars; the +almond-trees filled the air with delicate perfume; the nightingales were +singing in the distant trees; great floods of silver moonlight fell over +the grounds, in which the lilies gleamed palely white, and the roses +hung their heavy heads.</p> + +<p>They went together to the grove where the lamps shone bright as huge +pearls. The path was a narrow one and he drew the white hand through his +arm. How did it come about? Ah, who shall tell? Perhaps the wind +whispered it, perhaps the nightingales sung about it, perhaps something +in the great white lily leaves suggested it, perhaps the pale, pure +stars looked disapproval; but it happened that the white hand felt the +arm, and was clasped in a warm, strong hand—a clasp such as only love +gives.</p> + +<p>Who shall say how it happened? She raised her fair face to his in the +soft, pure moonlight, and said to him:</p> + +<p>"Must you really go back to England, Lord Chandos?"</p> + +<p>The voice was sweet as music—the face, so fair, so pure, so proud.</p> + +<p>"Must you," she added, "really go?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am compelled to return," he answered slowly.</p> + +<p>"Need it be yet?" she said. "I know you must go, but the journey through +Spain will be so pleasant, and we might make a compromise. I will +shorten the journey if you will delay your return."</p> + +<p>And before he left the almond grove Lord Chandos had promised to do so, +and as he made the promise he bent down and kissed the white hand lying +in his.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>WAITING FOR HIM.</h3> + + +<p>Never had June seen such roses, never had lilies opened such white +chalices, never had the trees looked so green, or the grass so long and +thick, never had the birds sung as they sung this June, never had the +light of the sun been so golden bright. The smile of the beautiful +summer lay over the land, but in no place was it so fair as in River +View. It was a scene like fairyland.</p> + +<p>So Leone thought it as she watched day by day the beauty of blossom and +leaf. It was in the month of May she first began to watch the signs of +coming summer; with the first breath of the hawthorn, her heart grew +light and a new beauty of hope came in her face. It was May and he was +coming in June. She worked harder than ever. She rose early and retired +late; these months of hard study and hard reading had changed her more +than she knew herself. One year ago she had risen a beautiful, strong, +healthy girl, full of fire, and life, and power. Now she was a refined, +intellectual woman, full of genius and talent, full of poetry and +eloquence, full of originality and wit; then she was a girl to be +admired, now she was a woman who could rule a kingdom, whose power was +unlimited.</p> + +<p>She had acquired more in these few months of study than some people +learn in years. She knew how great his delight would be, and she smiled +to think how entirely at her ease she should be, even with his stately +lady mother; she should feel no great awe of her in the future, for if +Heaven had not given her the position of a lady by birth, she had made +herself one by study and refinement.</p> + +<p>So he was coming, and their real married life was to begin. She thought +with a shudder of the pain she had passed through, of the horror of that +terrible discovery. It was all over now, thank Heaven. It had never been +any brand or stigma to her; she had never felt any false shame over it; +she had never bowed her bright head as though a blight had passed over +her. She said to herself it was not her fault, she was not in the least +to blame. She had believed herself in all honor to be the wife of Lord +Chandos, and she could not feel that the least shadow of blame rested on +her.</p> + +<p>He was coming home. Through the long hours of the summer day, she +thought of nothing else. True, since the month of June, his letters had +been very few and much cooler. True, it had been a severe shock to her, +to hear that he had gone to Nice; but, as his letter said nothing of +Lady Marion, and she knew nothing even of the existence of such a +person, that did not matter. Why had he gone to Nice when June was so +near? She wrote to him to ask the question, but his answer was: Because +his parents had gone there. Then she said no more; that seemed quite +natural. The only thing that occurred to her was, he would have a longer +journey in June; he would come to her as he had promised, but he would +take a longer time in traveling.</p> + +<p>Lose faith in him! She flung back her head, with a bright, proud laugh. +No, nothing could shake her faith in him; his proud lady mother had +managed to get him under her influence—what did that matter? He loved +her and her alone. She remembered the words spoken on her wedding-day; +when she had asked him if he was quite sure their marriage was legal, +his answer was, "Yes, and that nothing could part them except death."</p> + +<p>How well she remembered those words, "except death"! He had taken her in +his arms and kissed her, as though even death itself should not claim +her. No shadow of fear entered her mind. She knew that he would come, as +surely as she knew that the sun would rise and the day would dawn.</p> + +<p>The thirtieth of June. No gift of second sight came to her, to tell her +that on the twenty-seventh of June Lord Chandos had sat down and wrote +her a very long letter, telling her that it was impossible for him to be +at home on the thirtieth of June, as he had promised to go with his +parents to Spain. A large party were going, and he must join them; but +his heart would be with her on that day. He should think of her from +morning dawn until sunset, and he would be with her soon. He was vexed +that he had to take the journey; it was quite against his will, yet he +had been over-persuaded. He should soon see her now; and, whatever he +did, she must not feel in the least degree distressed, or put about. +Their happiness was only delayed for a short time.</p> + +<p>A long letter. She had no gift of second sight; she could not see that +his face burned with a shameful flush as he wrote it; that for himself +he had no pity; that his heart went out to her with a warmer love than +ever, but that the fear of his mother's taunts and the pain on Lady +Marion's face kept him where he was.</p> + +<p>Then, when the long letter was written, he directed it and sent it by +his valet to post; nor could she see how that same valet intended going +to post it at once, but was prevented, and then laid it aside for an +hour, as he thought, and forgot it for two whole days; then, fearing his +master's anger, said nothing about it, trusting that the delay might be +attributed to something wrong in the post; and so, on the very day it +should have been given to her, it was put into the post-office, three +days too late. She could not know all this, and she longed for the +thirtieth of June as the dying long for cold water, as the thirsty hart +for the clear spring.</p> + +<p>It came. She had longed for it, waited for it, prayed for it, and now it +was here. She awoke early in the morning; it was to her as though a +bridegroom were coming; the song of the birds woke her, and they seemed +to know that he was coming—they were up and awake in the earliest dawn. +Then a great flood of golden sunlight came to welcome her; she hastened +to the window to see what the day was like, and whether the sky was +blue. It seemed to her that every little bird sung, "He is coming."</p> + +<p>Here were the roses laughing in at the window, nodding as though they +would say, "This is the thirtieth of June." There flashed the deep, +clear river, hurrying on to the great sea over which he must have +crossed; the wind whispered among the leaves, and every leaf had a +voice. "He is coming to-day," they all said—"coming to-day."</p> + +<p>There was a great stir even at that early hour in the morning between +the white and purple butterflies; there was a swift, soft cooing from +the wood-pigeons; the world seemed to laugh in the warm embrace of the +rising sun. She laughed too—a sweet, happy laugh that stirred the rose +leaf and jasmine.</p> + +<p>"Oh, happy day!" she cried—"oh, kindly sun and kindly time, that brings +my love back to me."</p> + +<p>She looked at the gate through which he would pass—at the rose tree +from which he would gather the rose; and she stretched out her hands +with a great, longing cry.</p> + +<p>"Send him quickly—oh, kind Heaven!" she cried. "I have waited so long, +my eyes ache to look at him. I thirst for his presence as flowers thirst +for dew."</p> + +<p>She looked at her watch, it was but just six—the laborers were going to +the field, the maids to the dairy, the herdsmen to their flocks. She +could see the hay-makers in the meadow, and the barges dropped lazily +down the stream. The time would soon pass and he would be here before +noon. Could it be possible that she should see him so soon?</p> + +<p>"In six hours," she repeated, "she should see him in six hours."</p> + +<p>Ah, well, she had plenty to do. She went round the pretty villa to see +if everything was as he liked best to see it, then she occupied herself +in ordering for his enjoyment every dish that she knew he liked; and +then she dressed herself to sit and wait for him at the window. She +looked as though she had been bathed in dew and warmed by the golden +sun, so bright, so sparkling, so fresh and brilliant, her eyes radiant +with hope and love, the long, silken lashes like fringe, the white lids +half-drooping, her face, with its passionate beauty heightened by the +love that filled her heart and soul. She wore a dress of amber muslin +with white lace, and in the rich masses of her dark hair lay a creamy +rose. Fair and bright as the morning itself she took her place at the +window to watch the coming of him who was so many miles away. It is thus +women believe men, it is thus that men keep the most solemn vows that +they can make.</p> + +<p>The maid who brought her tea wondered why her young mistress chose to +sit at the window to drink it; indeed, she started with wonder at the +brilliant beauty of the face turned to her.</p> + +<p>It struck her now that she might in very truth begin to expect him; the +sun was growing warmer, the flowers were wide awake, the brown bees were +busy among the carnations, the birds had done half their day's work; +some of the tall-plumed lilacs were beginning to droop, and the white +acacia blossoms had fallen on the long grass. Her whole soul in her +eyes, and those eyes fixed longingly on the white gate, she sat there +until noon.</p> + +<p>Great city bells rang out the hour; in the villages it was told by sweet +old chimes. The hay-makers sat down to rest, the butterflies rested in +the great hearts of the red roses, the bees settled in the carnations, +the languid, odorous wind was still while the strokes rang out one after +another—fragrant, sunny, golden noon.</p> + +<p>He had not come; but every moment was bringing him nearer. Some one +brought her a glass of wine, some fruit and biscuits. She would not +touch them because she would not take her eyes from the white gate +through which he had to pass.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE.</h3> + + +<p>She did not grow impatient; the love which sustained her, the hope that +inspired her was too sweet; her soul seemed to be in a blissful, happy +trance; no doubt, no fear, no presentiment of coming disappointment +dimmed the radiance of those sunny brows. He was coming fast as steam +could bring him; it did not matter if he would not come yet, if more of +the sunny hours passed—even if he delayed until even-tide, he would +come so sure as the sun shone in the blue sky.</p> + +<p>Noon passed. One—two—three—still she had never moved or stirred. Four +and five struck, still the light had not died from her eyes nor the +smile from her face; he would come; the stars might fall from the +heaven, the great earth upheave, the rivers rise, the hills fall, night +become day, darkness light, but he would come. Who so faithful, so fond, +so true? And at five her maid came again; this time she had a cup of +strong, fragrant coffee, and Leone drank it eagerly. She would wait for +dinner; she expected some one, and she would wait. Quickly enough she +replaced the cup and returned to her watch; he might have come while she +had the cup to her lips; but, ah, no, no one had trodden on the white +acacia blossoms—they were uncrushed.</p> + +<p>Perhaps the long watching had wearied her, or the warm glow of the June +afternoon fatigued her, or the strong odor of the flowers reached her +brain. She looked at her watch; it was after five. He would come, most +certainly; she knew that; but she was tired, and a great tearless sob +rose to her lips. The heat of the June sun was growing less; she leaned +her head against the casement of the window, and the white eyelids fell +over the dark, passionate, tender eyes. She was dreaming, then; she +heard the ripple of running water that sung as it ran, and the words +were:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A ring in pledge I gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those vows were all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Over and over again the sweet, sad words were repeated. She was standing +on the brink of the mill-stream again, her lover's kisses warm on her +lips, her lover's hands clasping hers. Ah, Heaven, that the dream could +have lasted or she never woke! A bird woke her by perching on her hand; +perhaps he thought it was a lily, and she started in affright. The bells +were ringing six; she had lost one whole hour, yet Heaven had sent that +sleep in mercy; one hour of forgetfulness strengthened her for what she +had to suffer. She woke with a start; for one moment her brain was +confused between the dream and the reality. Was it the ripple of the +mill-stream, or was it the sighing of the wind among the roses? She had +slept for an hour. Had he come? Had she slept while he entered the +garden? Was he hiding in jest?</p> + +<p>She rang the bell quickly as the trembling hands would allow: and when +the pretty, coquettish maid answered it she asked had any one come, had +any one called; and the answer was, "No." Still she could not rest; she +looked through the rooms, through the garden; ah, no, there were no +traces of any arrival—none.</p> + +<p>Once more to her watch at the window; but the scene began to change. +There was no longer the golden glow over land and water, no longer the +golden glare of a summer's day, no longer the sweet summer's noise, and +the loud, jubilant songs of the birds. A gray tint was stealing over +earth and sky; the lilies were closing their white cups; the birds +singing their vesper hymn; longer shadows fell on the grass; cooler +winds stirred the roses. He would come. The sky might pale, the earth +darken, the sun set, the flowers sleep; but he would come. She would let +no doubt of him enter her faithful heart. Let the night shadow fall, the +sun of her love and her hope should still keep light.</p> + +<p>And then from sky and earth, from clear river and green wood the light +of day faded—eight, nine, and ten struck—the world grew dark and +still—she kept her watch unbroken. It might be night when he returned; +but she would hear the click of the gate and be there to welcome.</p> + +<p>Ah, me, the sorrow that gathered like a storm-cloud over the beautiful +face—the light, brightness and hope died from it as the light died from +the heavens. Still she would not yield. Even after the shadows of +evening had fallen over the land she kept her place. He would come. The +servants of the household grew alarmed at last; and one by one they +ventured in to try to persuade their young mistress to eat, to sleep, or +to rest.</p> + +<p>To one and all she said the same thing:</p> + +<p>"Hush, do not speak; I am listening!"</p> + +<p>It had grown too late to see; there was no moon, and the pale light of +the stars revealed nothing; it had grown colder, too. There was a faint +sound in the wind that told of coming rain. Her own maid—more at +liberty to speak than the others—prayed her to come in; but all advice, +reason, remonstrance received the same answer:</p> + +<p>"I must not leave this spot until the twenty-four hours are ended."</p> + +<p>She would not have suffered half the torture had the letter arrived; she +would have known then at once that she was not to expect him; and the +ordeal of waiting would have been over at once; but she clung to the +hope he would come, he must come. She recalled his promises given +solemnly—she said to herself with a little shudder:</p> + +<p>"If he does not come to-day he will never come."</p> + +<p>And then she hated herself for the half-implied doubt of him. No matter +if the sun had fallen and the nightingale was singing; no matter if the +solemn hush of night had fallen, and soft, deep shadows lay around, he +would come. The sighs of the wind grew deeper; the roses drooped. She +leaned forward, for it seemed to her there was a stir among the trees; +it was only some night bird in quest of its prey. Again she bent her +head; surely, at last, there was the click of the gate. But no; it was +only the swaying of the branches in the wind.</p> + +<p>Then clear and full and distinct, cleaving the air, rang out the hour of +twelve; it was midnight, and he had not come. The thirtieth of June was +over, and he had failed.</p> + +<p>One by one she counted those strokes as they fell, in the vain hope that +she must be mistaken, that it was only eleven. When she realized it she +rose from her solitary watch with a long, low sigh. He had failed; he +had not come. She would not judge him; but he had not kept that promise +which was more solemn to her than any oath. There were many perils, both +by sea and land; the steamer might have run ashore, the train may have +been delayed; but if the appointment had been for her to keep she would +have kept it in spite of all obstacles and all cost.</p> + +<p>She rose from her long dull watch; she tried to cross the room and ring +the bell, but the strength of her limbs failed her. She did not fall, +she sunk into a senseless, almost helpless heap on the floor; and there, +long after midnight, her servants found her, and for some time believed +her dead. That was the thirtieth of June—for which she had hoped, +worked, and prayed as woman never did before.</p> + +<p>They raised her from the ground and took her to her room. One kinder +than the others sat by her until the dawn, when the dark eyes opened +with a look in them which was never to die away again.</p> + +<p>"This is the first of July," she said, faintly.</p> + +<p>And the maid, seeing that the morning had dawned, said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is July."</p> + +<p>She never attempted to rise that day, but lay with her face turned to +the wall, turned from the sunlight and the birds' song, the bloom of +flowers, the ripple of leaves, the warmth and light of the summer, +thinking only of the mill-stream and the words that for her had so +terrible a prophecy:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A ring in pledge I gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Over and over again they rang through her brain and her heart, while she +fought against them, while she lay trying to deaden her senses, to +stifle her reason, doing deadly battle with the fears that assailed her. +She would not give in; she would not doubt him; there would come to her +in time some knowledge; she should know why he had failed.</p> + +<p>Failed, oh, God! how hard the word was to say—failed. Why, if every +star in the sky had fallen at her feet it would not have seemed so +wonderful.</p> + +<p>Perhaps his mother—that proud, haughty woman, who seemed to trample the +world under her feet—perhaps she had prevented his coming; but he would +come, no matter what the mill-stream said, no matter what his mother +wished. The day passed and the morrow came—the second of July. She rose +on that day and went down-stairs the shadow of her former self—pale, +cold, and silent. She did not say to herself "He will come to-day," hope +was dying within her. Then at noon came the letter—her maid brought it +in. She gave a low cry of delight when she saw the beloved handwriting, +that was followed by a cry of pain. He would not have written if he had +been coming; that he had written proved that he had no intention of +coming. She took the letter, but she dared not trust herself to open it +in the presence of her maid; but when the girl was gone, as there was no +human eye to rest on the tortured face she could not control, she opened +it.</p> + +<p>Deadly cold seemed to seize her; a deadly shudder made the letter fall +from her hands.</p> + +<p>No, he was not coming.</p> + +<p>He <i>must</i> go to Spain—to Spain, with his parents and a party of +tourists—but he loved her just the same, and he should return to her.</p> + +<p>"He is weak of purpose," she said to herself when she had read the last +word; "he loves me still; he will come back to me; he will make me his +wife in the eyes of the law as he has done in the sight of Heaven. But +he is weak of purpose. The Countess of Lanswell has put difficulties in +his way, and he has let them conquer him."</p> + +<p>Then came to her mind those strong words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>For the second time her servants found her cold and senseless on the +ground; but this time she had an open letter in her hand.</p> + +<p>The pity was that the whole world could not see how women trust the +promises of men, and how men keep theirs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>A MAN OF WAX.</h3> + + +<p>It is not pleasant to tell how the foundations of a noble building are +sapped: to tell how the grand, strong trunk of a noble tree is hacked +and hewn until it falls; how the constant rippling of water wears away a +stone; how the association with baser minds takes away the bloom from +the pure ones; how the constant friction with the world takes the dainty +innocence of youth away. It is never pleasant to tell of untruth, or +infidelity, or sin. It is not pleasant to write here, little by little, +inch by inch, how Lord Chandos was persuaded, influenced, and overcome.</p> + +<p>The story of man's perfidy is always hateful—the story of man's +weakness is always contemptible. Yet the strongest of men, Samson, fell +through the blandishments of a woman. Lord Chandos was neither as strong +as Samson nor as wise as Solomon; and that a clever woman should get the +upper hand of him was not to be wondered at.</p> + +<p>He was a brave, gallant, generous gentleman, gay and genial; he could +not endure feeling unhappy, nor could he bear the thought of any other +person's unhappiness; he had no tragedy about him; he was kind of heart +and simple of mind; he was clever and gifted, but he was like wax in the +hands of a clever woman like Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>He was singularly unsuspicious, believed in most things and most +persons; he never misjudged or gave any one credit for bad qualities. He +had no more intention of deserting Leone when he left England than he +had of seizing the crown of Turkey. His honest, honorable intention was +to return to her and marry her on the first hour that such a marriage +could be legal. He would have laughed to scorn any one who would have +hinted at such a thing. His love then was his life, and he had nothing +beside it.</p> + +<p>Gradually, slowly but surely, other interests occupied him. A great +writer says: "Love is the life of a woman, but only an episode in the +life of a man." That was the difference—it was Leone's life; to him it +had been an episode—and now that the episode was somewhat passed, other +interests opened to him. He meant to be faithful to her and to marry +her; nothing should ever shake that determination; but he had ceased to +think it need be so hurriedly done; he need not certainly forego the +pleasure of the tour and hurry home for his birthday; that was quixotic +nonsense; any time that year would do. After his marriage he should lose +his mother and Lady Marion; he would enjoy their company as long as he +could; Leone was right, she had a luxurious home, the assurance of his +love and fidelity, the certainty of being his wife—a few weeks or +months would make but little difference to her. He did not think he had +done any great harm in going to Spain. One might call it a broken +promise; but then most promises are made with a proviso that they shall +be kept if possible; and this was not possible; he would have been very +foolish—so he said to himself—if he had made matters worse by refusing +to go with his mother to Spain. It would have increased her irritation +and annoyance all to no purpose.</p> + +<p>He tried to convince himself that it was right; and he ended by +believing it.</p> + +<p>He felt rather anxious as to what Leone would say—and the tone of her +letter rather surprised him. She had thought, long before she answered +him, reproaches were of no avail—they never are with men; if he had not +cared to keep his promise no sharply written words of hers could avail +to make him keep it. She made no complaint, no reproaches; she never +mentioned her pain or her sorrow; she said nothing of her long watch or +its unhappy ending; she did not even tell him of the delayed letter—and +he wondered. He was more uncomfortable than if her letter had been one +stinging reproach from beginning to end. He answered it—he wrote to her +often, but there was a change in the tone of her letters, and he was +half conscious of it.</p> + +<p>He meant to be true to her—that was his only comfort in the after +years; he could not tell—nor did he know—how it first entered his mind +to be anything else. Perhaps my lady knew—for she had completely +changed her tactics—instead of ignoring Leone she talked of her +continually—never unkindly, but with a pitying contempt that insensibly +influenced Lord Chandos. She spoke of his future with deepest +compassion, as though he would be completely cut off from everything +that could make life worth living; she treated him as though he were an +unwilling victim to an unfortunate promise. It took some time to impress +the idea upon him—he had never thought of himself in that light at all. +A victim who was giving up the best mother, the kindest friend, +everything in life, to keep an unfortunate promise. My lady spoke of him +so continually in that light at last he began to believe it.</p> + +<p>He was like wax in her hands; despite his warm and true love for his +wife that idea became firmly engraved on his mind—he was a victim.</p> + +<p>When once she had carefully impressed that upon him my lady went +further; she began to question whether really, after all, his promise +bound him or not.</p> + +<p>In her eyes it did not—certainly not. The whole thing was a most +unfortunate mistake; but that he should consider himself bound by such a +piece of boyish folly was madness.</p> + +<p>So that the second stage of his progress toward falsehood was that, +besides looking on himself as a kind of victim, he began to think that +he was not bound by his promise. If it had been an error at first it was +an error now; and the countess repeated for him very often the story of +the Marquis of Atherton, who married the daughter of a lodge-keeper in +his nineteenth year. His parents interfered; the marriage was set aside. +What was the consequence? Two years after the girl married the butler, +and they bought the Atherton Arms. The marquis, in his twenty-fifth +year, married a peeress in her own right, and was now one of the first +men in England. My lady often repeated that anecdote; it had made a +great impression on her, and it certainly produced an effect on Lord +Chandos.</p> + +<p>My lady had certainly other influences to bring to bear. The uncle of +Lady Erskine, the Duke of Lester, was one of the most powerful nobles in +England—the head of the Cabinet, the most influential peer in the House +of Lords, the grandest orator and the most respected of men. My lady +enjoyed talking about him—she brought forward his name continually, and +was often heard to say that whoever had the good fortune to marry Lady +Erskine was almost sure to succeed the duke in his numerous honors. Lord +Chandos, hearing her one day, said:</p> + +<p>"I will win honors, mother—win them for myself—and that will be better +than succeeding another man."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a half-sad, half-mocking smile.</p> + +<p>"I have no ambition, no hope for you, Lance. You have taken your wife +from a dairy—the most I can hope is that you may learn to be a good +judge of milk."</p> + +<p>He turned from her with a hot flush of anger on his face. Yet the sharp, +satirical shaft found its way to his heart. He thought of the words and +brooded over them—they made more impression on him than any others had +done. In his mother's mind he had evidently lost his place in the +world's race, never to regain it.</p> + +<p>The duke—who knew nothing of the conspiracy, and knew nothing of the +young lord's story, except that he had involved himself in some tiresome +dilemma from which his parents had rescued him—the Duke of Lester, who +heard Lord Chandos spoken of as one likely to marry his niece, took a +great fancy to him; he had no children of his own; he was warmly +attached to his beautiful niece; it seemed very probable that if Lord +Chandos married Lady Erskine, he would have before him one of the most +brilliant futures that could fall to any man's lot. Many people hinted +at it, and constant dropping wears away a stone.</p> + +<p>The last and perhaps the greatest hold that the countess had over her +son was the evident liking of Lady Marion for him. In this, as in +everything else, she was most diplomatic; she never expressed any wish +that he should marry her; but she had a most sympathetic manner of +speaking about her.</p> + +<p>"I doubt, Lance," she said one day, "whether we have done wisely—at +least whether I have done wisely—in allowing Lady Marion to see so much +of you; she is so sweet and so gentle—I am quite distressed about it."</p> + +<p>"Why, mother? I see no cause for distress," he said, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear; men all possess the happy faculty of never seeing that +which lies straight before their eyes. It is one of their special +gifts—you have it to perfection."</p> + +<p>"Do speak out what you mean, mother; that satire of yours puzzles me. +What do I not see that I ought to see?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing very particular. What I mean is this, Lance, that I am almost +afraid Lady Marion has been too much with us for her peace of mind. I +think, when you go back to England on this wild-goose chase of yours, +that she will feel it deeply."</p> + +<p>He looked anxiously at her.</p> + +<p>"Do you, mother, really think that?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I do, indeed. Of course I know, Lance, no words of mine will ever +avail; but it seems to me you are in this position—if you leave Lady +Marion and return to your pretty dairy-maid that Lady Marion will never +be happy again. If you marry Lady Marion and dower that young person +with a good fortune she will marry some one in her own rank of life and +be much happier than she could be with you."</p> + +<p>"Ah, mother," he said, sadly, "you do not know Leone."</p> + +<p>"No, and never shall; but I know one thing—if I stood in your place and +was compelled to make one or the other unhappy, I know which it would +be. In marrying Lady Marion you make yourself at once and you delight +me, you gratify every one who knows and loves you. In marrying that +tempestuous young person you cut yourself adrift from fame, friends, and +parents."</p> + +<p>"But honor, mother, what about my honor?"</p> + +<p>"You lose it in marrying a dairy-maid. You preserve it in marrying Lady +Marion."</p> + +<p>And with this Parthian shot my lady left him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>AN ACT OF PERFIDY.</h3> + + +<p>So—inch by inch, little by little, step by step—Lord Chandos was +influenced to give up his faith, his promise, his loyalty. I, who write +the story, offer no excuse for him—there is none for the falseness and +perfidy of men—yet it is of so common occurrence the world only jests +about it—the world makes poetry of it and sings, cheerfully:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"One foot on land and one on shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men were deceivers ever."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>A promise more or less, a vow more or less, a broken heart, a ruined +life, a lost soul, a crime that calls to Heaven for vengeance—what is +it? The world laughs at "Love's perfidies;" the world says that it +serves one right. The girl is slain in her youth by a worse fate than +early death, and the man goes on his way blithely enough.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos could not quite trample his conscience under foot; under +the influence of his mother he began to see that his love for Leone had +been very unfortunate and very fatal; he had begun to think that if one +of two women must be miserable it had better be Leone. That which was +present influenced him most. He loved his mother, he was flattered by +Lady Marion's love for him. So many influences were brought to bear upon +him, the earl and countess were so devoted to him, Lady Marion charmed +him so much with her grace and kindness of manner, her sweetness of +disposition, her wonderful repose, that his faith grew weak and his +loyalty failed.</p> + +<p>There came an evening when they two—Lord Chandos and Lady Marion—stood +alone in one of the most beautiful courts of the Alhambra. The whole +party had been visiting that marvelous palace, and, more by accident +than design, they found themselves alone. The sun was setting—a hundred +colors flamed in the western sky; the sun seemed loath to leave the +lovely, laughing earth; all the flowers were sending her a farewell +message; the air was laden with richest odors; the ripple of green +leaves made music, and they stood in the midst of the glories of the +past and the smile of the present.</p> + +<p>"I can people the place," said Lady Marion, in her quiet way. "I can see +the cavaliers in their gay dresses and plumes, the dark-eyed senoras +with veil and fan. How many hearts have loved and broken within these +walls, Lord Chandos!"</p> + +<p>"Hearts love and break everywhere," he said, gloomily.</p> + +<p>She went on:</p> + +<p>"I wonder if many dreams of this grand Alhambra came to Queen Catharine +of Arragon, when she lay down to rest—that is, if much rest came to +her?"</p> + +<p>"Why should not rest come to her?" asked Lord Chandos, and the fair +face, raised to answer him, grew pale.</p> + +<p>"Why? What a question to ask me. Was she not jealous and with good +cause? How can a jealous woman know rest? I am quite sure that she must +have thought often with longing and regret, of her home in sunny +Granada."</p> + +<p>"I have never been jealous in my life," said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"Then you have never loved," said Lady Marion. "I do not believe that +love ever exists without some tinge of jealousy. I must say that if I +loved any one very much, I should be jealous if I saw that person pay +much attention to any one else."</p> + +<p>He looked at her carelessly, he spoke carelessly; if he had known what +was to follow, he would not have spoken so.</p> + +<p>"But do you love any one very much?" he said.</p> + +<p>The next moment he deeply repented the thoughtless words. Her whole face +seemed on fire with a burning blush. She turned proudly away from him.</p> + +<p>"You have no right to ask me such a question," she said. "You are cruel +to me, Lord Chandos."</p> + +<p>The red blush died away, and the sweet eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>That was the <i>coup de grace</i>; perhaps if that little incident had never +happened, this story had never been written; but the tears in those +sweet eyes, and the quiver of pain in that beautiful face, was more than +he could bear. The next moment he was by her side, and had taken her +white hands in his.</p> + +<p>"Cruel! how could I be cruel to you. Lady Marion? Nothing could be +further from my thoughts. How am I cruel?"</p> + +<p>"Never mind," she said, gently.</p> + +<p>"But I do mind very much indeed. What did I say that could make you +think me cruel? Will you not tell me?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, with drooping eyes, "I will not tell you."</p> + +<p>"But I must know. Was it because I asked you, 'if you ever loved any one +very much?' Was that cruel?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot deny, but I will not affirm it," she said. "We are very +foolish to talk about such things as love and jealousy; they are much +better left alone."</p> + +<p>There was the witchery of the hour and the scene to excuse him; there +was the fair loveliness of her face, the love in her eyes that lured +him, the trembling lips that seemed made to be kissed; there was the +glamour that a young and beautiful woman always throws over a man; there +was the music that came from the throats of a thousand birds, the +fragrance that came from a thousand flowers to excuse him. He lost his +head, as many a wiser man has done; his brain reeled, his heart beat; +the warm white hand lay so trustingly in his own, and he read on her +fair, pure face the story of her love. He never knew what madness +possessed him; he who had called himself the husband of another; but he +drew her face to his and kissed her lips, while he whispered to her how +fair and how sweet she was. The next moment he remembered himself, and +wished the deed undone. It was too late—to one like Lady Marion a kiss +meant a betrothal, and he knew it. He saw tears fall from her eyes; he +kissed them away, and then she whispered to him in a low, sweet voice:</p> + +<p>"How did you guess my secret?"</p> + +<p>"Your secret," he repeated, and kissed her again, because he did not +know what to say.</p> + +<p>"Yes; how did you find out that I loved you?" she asked, simply. "I am +sure I have always tried to hide it."</p> + +<p>"Your beautiful eyes told it," he said; and then a sudden shock of +horror came to him. Great Heaven! what was he doing? where was Leone? +She did not perceive it, but raised her blushing face to his.</p> + +<p>"Ah, well," she said, sweetly, "it is no secret since you have found it +out. It is true, I do love you, and my eyes have not told you falsely."</p> + +<p>Perhaps she wondered that he listened so calmly, that he did not draw +her with passionate words and caresses to his heart, that he did not +speak with the raptures lovers used. He looked pale and troubled, yet he +clasped her hand more closely.</p> + +<p>"You are very good to me," he said. "I do not deserve it, I do not merit +it. You—you—shame me, Marion."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a warm glow of happiness on her face.</p> + +<p>"It would not be possible to be too good to you; but I must not tell you +of all I think of you, or you will grow vain. I think," she continued, +with a smile that made her look like an angel, "I think now that I know +how much you love me I shall be the happiest woman on the face of the +earth."</p> + +<p>He did not remember to have said how much he loved her, or to have +spoken of his love at all, but evidently she thought he had, and it came +to the same thing.</p> + +<p>"How pleased Lady Lanswell will be!" said the young heiress, after a +time. "You will think me very vain to say so, but I believe she loves +me."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of it; who could help it?" he said, absently.</p> + +<p>He knew that he had done wrong, he repented it, and made one desperate +effort to save himself.</p> + +<p>"Lady Marion," he said, hurriedly, "let me ask you one question. You +have heard, of course, the story of my early love?"</p> + +<p>He felt the trembling of her whole figure as she answered, in a low +voice:</p> + +<p>"Yes; I know it, and that makes me understand jealousy. I am very weak, +I know, but if you had gone to England, I should have died of pain."</p> + +<p>He kissed her again, wondering whether for his perfidy a bolt from +Heaven would strike him dead.</p> + +<p>"You know it," he said; "then tell me—I leave it with you. Do you +consider that a barrier between us, between you and me? You shall +decide?"</p> + +<p>She knew so little about it that she hastily answered:</p> + +<p>"No; how can it be? That was folly. Lady Lanswell says you have +forgotten it. Shall a mere folly be a barrier between us? No; love +levels all barriers, you know."</p> + +<p>He kissed her hands, saying to himself that he was the greatest coward +and the greatest villain that ever stood on earth. Words he had none. +Then they heard Lady Cambrey calling for her niece.</p> + +<p>"Let me tell her," whispered the beautiful girl; "she will be so +pleased, she likes you so much." Then, as they passed out of the court, +she looked at the grand old walls. "I shall always love this place," she +said, "because it is here that you have first said that you loved me."</p> + +<p>And the pity is that every girl and every woman disposed to give her +whole chance of happiness in a man's hand was not there to see how women +believe men, and how men keep the promises they make.</p> + +<p>He told his mother that same night.</p> + +<p>"I have done it," he said; "circumstances have forced me into it, but I +have forsworn myself. I have lost my self-respect, and I shall never be +happy again while I live."</p> + +<p>But she embraced him with eager delight.</p> + +<p>"You have done well," she said; "you have risen above the shackles of a +miserable promise, and have proved yourself a noble man by daring to +undo the mad act of folly which might have blighted your life. I approve +of what you have done, and so will any other sensible person."</p> + +<p>And that was his consolation, his reward for the greatest act of perfidy +that man ever committed, or a woman sanctioned.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>"I HAVE PERJURED MYSELF."</h3> + + +<p>Lady Lanswell was triumphant; she lost no time; before noon of the day +following she had sent to the Duke of Lester saying that they were +staying at Granada, and that important family business awaited him +there. She knew that he would lose no time in going there. In the days +that intervened she managed her son most cleverly; she said little or +nothing to him of Lady Marion. If he broached the subject, she changed +it at once, saying: "Let the matter rest for awhile;" she was so sorely +afraid he would draw back. She was kind to him in her way; if she saw +his handsome face looking distressed, pained, or anxious, she would +cheer him up with bright words, with laughter, or anything that would +take the weight of thought or care from him.</p> + +<p>The Duke of Lester was soon there. Anything in which his niece was +interested was of vital consequence to him; he had no particular liking +for Lady Cambrey, and always regretted that the young heiress had been +given into her charge rather than in that of his amiable wife. He went +to Granada, delighted with the news; he had heard so much of the talents +of Lord Chandos that he was charmed with the idea of his belonging to +the family. It had been a sore and heavy trial to the duke that he had +no son, that so many honors and such great offices should die with him. +It was from that motive that he had always felt an especial interest in +the marriage of his beautiful young niece.</p> + +<p>"If she marries well," he had said to himself more than once, "her +husband must stand to me in the place of a son."</p> + +<p>If he had to choose from the wide world, he would prefer Lord Chandos +from his singular talent, activity, and capability for political life. +He knew, as every one else did, that there had been some little drawback +in the young lord's life, some mysterious love-affair, and he had not +interested himself in it; he never did take any interest in matters of +that kind. Evidently if, at any time, there had been a little <i>faux +pas</i>, it was remedied, or so worldly-wise a woman as Lady Lanswell would +never have introduced him to his niece.</p> + +<p>So the Duke of Lester, all amiability and interest, gave the finishing +touch to Lord Chandos' fate. When he had once spoken of the matter, +there was no receding from it without a scandal that would have +horrified all England. The duke's first words settled the whole matter; +he held out his hand in frankest, kindliest greeting to Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"I hear very pleasant intelligence," he said; "and while I congratulate +you, I congratulate myself that I am to have the good fortune of an +alliance with you."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell stood by, and there was a moment's pause; perhaps she +never suffered such intensity of suspense as she did during that moment, +for her son's face grew colorless, and he looked as if he were going to +draw back. The next minute he had recovered himself, and returned the +duke's greeting: then, and only then, did the countess give a great sigh +of relief; there could be no mistake, no drawing back from anything +which the duke sanctioned.</p> + +<p>That same day there was a family meeting; the earl and countess, Lord +Chandos, the Duke of Lester, Lady Marion Erskine, and Lady Cambrey; they +all dined together, and the duke discussed with the countess the time of +the marriage.</p> + +<p>There was little said, but that little was binding; there could be no +retreat. In the autumn, about September, the countess thought; and she +suggested that they should not return to England for the marriage; it +could take place at the Embassy at Paris. There would be plenty of time +for discussing these details; the thing now was to settle the +engagement. It gave great delight; the earl, it is true, had some little +scruple, which he ventured to express to his wife.</p> + +<p>"I ought to add my congratulation," he said; "but I am in doubt over it. +This seems a very suitable marriage, and Lady Marion is a most charming +girl. But what about that other girl, my lady?"</p> + +<p>"That has nothing to do with us," she replied, haughtily. "I am prepared +to be very liberal; I shall not mind a thousand a year; she shall have +nothing to complain of."</p> + +<p>Lord Lanswell did not feel quite so sure, but as he never had had any +management of his own affairs, it was too late to begin now. My lady +would probably bring a hornet's nest about her ears—that was her own +business; if he were any judge, either of looks or character, that young +girl, Leone, would not be so lightly set aside.</p> + +<p>However, he said nothing. Lord Lanswell had learned one lesson in his +life; he had learned that "Silence was golden."</p> + +<p>The matter was settled now; the duke had given his sanction, expressed +his delight; several of the highly connected and important families +belonging to the Lanswells and the Lesters had sent in their +congratulations; everything was in trim.</p> + +<p>There was no need for the duke to remain; he would join them in Paris +for the wedding. No word was spoken on the subject between Lady Lanswell +and himself, but there was a certain tacit understanding that the +wedding must not take place in England, lest it should be disturbed.</p> + +<p>The duke returned to England, taking back with him a sincere liking and +a warm admiration for Lord Chandos; he was impatient for the time to +come when he should be able to claim him as a relation of his own. The +remainder of the party stayed at Granada; there was plenty to interest +them in and about that charming city.</p> + +<p>Some few days after his departure, Lord Chandos sought his mother. She +had felt anxious over him of late. He looked like anything but a happy +lover; he was thin, worn, and the face that had been so bright had grown +shadowed and careworn. My lady did not like it. Any man who had won such +a prize as Lady Erskine ought to feel delighted and show his pleasure.</p> + +<p>So argued my lady, but her son did not seem to share her sentiments. She +sat on this morning, looking very stately and beautiful, in a dress of +moire antique, with a morning-cap of point lace—a woman to whom every +one involuntarily did homage.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos looked at her with wonder and admiration; then he sighed +deeply as he remembered why he had sought her. He sat down near her, the +very picture of dejection and misery.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, abruptly, "I have behaved like a villain and a +coward. In what words am I to excuse myself?"</p> + +<p>My lady's face darkened.</p> + +<p>"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," she said. "Will you +explain yourself?"</p> + +<p>"I have perjured myself. I have broken the most solemn vows that a man +could make. I have forsworn myself. Tell me in what words am I to tell +my guilt, or excuse it?"</p> + +<p>A contemptuous smile stole over the face of my lady.</p> + +<p>"Are you troubling yourself about that tempestuous young person, Leone? +Shame on you, when you have won the sweetest woman and the wealthiest +heiress in England for your wife!"</p> + +<p>His voice was broken with emotion as he answered her:</p> + +<p>"I cannot forget that I believed her to be my wife once, and I loved +her."</p> + +<p>My lady interrupted him.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, we all know what a boy's first love is. Ah, do believe +me, it is not worth thinking of; every one laughs at a boy's love. They +take it just as they take to whooping-cough or fever; it does not last +much longer either. In another year's time you will laugh at the very +mention of what you have called love. Believe me," continued her +ladyship, proudly, "that Lady Marion is the wife Heaven ordained for +you, and no other."</p> + +<p>The handsome young head was bent low, and it seemed to my lady as though +a great tearless sob came from his lips. She laid her hand on his dark, +crisp waves of hair.</p> + +<p>"I do sympathize with you, Lance," she said, in a kind voice; and when +Lady Lanswell chose to be kind no one could rival her. "You have, +perhaps, made some little sacrifice of inclination, but, believe me, you +have done right, and I am proud of you."</p> + +<p>He raised his haggard young face to hers.</p> + +<p>"I feel myself a coward and a villain, mother," he said, in a broken +voice. "I ought to have gone back to that poor girl; I ought not to have +dallied with temptation. I love Leone with the one love of my heart and +mind, and I am a weak, miserable coward that I have not been true to +her. I have lost my own self-respect, and I shall <i>never</i> regain it."</p> + +<p>My lady was patient; she had always expected a climax, and, now it had +arrived, she was ready for it. The scorn and satire gave place to +tenderness; she who was the most undemonstrative of women, caressed him +as though he had been a child again on her knees. She praised him, she +spoke of his perfidy as though it were heroism; she pointed out to him +that he had made a noble sacrifice of an ignoble love.</p> + +<p>"But, mother," he said, "I have broken my faith, my honor, my plighted +word," and her answer was:</p> + +<p>"That for a great folly there could only be a great reparation; that if +he had broken his faith with this unfortunate girl he had kept it, and +his loyalty also, to the name and race of which he was so proud, to +herself and to Lady Marion."</p> + +<p>Like all other clever women, she could argue a question until she +convinced the listener, even against his own will, and she could argue +so speciously that she made wrong seem right.</p> + +<p>He listened until he was unable to make any reply. In his heart he hated +and loathed himself; he called himself a coward and a traitor; but in +his mother's eyes he was a great hero.</p> + +<p>"There is one thing I cannot do," he said; "I cannot write and tell her; +it seems to me more cruel than if I plunged a dagger in her heart."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell laughed.</p> + +<p>"That is all morbid sentiment, my dear Lance. Leave the matter with me, +I will be very kind and very generous; I will arrange everything with +her in such a manner that you will be pleased. Now promise me to try and +forget her, and be happy with the sweet girl who loves you so dearly."</p> + +<p>"I will try," he said, but his young face was so haggard and worn that +my lady's heart misgave her as she looked at him.</p> + +<p>"I have done all for the best," she murmured to herself. "He may suffer +now, but he will thank me for it in the years to come."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>A PALE BRIDEGROOM.</h3> + + +<p>The writing of that letter was a labor of love to Lady Lanswell. She did +not wish to be cruel; on the contrary, now that she had gained her wish, +she felt something like pity for the girl she had so entirely crushed. +Lord Chandos would have been quite true to his first love but for his +mother's influence and maneuvers. She knew that. She knew that with her +own hand she had crushed the life and love from this girl's heart. +Writing to her would be the last disagreeable feature in the case. She +would be finished with them, and there would be nothing to mar the +brightness of the future.</p> + +<p>My lady took up a jeweled pen; she had paper, white and soft, with her +crest at the head; every little detail belonging to her grandeur would +help to crush this girl for whom she had so much contempt and so little +pity. She thought over every word of her letter; it might at some future +day, perhaps, be brought against her, and she resolved that it should be +a model of moderation and fairness. She had learned Leone's name, and +she began:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Miss Noel,</span>—My son has commissioned me to write to you, +thinking, as I think, that the business to be arranged will be +better settled between you and myself. I am glad to tell you that +at last, after many months of infatuation, my son has returned to +his senses, and has now but one idea, which is at once and forever +to put an end to all acquaintance between you and himself. My son +owns that it was a great mistake; he blames himself entirely, and +quite exculpates you; he holds you blameless. Permit me to say that +I do the same.</p> + +<p>"My son, having recovered his senses, sees that a marriage between +you and himself would be quite impossible. He regrets having +promised it, and begs that you will forgive what seems to be a +breach of that promise; but it is really the best and wisest plan +of his life. Neither your birth, training, education, manners, nor +appearance fit you to hold the position that my son's wife must +hold. You must, therefore, consider the whole affair at an end; it +was, at its worst, a piece of boyish folly and indiscretion, while +you are blameless. It is my son's wish that ample compensation +should be made to you, and I have placed the matter in the hands of +Mr. Sewell, my lawyer, whom I have instructed to settle a thousand +per annum on you. Let me add, further, that if ever you are in any +pecuniary difficulty, I shall find a pleasure in helping you.</p> + +<p>"One thing more: Lord Chandos is engaged to be married to one of +the wealthiest women in England—a marriage which makes his father +and myself extremely happy, which opens to him one of the finest +careers ever opened to any man, and will make him one of the +happiest of men. Let me add an earnest hope that your own good +sense will prevent any vulgar intrusion on your part, either on my +son or the lady to whom he is passionately attached. You will not +need to answer this letter. Lord Chandos does not wish to be +annoyed by any useless appeals; in short, no letter that you write +will reach him, as we are traveling from place to place, and shall +be so until the wedding-day.</p> + +<p>"In conclusion, I can but say I hope you will look at the matter in +a sensible light. You, a farmer's niece, have no right to aspire to +the position of an earl's wife, and you have every reason to think +yourself fortunate that worse has not happened.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Lucia, Countess of Lanswell.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>"There," said my lady, as she folded up the letter, "to most people that +would be a quietus. If she has half as much spirit as I give her credit +for, that little touch about the 'vulgar intrusion' will prevent her +from writing to him. I think this will effectually put an end to all +further proceedings."</p> + +<p>She sealed the letter and sent it, at the same time sending one to her +solicitor, Mr. Sewell, telling him of the happy event pending, and +begging of him to arrange with the girl at once.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"If one thousand a year does not satisfy her, offer her two; offer +her anything, so that we are completely rid of her. From motives of +prudence it would be better for her to leave that place at once; +advise her to go abroad, or emigrate, or anything, so that she may +not annoy us again, and do not write to me about her; I do not wish +to be annoyed. Settle the business yourself, and remember that I +have no wish to know anything about it."</p></blockquote> + +<p>That letter was sent with the other, and my lady sunk back with an air +of great relief.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven!" she said to herself, "that is over. Ah, me! what mothers +have to suffer with their sons, and yet few have been so docile as +mine."</p> + +<p>A few days afterward the countess sought her son. She had no grounds for +what she said, but she imagined herself speaking the truth.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "I have good news for you. That tiresome little +affair of yours is all settled, and there will be no need for us ever to +mention the subject again. The girl has consented to take the thousand a +year, and she—she is happy and content."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with haggard eyes.</p> + +<p>"Happy and content, mother?" he said. "Are you quite sure of that?"</p> + +<p>"Sure as I am that you, Lance, are one of the most fortunate men in this +world. Now take my advice, and let us have no more mention of the +matter. I am tired of it, and I am sure that you must be the same. Try +from this time to be happy with Lady Marion, and forget the past."</p> + +<p>Did he forget it? No one ever knew. He never had the same light in his +eyes, the same frank, free look on his face, the same ring in his laugh; +from that day he was a changed man. Did he think of the fair young girl, +whose passionate heart and soul he had woke into such keen life? Did he +think of the mill-stream and the ripple of the water, and the lines so +full of foreboding:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Ah, how true Leone's presentiment had been! The vow was forgotten, the +ring broken, the pretty love-story all ended. He never dared to ask any +questions from his mother about her; he turned coward whenever the +English letters were delivered; he never dared to think about her, to +wonder how she had taken this letter, what she had thought, said, or +done. He was not happy. Proud, ambitious, mercenary, haughty as was the +Countess of Lanswell, there were times when she felt grieved for her +son. It was such a young face, but there was a line on the broad, fair +brow; there was a shadow in the sunny eyes; the music had gone out from +his voice.</p> + +<p>"Marion will soon make it all right," said the proud, anxious, unhappy +mother; "there will be nothing to fear when once they are married."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion was the most gentle and least exacting of all human beings, +but even she fancied Lord Chandos was but a poor wooer. He was always +polite, deferential, attentive, and kind; yet he seldom spoke of love. +After that evening in the Alhambra he never kissed her; he never sought +any <i>tete-a-tete</i> with her. She had had many lovers, as was only natural +for a beauty and a great heiress. None of them had been so cool, so +self-contained as Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell managed well; she ought to have been empress of some great +nation; her powers of administration were so great. She persuaded them +to have the wedding in the month of September, and to travel until that +came.</p> + +<p>"It will be a change from the common custom," she said; "most people are +married in England, and go to the Continent for their honey-moon; you +will be married in the Continent, and go to England for the honey-moon."</p> + +<p>It was some little disappointment to Lady Marion; like all girls she had +thought a great deal of her marriage. She had always fancied it in the +grand old church at Erskine, where the noble men and women of her race +slept their last sleep, where the Erskines for many generations had been +married. She had fancied a long train of fair, young bridemaids, a troop +of fair, fond children strewing flowers; and now it would be quite +different. Still she was content; she was marrying the man whom she +loved more than any one, or anything else in the world.</p> + +<p>She had wondered so much why the countess desired the wedding to take +place in Paris. She had even one day ventured to ask her, and Lady +Lanswell answered first by kissing her, then by telling her that it was +best for Lord Chandos. That was quite enough to content the loving +heart, if it were better for him in any way. She did not inquire why. +She would sacrifice any wish or desire of her own.</p> + +<p>So the day of the wedding came, and a grand ceremonial it was. The +noblest and most exclusive English in Paris attended it, and everything +was after the wish of Lady Lanswell's heart. There had never been a +fairer or more graceful bride. There had never been a handsomer or more +gallant bridegroom. One thing struck the Countess of Lanswell and made +her remember the day with a keen sense of pain, and it was this: when +the bride retired to change her superb bridal dress for a traveling +costume she had time to notice how white and ill her son looked. He was +one of the most temperate of men; she did not remember that he had ever +in his life been in the least degree the worse for wine, but she saw him +go to the buffet and fill a small glass with strong brandy and drink +it—even that, strong as it was, did not put any color into his face. +Then he came to speak to her. She looked anxiously at him.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "I do not like asking you the question—but—have you +really been drinking brandy?"</p> + +<p>She never forgot the bitter laugh that came from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have indeed, mother. It is just as well a glass of poison did +not stand there; I should have drunk it."</p> + +<p>She shuddered at the words, and it must be owned they were not cheerful +ones for a wedding-day.</p> + +<p>The bride and bridegroom drove away; slippers and rice were thrown after +them. And the pity is that every woman inclined to put faith in the vows +and promises of a man was not there to see how they were kept.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV" id="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>"I LEAVE THEM MY HATRED AND MY CURSE."</h3> + + +<p>Leone was alone when the letter of the Countess of Lanswell was +delivered to her: she had been wondering for some days why no news came +from Lord Chandos—why he did not write. She had written most urgent and +affectionate letters to him, praying for news of him, telling him how +bravely and happily she was bearing the separation from him, only +longing to know something of him.</p> + +<p>The warm, sultry month of August had set in, and she was working hard as +ever; there was but one comfort to her in this long absence—the longer +he was away from her, the more fit she should be to take her place as +his wife when he did return. She felt now that she could be as stately +as the Countess of Lanswell herself, with much more grace.</p> + +<p>She had been thinking over her future when that letter came; it found +her in the same pretty room where he had bidden her good-bye. When the +maid entered with the letter on a salver, she had looked up with a +quick, passionate sense of pleasure. Perhaps this was to tell her when +he would come. She seized the dainty envelope with a low cry of intense +rapture.</p> + +<p>"At last," she said to herself, "at last. Oh, my love, how could you be +silent so long?"</p> + +<p>Then she saw that it was not Lance's writing, but a hand that was quite +strange to her. Her face paled even as she opened it; she turned to the +signature before she read the letter; it was "Lucia, Countess of +Lanswell." Then she knew that it was from her mortal enemy, the one on +whom she had sworn revenge.</p> + +<p>She read it through. What happened while she read it? The reapers were +reaping in the cornfields, the wind had sunk to the lightest whisper, +some of the great red roses fell dead, the leaves of the white lilies +died in the heat of the sun, the birds were tired of singing; even the +butterflies had sunk, tired out, on the breasts of the flowers they +loved; there was a golden glow over everything; wave after wave of +perfume rose on the warm summer air; afar off one heard the song of the +reaper, and the cry of the sailors as the ships sailed down the stream; +there was life, light, lightness all around, and she stood in the middle +of it, stricken as one dead, holding her death warrant in her hand. She +might have been a marble statue as she stood there, so white, so silent, +so motionless.</p> + +<p>She read and reread it; at first she thought it must be a sorry jest; it +could not be true, it was impossible. If she took up the Bible there, +and the printed words turned blood-red before her eyes, it would be far +less wonderful than that this should be true. A sorry, miserable jest +some one had played her, but who—how? No, it was no jest.</p> + +<p>She must be dreaming—horrible dreams come to people in their sleep; she +should wake presently and find it all a black, blank dream. Yet, no—no +dream, the laughing August sunlight lay all round her, the birds were +singing, there was the flash of the deep river, with the pleasure-boats +slowly drifting down the stream. It was no dream, it was a horrible +reality; Lord Chandos, the lover whom she had loved with her whole +heart, who ought, under the peculiar circumstances, to have given her +even double the faith and double the love a husband gives his wife; he, +who was bound to her even by the weakness of the tie that should have +been stronger, had deserted her.</p> + +<p>She did not cry out, she did not faint or swoon; she did not sink as she +had done before, a senseless heap on the ground; she stood still, as a +soldier stands sometimes when he knows that he has to meet his death +blow.</p> + +<p>Every vestige of color had faded from her face and lips; if the angel of +death had touched her with his fingers, she could not have looked more +white and still. Over and over again she read the words that took from +her life its brightness and its hope, that slew her more cruelly than +poison or steel, that made their way like winged arrows to her heart, +and changed her from a tender, loving, passionate girl to a vengeful +woman.</p> + +<p>Slowly she realized it, slowly the letter fell from her hands, slowly +she fell on her knees.</p> + +<p>"He has forsaken me!" she cried. "Oh, my God! he has forsaken me, and I +cannot die!"</p> + +<p>No one cares to stand by the wheel or the rack while some poor body is +tortured to death; who can stand by while a human heart is breaking with +the extremity of anguish? When such a grief comes to any one as to +Leone, one stands by in silence; it is as though a funeral is passing, +and one is breathless from respect to the dead.</p> + +<p>The best part of her died as she knelt there; the blue of the sky, the +gold of the shining sun, the song of the birds, the sweet smell of +flowers were never the same to her again. Almost all that was good and +noble, brave and bright, died as she knelt there. When that letter +reached her, she was, if anything, better than the generality of women. +She had noble instincts, grand ideas, great generosity, and +self-sacrifice; it was as though a flame of fire came to her, and burned +away every idea save one, and that was revenge.</p> + +<p>"He loved me," she cried; "he loved me truly and well; but he was weak +of purpose and my enemy has taken him from me."</p> + +<p>Hours passed—all the August sunlight died; the reapers went home, the +cries of the sailors were stilled, the birds were silent and still. She +sat there trying to realize that for her that letter had blotted the sun +from the heavens and the light from her life; trying to understand that +her brave, handsome, gallant young love was false to her, that he was +going to marry another while she lived.</p> + +<p>It was too horrible. She was his wife before God. They had only been +parted for a short time by a legal quibble. How could he marry any one +else?</p> + +<p>She would not believe it. It was a falsehood that the proud mother had +invented to part her from him. She would not believe it unless she heard +it from others. She knew Mr. Sewell's private address; he would know if +it were true; she would go and ask him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sewell was accustomed to tragedies, but even he felt in some degree +daunted when that young girl with her colorless face and flashing eyes +stood before him. She held out a letter.</p> + +<p>"Will you read this?" she said, abruptly. "I received it to-day from +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, and I refuse to believe it."</p> + +<p>He took the letter from her hands and read it, then looked at the still +white face before him.</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he replied, "perfectly true."</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me who it is that is going to marry my husband?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"If you mean will I tell you whom Lord Chandos is to marry, I am sorry +to say my answer must be 'No.' I am not commissioned to do so. You may +see it for yourself in the newspapers."</p> + +<p>"Then it is true," she said slowly; "there is no jest, no doubt, no +mistake about it?"</p> + +<p>"No, none. And as you have shown me your letter," said Mr. Sewell, "I +may as well show you the one I have received, and you may see for +yourself what Lady Lanswell's intentions about you are. Take a chair," +added the lawyer, "I did not notice that you were standing all this +time; you took me by surprise. Pray be seated."</p> + +<p>She took the chair which he had placed for her, and read the letter +through. She laid it down on the table, her face calm, white, the fire +in her eyes giving place to utter scorn.</p> + +<p>"I thank you," she said. "The letter written you is cruel and unjust as +the one written to me. I decline the thousand per annum now and for all +time. My husband loved me and would have been quite true to me, but that +his mother has intrigued to make him false. I refuse her help, her +assistance in any way; but I will have my revenge. If I had money and +influence I would sue for my rights—ah, and might win then. As it is, +and for the present, I am powerless; but I will have my revenge. Tell +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, so from me."</p> + +<p>The passion, the dramatic force, the eager interest, the power of her +beautiful face, struck him. In his heart he felt sorry for this girl, +who he knew had been cruelly treated.</p> + +<p>"I would not think about revenge," he said; "that is a kind of thing one +reads about in novels and plays, but it is all out of date."</p> + +<p>"Is it?" she asked, with a slow, strange smile.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Take the advice of a sensible man who wishes to see you do well. +Yours is a false position, a cruel position; but make the best of +it—take the thousand per annum, and enjoy your life."</p> + +<p>He never forgot the scorn those wonderful eyes flashed at him.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, "I thank you; I believe when you give me that advice you +mean well, but I cannot follow it. If I were dying of hunger I would not +touch even a crumb of bread that came from Lady Lanswell. I will never +even return to the house which has been my own. I will take no one +single thing belonging to them. I will leave them my hatred and my +curse. And you tell Countess Lucia, from me, that my hatred shall find +her out, and my vengeance avenge me."</p> + +<p>She rose from her chair and took the letter she had brought with her.</p> + +<p>"I will never part with this," she said; "I will keep it near me always, +and the reading of it may stimulate me when my energy tires. I have no +message for Lord Chandos; to you I say farewell."</p> + +<p>"She is going to kill herself," he thought; "and then, if it gets into +the papers, my lady will wax wroth."</p> + +<p>She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she smiled, and the smile was +more sad than tears.</p> + +<p>"I shall not harm myself," she said: "death is sweeter than life, but +life holds 'vengeance.' Good-bye."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3>AFTER THREE YEARS.</h3> + + +<p>"The question is," said Lord Chandos, "shall we go or not? Please +yourself, Marion, and then," he added, with an air of weariness, "you +will be sure to please me."</p> + +<p>"I should like to go, certainly, if you really have no other engagement, +Lance," said Lady Chandos.</p> + +<p>"My engagements always give place to your pleasure," replied the young +husband. "If you really desire to see this new star we will go. I will +see about it at once."</p> + +<p>Still Lady Chandos seemed irresolute.</p> + +<p>"It is quite true," she said, "that all London has gone mad about her, +just as Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg did."</p> + +<p>"London is always going mad about something or other, but the madness +never lasts long."</p> + +<p>"I have read many things," continued his wife calmly, "but I have never +read anything like the description of the scene at the opera-house last +evening; it really made me long to see her."</p> + +<p>"Then let the longing be gratified, by all means," said Lord Chandos. +"We will go this evening. Consider it settled, Marion, and do not think +of changing your plans."</p> + +<p>It was breakfast-time, and the husband and wife were discussing the +advent of a new actress and singer—one who was setting the world on +fire—Madame Vanira. Lord and Lady Chandos always took breakfast +together; it was one of the established rules, never broken; it was the +only time in the day when they were quite sure of seeing each other.</p> + +<p>It was three years since they were married, and time had not worked any +great change in either. Lady Chandos was even more beautiful than in her +maiden days. She had the same sweet repose of manner, the same high-bred +elegance and grace, the same soft, low voice, but the beauty of her face +had grown deeper.</p> + +<p>There was more light in the blue eyes, a deeper sheen on the golden +hair, a richer tint on the fair face; there was more of life, animation, +and interest, than she had displayed in those days when she seemed to +glide through life like a spirit, rather than battle through it like a +human being. Perhaps for her the battle had to come. In figure she had +developed, she looked taller and more stately, but the same beautiful +lines and gracious curves were there. As she sits in her morning-dress, +the palest blue, trimmed with the most delicate cream color, a pretty, +coquettish cap on her golden head, the bloom and freshness of early +youth on her face, she looks the loveliest picture of lovely and +blooming womanhood, the perfection of elegance, the type of a patrician. +Her white hands are covered with shining gems—Lady Chandos has a taste +for rings. She is altogether a proper wife for a man to have to trust, +to place his life and honor in her, a wife to be esteemed, appreciated +and revered, but not worshiped with a mad passion. In the serene, pure +atmosphere in which she lived no passion could come, no madness; she did +not understand them, she never went out of the common grooves of life, +but she was most amiable and sweet in them.</p> + +<p>Nor had Lord Chandos altered much in these three years; he had grown +handsomer, more manly; the strong, graceful figure, the erect, easy +carriage, were just the same; his face had bronzed with travel, and the +mustache that shaded his beautiful lips was darker in hue.</p> + +<p>Had they been happy, these three years of married life? Ask Lady +Chandos, and she will say, "Happy as a dream." She has not known a +shadow of care or fear, she has been unutterably happy; she is the queen +of blondes, one of the most popular queens of society, the chosen and +intimate friend of more than one royal princess, one of the most +powerful ladies at court; no royal ball, or concert, or garden-party is +ever given without her name being on the list; she is at the head of +half the charities in London; she lays foundation stones; she opens the +new wings of hospitals; she interests herself in convalescent homes; she +influences, and in a great many instances leads the fashions. "Hats <i>a +la</i> Chandos," "the Marion costume," are tributes to her influence. To +know her, to be known to be on her visiting list, is a passport +everywhere. She has the finest diamonds and the finest rubies in London; +her horses are the envy and admiration of all who see them; her mansion +in Belgravia is the wonder of all who see it—every corner of the earth +has been racked to add to its luxury and comfort. She has more +money—just as pin-money—than many a peer has for the keeping up of +title and estate. She has a husband who is all kindness and indulgence +to her; who has never denied her the gratification of a single wish; who +has never spoken one cross word to her; who is always devoted to her +service. What could any one wish for more? She would tell you, with a +charming, placid smile on her sweet face, that she is perfectly happy. +If there be higher bliss than hers she does not know it yet; if there is +a love, as there is genius, akin to madness, she has never felt it. +Passion does not enter her life, it is all serene and calm.</p> + +<p>In those three years Lord Chandos had made for himself a wonderful name. +The Duke of Lester had done all that he could for him, but his own +talents and energy had done more. He had proved himself to be what the +leading journals said of him, "a man of the times." Just the man +wanted—full of life, activity, energy, talent, and power. He had made +himself famous as an orator; when Lord Chandos rose to speak, the house +listened and the nation applauded; his speeches were eagerly read. He +was the rising man of the day, and people predicted for him that he +would be prime minister before he was thirty. His mother's heart +rejoiced in him—all her most sanguine hopes were fulfilled. Ask him if +he is happy. He would laugh carelessly, and answer, "I am as happy as +other men, I imagine." Ask him if his ambition and pride are gratified, +and he will tell you "Yes." Ask him if ambition and pride can fill his +life to the exclusion of all else; he will tell you "No." Ask him again +if he has a thousand vague, passionate desires unfulfilled, and his +handsome face will cloud and his eyes droop.</p> + +<p>They are very popular. Lord Chandos gives grand dinners, which are +considered among the best in London, Lady Chandos gives balls, and +people intrigue in every possible way for invitations. She gives quiet +dances and <i>soirees</i>, which are welcomed. She is "at home" every +Wednesday, and no royal drawing-room is better attended than her "at +home." She has select little teas at five o'clock, when some of the most +exclusive people in London drink orange pekoe out of the finest Rose du +Barri china. They are essentially popular; no ball is considered +complete unless it is graced by the presence of the queen of blondes. As +the Belgravian matrons all say, "Dear Lady Chandos is so happy in her +marriage." Her husband was always in attendance on her. Other husbands +had various ways; some went to their clubs, some smoked, some drank, +some gambled, others flirted. Lord Chandos was irreproachable; he did +none of these things.</p> + +<p>There had never been the least cloud between them. If this perfect wife +of his had any little weakness, it was a tendency to slight jealousies, +so slight as to be nameless, yet she allowed them at times to ruffle her +calm, serene repose. Her husband was very handsome—there was a +picturesque, manly beauty about his dark head and face, a grandeur in +his grand, easy figure that was irresistible. Women followed him +wherever he went with admiring eyes. As he walked along the streets they +said to each other, with smiling eyes, what a handsome man he was. If +they went to strange hotels all the maids courtesied with blushing faces +to the handsome young lord. At Naples one of the flower-girls had +disturbed Lady Marion's peace—a girl with a face darkly beautiful as +one of Raphael's women, with eyes that were like liquid fire, and this +girl always stood waiting for them with a basket of flowers. Lord +Chandos, in his generous, princely fashion, flung her pieces of gold or +silver; once my lady saw the girl lift the money he threw to her from +the ground, kiss it with a passionate kiss, and put it in the bodice of +her dress. In vain after that did Carina offer Parma violets and lilies +from Sorrento, Lady Chandos would have no more, and Carina was requested +soon afterward by the master of the hotel to take her stand with her +flowers elsewhere.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos never made any remark upon it—every lady has some foible, +some little peculiarity. She was a perfect wife, and this little feeling +of small jealousies was not worth mentioning. If they went to a ball and +he danced three times with the same lady, he knew he would hear +something in faint dispraise. If he admired any one as a good rider or a +good dancer, out would come some little criticism; he smiled as he +heard, but said nothing—it was not worth while. Like a kind-hearted man +he bore this little failing in mind, and, if ever he praised one woman, +he took care to add something complimentary to his wife. So the three +years had passed and this was the spring-tide of the fourth, the +showery, sparkling month of April; violets and primroses were growing, +the birds beginning to sing, the leaves springing, the chestnuts +budding, the fair earth reviving after its long swoon in the arms of +winter. The London season of this year was one of the best known, no +cloud of either sorrow or adversity hung over the throne or the country; +trade was good, everything seemed bright and prosperous; but the great +event of the season was most certainly the first appearance in England +of the new singer, Madame Vanira, whose marvelous beauty and wonderful +voice were said to drive people mad with excitement and delight.</p> + +<p>It was to see her that Lord and Lady Chandos went to the Royal Italian +Opera on that night in April on which our story is continued.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3>A MEETING OF EYES.</h3> + + +<p>The newspapers had already given many details of Madame Vanira. For many +long years there had been nothing seen like her. They said her passion +and power, her dramatic instinct, her intensity were so great, that she +was like electric fire. One critic quoted of her what was so prettily +said of another great actress:</p> + +<p>"She has a soul of fire in a body of gauze."</p> + +<p>No one who saw her ever forgot her; even if they only saw her once, her +face lived clear, distinct, and vivid in their memory forever afterward. +No one knew which to admire most, her face or her voice. Her face was +the most wondrously beautiful ever seen on the stage, and her voice was +the most marvelous ever heard—it thrilled you, it made you tremble; its +grand pathos, its unutterable sadness, its marvelous sweetness; those +clear, passionate tones reached every heart, no matter how cold, how +hardened it might be—one felt that in listening to it that it was the +voice of a grand, passionate soul. It was full, too, of a kind of +electricity; when Madame Vanira sung she could sway the minds and hearts +of her hearers as the winter winds sway the strong boughs. She drew all +hearts to herself and opened them. When she sung, it was as though she +sung the secret of each heart to its owner.</p> + +<p>They said that her soul was of fire and that the fire caught her +listeners; she had power, genius, dramatic force enough in her to +electrify a whole theater full of people, to lift them out of the +commonplace, to take them with her into the fairyland of romance and +genius, to make them forget everything and anything except herself.</p> + +<p>Such a woman comes once in a century, not oftener. They called her a +siren, a Circe. She was a woman with a passionate soul full of poetry; a +genius with a soul full of power; a woman made to attract souls as the +magnet attracts the needle.</p> + +<p>She made her <i>debut</i> in the theater of San Carlo, in Naples, and the +people had gone wild over her; they serenaded her through the long +starlit night; they cried out her name with every epithet of praise that +could be lavished on her; they raved about her beautiful eyes, her +glorious face, her voice, her acting, her attitudes.</p> + +<p>Then a royal request took her to Russia; a still warmer welcome met her +there; royal hands crowned her with diamonds, royal voices swelled her +triumph; there was no one like La Vanira. She was invited to court and +all honors were lavished on her.</p> + +<p>From there she went to Vienna, where her success was as great; to Paris, +where it was greater, and now she was to make her <i>debut</i> before the +most critical, calm, appreciative audience in Europe. The papers for +weeks had been full of her; they could describe her grand, queenly +beauty, her wonderful acting, her genius, which was alone in the world, +her jewels, her dresses, her attitudes; but there was nothing to say +about her life.</p> + +<p>Even the society journals, usually so well informed, had nothing to say +about Madame Vanira. Whether she were single, or married, or a widow, +none of them knew; of what town, of what nation, even of what family, +none of them knew.</p> + +<p>She seemed to be quite alone in the world, and against her even the +faintest rumor had never been heard; she was of irreproachable +propriety, nay, more, she was of angelic goodness—generous, truthful, +charitable and high-minded. There was not a whisper against her good +name—not one. She had a legion of admirers, none of whom could boast of +a favor; she answered no letters; she gave no interviews; she accepted +no invitations; she visited among some of the most exclusive circles, +where she was received as an equal; she had had offers of marriage that +would have made any other woman vain; she refused them all; she seemed +to live for her art, and nothing else. Such a description naturally +excited the curiosity of people, and the result was a house so crowded +that it was almost impossible to find room.</p> + +<p>"We may think ourselves fortunate," said Lady Chandos. "I have never +seen the house so crowded, and, do not laugh, Lance, I do not see a +prettier toilet than my own."</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos was always well pleased when her husband complimented her +on her dress; if he forgot it, she generally reminded him of it. She +looked very beautiful this evening; her dress was of white satin, +effectively trimmed with dead gold, and she wore diamonds with +rubies—no one there looked better than the queen of blondes.</p> + +<p>"I am quite impatient to see La Vanira," she said to her husband. "I +wonder why she has chosen this opera, 'L'Etoile du Nord;' it is not the +usual thing for a <i>debutante</i>."</p> + +<p>Then the words died on her lips and for some minutes she said no more. +The curtain was drawn up and Madame Vanira appeared. There was a dead +silence for some few minutes, then there was a storm of applause; her +beautiful face won it, her grand figure, her eyes, with their fire of +passion, seemed to demand it.</p> + +<p>Of all characters, perhaps that of the loving, impassionate Star of the +North suited her best. In it she found expression for love, her passion +and despair. She stood before what was perhaps the most critical +audience in the world, and she thrilled them with her power. It was no +more a woman; she seemed more like an inspired sibyl; her audience hung +on every note, on every word from those wonderful lips; while she +charmed all ears she charmed all eyes; the beauty of her magnificent +face, the beauty of her superb figure, the grandeur of her attitudes, +the inimitable grace of her actions were something new and wonderful. +From the first moment the curtain rose until it fell the whole audience +was breathless.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos laid down her jeweled opera-glass while she drew a breath +of relief, it was so wonderful to her, this woman all fire, and genius +and power.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said to her husband, "what a wonderful face it is. Have you +looked well at it?"</p> + +<p>She glanced carelessly at her husband as she spoke, then started at the +change in him; his whole face had altered, the expression of careless +interest had died, the color and light had died, his dark eyes had a +strained, bewildered look; they were shadowed as though by some great +doubt or fear.</p> + +<p>"Lance," said his wife, "are you not well? You look so strange—quite +unlike yourself."</p> + +<p>He turned away lest she should see his face more plainly, and then she +continued:</p> + +<p>"If you are not well, we will go home, dear; nothing will interest me +without you."</p> + +<p>He made a great effort and spoke to her; but the very tone of his voice +was altered, all the sweetness and music had gone out of it.</p> + +<p>"I am well," he said, "pray do not feel anxious over me; the house is +very full and very warm."</p> + +<p>"What do you think of La Vanira?" continued Lady Chandos; "how very +different she is to any one else."</p> + +<p>He laughed, and the sound was forced and unnatural.</p> + +<p>"I think she is very wonderful," he replied.</p> + +<p>"And beautiful?" asked Lady Marion, with a look of eager anxiety.</p> + +<p>He was too wise and too wary to reply with anything like enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"Beautiful for those who like brunettes," he answered coldly, and his +wife's heart was at rest. If he had gone into raptures she would have +been disgusted.</p> + +<p>"If she would but leave me in peace," thought Lord Chandos to himself.</p> + +<p>He was bewildered and confused. Before him stood the great and gifted +singer whom kings and emperors had delighted to honor, the most +beautiful and brilliant of women; yet surely those dark, lustrous eyes +had looked in his own; surely he had kissed the quivering lips, over +which such rich strains of music rolled; surely he knew that beautiful +face. He had seen it under the starlight, under the shade of green trees +by the mill-stream; it must be the girl he had loved with such mad love, +and had married more than four years ago. Yet, how could it be? Of Leone +he had never heard one syllable.</p> + +<p>Mr. Sewell had written to Lady Lanswell to tell her of her indignant +rejection of all help, of her disappearance, how she never even returned +to River View for anything belonging to her, and after some time the +countess had told her son. He went to River View and he found the house +closed and the servants gone; he made some inquiries about Leone, but +never heard anything about her. He deplored the fact—it added to his +misery over her. If he could have known that he left her well provided +for he would not have suffered half so much.</p> + +<p>All these years he had never heard one word of her. He had thought of +her continually, more than any one would have imagined; he never knew +what it was to forget her for one minute. His heart was always sad, his +soul sorrowful, his mind ill at ease. The more he thought of it, the +more despicable his own conduct seemed. He hated the thought of it, he +loathed the very memory.</p> + +<p>And here was the face he had seen by the mill-stream, the face which had +haunted him, the face he loved so well—here it was alight with power, +passion and genius. Could this brilliant, gifted singer be Leone, or was +he misled by a wonderful likeness? He could not understand it, he was +bewildered.</p> + +<p>He had wondered a thousand times a day what had become of Leone; he +remembered her wonderful talent, how she read those grand old tragedies +of Shakespeare until she knew them by heart; but could it be possible +that Leone had become the finest singer and the grandest actress in the +world?</p> + +<p>It was in the last grandly pathetic scene that their eyes met, and for +one half moment the gifted woman, on whose lightest breath that vast +crowd hung, swayed to and fro as though she would have fallen; the next +minute she was pouring out the richest streams of melody, and Lady +Chandos said:</p> + +<p>"Is it my fancy, Lance, or was La Vanira looking at you?"</p> + +<p>"I should say it was your fancy, Marion—La Vanira sees nothing lower +than the skies, I think."</p> + +<p>And then the opera ended.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>LANCE'S DETERMINATION.</h3> + + +<p>"You have not much to say to me to-night, Lance," said Lady Marion, in a +tone of gentle expostulation. "I wonder if that beautiful singer was +really looking at you. It seemed to me that the moment her eyes caught +yours she faltered and almost failed."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos roused himself.</p> + +<p>"Give me a woman's fancy," he said; "it is boundless as the deep sea."</p> + +<p>"I think a beautiful singer is like a siren," continued Lady Chandos, +"she wins all hearts."</p> + +<p>He laughed again, a tired, indifferent, reckless laugh.</p> + +<p>"I thought we had agreed that you had won mine, Marion," he said, "and, +if that be true, it cannot be won again."</p> + +<p>She was silent for a few minutes, then she continued:</p> + +<p>"Which do you really admire most, Lance, blonde or brunette, tell me?"</p> + +<p>"A strange question to ask a man who was fortunate enough to win the +queen of blondes for his wife," he replied.</p> + +<p>He would have paid her any compliment—said anything to please her—if +she would only have given him time to think.</p> + +<p>They were driving home together, but he felt it was impossible to remain +under any roof until he had learned whether Leone and La Vanira were the +same. If his dear, good, amiable wife would but give him time to think. +He could hear the sound of the mill-wheel, he could hear the ripple of +the waters, the words of the song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In sheltered vale a mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still sings its busy lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My darling once did dwell there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now she's gone away."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The stars were shining as they shone when he sat by the mill-stream, +with that beautiful head on his heart. He shuddered as he remembered her +forebodings. Lady Chandos took his hand anxiously in hers.</p> + +<p>"My dearest Lance, I am quite sure you are not well, I saw you shudder +as though you were cold, and yet your hands are burning hot. What is it +you say about going to your club? Nothing of the kind, my darling. You +must have some white wine whey; you have taken cold. No; pray do not +laugh, Lance, prevention is better than cure."</p> + +<p>She had exactly her own way, as those very quiet, amiable wives +generally have. He did not go to his club, but he sat by his +dressing-room fire, and drank white wine whey. He had the satisfaction +of hearing his wife say that he was the best husband in the world; then +he fell asleep, to dream of the mill-stream and the song.</p> + +<p>It grew upon him—he must know if that was Leone. Of course, he said to +himself, he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with her—he would +never dare, after his cruel treatment of her, even to address one word +to her; but he should be quite content if he could know whether this was +Leone or not. If he could know that he would be happy, his sorrow and +remorse would be lessened.</p> + +<p>He knew that the best place for hearing such details was his club—the +Royal Junior—every one and everything were discussed there, no one +escaped, and what was never known elsewhere was always known at the +Royal Junior. He would take luncheon there and by patient listening +would be sure to know. He went, although Lady Chandos said plaintively +that she could not eat her luncheon alone.</p> + +<p>"I am compelled to go," he said. "I have business, Marion, that is +imperative."</p> + +<p>"I think husbands have a reserve fund of business," said Lady Chandos. +"What a mysterious word it is, and how much it covers, Lance. Lord +Seafield is never at home, but whenever his wife asks him where he is +going, he always says 'on business.' Now, in your case what does +business mean?"</p> + +<p>He laughed at the question.</p> + +<p>"Parliamentary interests, my dear," he replied, as he hastened away. +Such close questions were very difficult to answer.</p> + +<p>He found the dining-rooms well filled, and, just as he had foreseen, the +one subject was La Vanira. Then, indeed, did he listen to some wonderful +stories. The Marquis of Exham declared that she was the daughter of an +illustrious Sicilian nobleman, who had so great a love for the stage +nothing could keep her from it. The Earl of Haleston said he knew for a +fact she was the widow of an Austrian Jew, who had taken to the stage as +the means of gaining her livelihood. Lord Bowden said she was the wife +of an Austrian officer who was possessed of ample means. There were at +least twenty different stories about her, and not one agreed with +another.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Lord Chandos, at last, "what is the real truth?"</p> + +<p>"About what?" said a white-haired major, who sat next to him.</p> + +<p>"About La Vanira," he replied; "every one here has a different story to +tell."</p> + +<p>"I can tell you as much truth as any one else about her," said the +major, "I was with the manager last evening. La Vanira is English. I +grant that she looks like a Spaniard—I never saw such dark eyes in my +life; but she is English; accomplished, clever, good as gold, and has no +one belonging to her in the wide world. That much the manager told me +himself."</p> + +<p>"But where does she come from?" he asked, impatiently. "Everybody comes +from somewhere."</p> + +<p>"The manager's idea is that she was brought up in the midland counties; +he thinks so from a few words she said one day."</p> + +<p>"Is she married or single?" asked Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"Single," was the reply; "and in no hurry to be married. She has refused +some of the best offers that could be made; and yet she wears a ring on +the third finger of her left hand—perhaps it is not a wedding-ring."</p> + +<p>"I should like to see her," said Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>The white-haired major laughed.</p> + +<p>"So would half the men in London, but no one visits her—she allows no +introductions. I know a dozen and more who have tried to see her in +vain."</p> + +<p>He was not much wiser after this conversation than before; but he was +more determined to know. That same evening he made another excuse, and +left his wife at Lady Blanchard's ball while he drove to the +opera-house. The opera was almost over, but he saw the manager, to whom +he briefly stated his errand.</p> + +<p>"I believe," he said, "that in Madame Vanira I recognize an old friend. +Will you introduce me to her?"</p> + +<p>"I am sorry to say that I cannot," was the courteous reply. "I promised +madame not to make any introductions to her."</p> + +<p>"Will you take my card to her? If she is the lady I take her to be she +will send word whether she wishes to see me or not."</p> + +<p>The manager complied with his request. He soon returned.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira wishes me to say that she has not the pleasure of your +lordship's acquaintance, and that she is compelled to decline any +introduction."</p> + +<p>"Then it is not Leone," he said to himself, and a chill of +disappointment came over him.</p> + +<p>His heart had been beating quickly and warmly, yet he persuaded himself +it was only that he was so pleased to know she was all right and safe +from the frowns of the world. It was not Leone, but she was so much like +Leone that he felt he must go to see her again.</p> + +<p>"The opera to-night?" said Lady Marion, in her sweetest tones. "Why, my +dear Lance, you were there three nights since."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I know, but I thought it pleased you, Marion. We will ask my +mother to go with us. It is the 'Crown Diamonds,' a very favorite opera +of hers."</p> + +<p>"Will Madame Vanira sing?" asked Lady Chandos, and her husband quietly +answered:</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He was anxious for Lady Lanswell to go, to see if she would recognize +Leone, or if any likeness would strike her. As his chief wish seemed to +be to give pleasure to his mother, and he expressed no desire to see the +beautiful singer again, Lady Chandos was very amiable. She sent a kind +little note to the countess, saying what pleasure it would give them if +she would go to the opera with them, and Lady Lanswell was only too +pleased. The earl had grown tired of such things and never cared to go +out in the evening.</p> + +<p>How anxiously Lord Chandos watched his mother's face. He saw delight, +surprise and wonder, but no recognition—except once, and then the +magnificent arms of the actress were raised in denunciation. Then +something of bewilderment came over Lady Lanswell's face, and she turned +to her son.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "Madame Vanira reminds me of some one, and I cannot +think who it is."</p> + +<p>"Have you seen her before, mother, do you think?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"No, I think not; but she reminds me of some one, I cannot think whom. +Her gestures are more familiar to me than her face."</p> + +<p>Evidently the thought of Leone never entered her mind; and Lord Chandos +was more puzzled than ever. The countess was charmed.</p> + +<p>"What fire, what genius, what power! That is really acting," she said. +"In all my life I have seen nothing better. There is truth in her +tenderness, reality in her sorrow. I shall often come to see Vanira, +Lance."</p> + +<p>So she did, and was often puzzled over the resemblance of some one she +knew; but she never once dreamed of Leone, while, by dint of earnest +watching and study, Lord Chandos became more and more convinced that it +was she.</p> + +<p>He was determined to find out. He was foolish enough to think that if he +could once be sure of it, his heart and mind would be at rest, but until +then there was no rest for him.</p> + +<p>What could he do—how could he know? Then the idea came, to follow her +carriage home. By dint of perseverance he found, at last, that Madame +Vanira had a very pretty house in Hampstead called the Cedars, and he +determined to call and see her there. If he had really been mistaken, +and it were not Leone, he could but apologize; if it were——</p> + +<p>Ah, well, if it were, he would ask her forgiveness, and she would give +it to him, on account of the love she bore him years ago.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>NEITHER WIFE NOR WIDOW.</h3> + + +<p>It was with some trepidation that Lord Chandos presented himself at the +gates of the Cedars, yet surely she who had loved him so well would +never refuse him admission into her house? that is, if it were Leone. As +he walked through the pretty garden and saw all the pretty flowers +blooming, he said to himself, that it was like her. She had always so +dearly loved the spring flowers, the flame of the yellow crocus, the +faint, sweet odor of the violets, the pure heads of the white +snow-drops. He had heard her say so often that she loved these modest, +sweet flowers that come in the spring more than the dainty ones that +bloom in summer-time.</p> + +<p>It was like her, this garden, and yet, he could not tell why. Great +clusters of lilac-trees were budding, the laburnums were thinking of +flowering; but there was no song of running brook, and no ripple of +fountains, no sound of falling water; the birds were busy wooing and +they had so much to sing about.</p> + +<p>There was a profusion of flowers, all the windows seemed full of them; +there was a picturesque look about the place that reminded him of Leone. +On the lawn stood two large cedars, from which the place derived its +name. He went to the hall door. What if she should meet him suddenly and +turn from him in indignant anger? What if it should not be Leone, but a +stranger?</p> + +<p>A pretty housemaid, Parisian, he knew from the type, answered the door, +from whom he inquired, in his most polite fashion, if Madame Vanira was +at home.</p> + +<p>There is no denying the fact that all women are more or less +susceptible to the charms of a handsome face, and Lord Chandos was +handsome—exceedingly. The girl looked up into the dark face and the +dark eyes that always looked admiringly when a woman was near.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira sees no one," she replied.</p> + +<p>Something passed rapidly from his hand to hers.</p> + +<p>"You look kind," he said, "be my friend. I think that, years ago, I knew +Madame Vanira. If she be the lady whom I believe her to be, she will be +pleased to see me, and no possible blame can be attached to you. Tell me +where she is that I may find her."</p> + +<p>"Madame is in the morning-room," said the girl, with some hesitation, +"but I shall lose my place if I admit you."</p> + +<p>"I promise you no," said Lord Chandos; "on the contrary, your lady will +be pleased that you are able to discriminate between those whom she +would like to see, and those whom she would not."</p> + +<p>"At least, let me announce you," pleaded the pretty housemaid, in broken +English.</p> + +<p>"No, it would serve no purpose; that is, of course, you can go before me +and open the door—I will follow you immediately. You need only say, 'A +gentleman to see you, madame.' Will you do this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said the girl, reluctantly.</p> + +<p>As he followed her through the passage, it did occur to him that if it +were not Leone, he should be in a terrible dilemma. It occurred to him +also, that if it were Leone, what right had he there, with that fair, +sweet wife of his at home—what right had he there?</p> + +<p>He followed the pretty maid through the hall and through a suit of +rooms, furnished with quiet elegance. They came to the door of a room +before which the maid stopped, and Lord Chandos saw that her face had +grown pale.</p> + +<p>She opened it.</p> + +<p>"A gentleman to see you, madame," she said, hastily.</p> + +<p>And then the maid disappeared, and he entered the room.</p> + +<p>Leone was standing with her face to the window when he entered, and he +had one moment in which to look round the room—one moment in which to +control the rapid beating of his heart; then she turned suddenly, and +once more they were face to face.</p> + +<p>Ah, to see the heaven of delight and rapture that came over hers—the +light that came into her eyes; it was as though her face was suddenly +transfigured; all the past in that one moment of rapture was forgotten, +all the treachery, the perfidy, the falsity.</p> + +<p>She uttered one word, "Lance," but it was a cry of unutterable delight. +"Lance," she repeated, and then, with all the light of heaven still +shining in her face, she hid her face on his breast. She did not +remember, she only knew that it was the face of her lost lover, the same +strong, tender arms were clasped round her, the same warm kisses were on +her face, the same passionate, loving heart was beating near her own. +Ah, Heaven, how sweet that one moment was. To die while it lasted, never +to leave the shelter of those dear arms again. She had waited for him +for years, and he had come at last.</p> + +<p>There were a few minutes of silent, rapturous greeting, and then, +suddenly, she remembered, and sprung from him with a low cry.</p> + +<p>"How dare you?" she cried, "I had forgotten. How dare you?"</p> + +<p>Then the sight of the beloved face, the dear eyes, the well-remembered +figure, took all the hot anger from her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lance, Lance, I ought not to speak to you or look at you, and yet I +cannot help it. God help me, I cannot help it."</p> + +<p>He was down on his knees by her side, clasping her hands, the folds of +her dress, crying out to her to pardon him; that he had no excuse to +offer her; he had been guilty beyond all guilt; that neither in heaven +nor on earth could there be any pardon for him; that he would have died +a hundred deaths rather than have lost her.</p> + +<p>For some five minutes it was a mad whirl of passion, love and regret. +She was the first to recollect herself, to say to him:</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos, you must not kneel there; remember you have a wife at +home."</p> + +<p>The words struck him like a sharp sword. He arose and, drawing a chair +for her, stood by her side.</p> + +<p>"I am beside myself," he said, "with the pleasure of seeing you again. +Forgive me, Leone; I will not offend. Oh, what can I say to you? How can +I look upon your face and live?"</p> + +<p>"You were very cruel to me and very treacherous," she said; "your +treachery has spoiled my life. Oh, Lance, how could you be so cruel to +me when I loved you so—how could you?"</p> + +<p>Tears that she had repressed for years rained down her face; all the +bitter grief that she had held in as with an iron hand, all the pride so +long triumphant, all the pain and anguish, and the desolation, that had +been in check, rushed over her, as the tempestuous waves of the sea rush +over the rocks and sands.</p> + +<p>"How could you, Lance?" she cried, wringing her hands; "how could you? +You were cruel and treacherous to me, though I trusted you so. Ah, my +love, my love, how could you?"</p> + +<p>The beautiful head fell forward in the very abandonment of sorrow; great +sobs shook the beautiful figure.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lance, I loved you so, I believed in you as I believed in Heaven. I +loved you and trusted you, you forsook me and deceived me. Oh, my love, +my love!"</p> + +<p>His face grew white and his strong figure trembled under the pain of her +reproaches.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said, gently, "every word of yours is a sword in my heart. +Why did I do it? Ah me, why? I have no word of excuse for myself, not +one. I might say that I was under woman's influence, but that would not +excuse me. I take the whole blame, the whole sin upon myself. Can you +ever forgive me?"</p> + +<p>She raised her face to his, all wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"I ought not to forgive you," she said; "I ought to drive you from my +presence; I ought to curse you with my ruined life, but I cannot. Oh, +Lance, if I only lay under the waters of the mill-stream, dead."</p> + +<p>The passion of her grief was terrible to see. He forgot all and +everything but her—the wife at home, the plighted vows, honor, truth, +loyalty—all and everything except the girl whom he had loved with a mad +love, and her grief. He drew her to his breast, he kissed away the +shining tears; he kissed the trembling lips.</p> + +<p>"Leone, you will drive me mad. Great God, what have I done? I realize it +now; I had better have died," and then the strength of the strong man +gave way, and he wept like a child. "It is no excuse," he said, "to +plead that I was young, foolish, and easily led. Oh, Leone, my only +love, what was I doing when I gave you up—when I left you?"</p> + +<p>The violence of his grief somewhat restrained hers; she was half +frightened at it.</p> + +<p>"We are making matters worse," she said. "Lance, we must not forget that +you are married now in earnest."</p> + +<p>"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked. "I have no excuse to offer. I own +that my sin was the most disloyal and the most traitorous a man could +commit, but forgive me, Leone. I have repented of it in sackcloth and +ashes. Say you forgive me."</p> + +<p>The beautiful, colorless face did not soften at the words.</p> + +<p>"I cannot," she said; "I cannot forgive that treachery, Lance; it has +wounded me even unto death. How can I forgive it?"</p> + +<p>"My darling—Leone—say you will pardon me. I will do anything to atone +for it."</p> + +<p>She laid one white hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>"You see, Lance," she said, earnestly, "it is one of those things for +which you can never atone—one that can never be undone—but one which +will brand me forever. What am I? Did you stop to think of that when +your new love tempted you? What am I? not your wife—not your widow. Oh +God, what am I?"</p> + +<p>He drew her to him again, but this time she resisted his warm kisses.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said sadly, "I deserve to be shot. I hate myself—I loathe +myself. I cannot imagine how I failed in my duty and loyalty to you. I +can only say that I was young and thoughtless—easily led. Heaven help +me, I had no mind of my own, but I have suffered so cruelly and so have +you, my darling—so have you."</p> + +<p>"I?" she replied. "When you can count the leaves in the forest, or the +sands on the seashore, you will know what I have suffered, not until +then."</p> + +<p>Her voice died away in a melancholy cadence that to him was like the +last wailing breath of the summer wind in the trees.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL" id="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<h3>"FORGIVE ME, LEONE."</h3> + + +<p>"Lance," she said, suddenly, "or, as I ought to say, Lord Chandos—how +can I forgive you? What you ask is more than any woman could grant. I +cannot pardon the treachery which has ruined my life, which has stricken +me, without blame or fault of mine, from the roll of honorable +women—which has made me a by-word, a mark for the scorn and contempt of +others, a woman to be contemned and despised. Of what use are all the +gifts of Heaven to me, with the scarlet brand you have marked on my +brow?"</p> + +<p>He grew white, even to the lips, as the passionate words reached his +ears.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he cried, "for God's sake spare me. I have no defense—no +excuse; spare me; your words kill me. They are not true, my darling; +none of what happened was your fault—you were innocent and blameless as +a child; you are the same now. Would to Heaven all women were pure and +honorable as you. Say what you will to me, no punishment would be too +great for me—but say nothing yourself; never one word, Leone. Could you +forgive me? I have done you the most cruel wrong, and I have no excuse +to offer—nothing but my foolish youth, my mad folly, my unmanly +weakness. I have known it ever since I married. You are my only love; I +have never had another. Ah, my darling, forgive me. If I have ruined +your life, I have doubly ruined my own."</p> + +<p>She raised her beautiful, colorless face to his.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, gently, "what a prophecy that song held for us. And +the running water—how true a foreboding it always murmured:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'The vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ring asunder broken.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How true and how cruel. I hear the song and I hear the murmur of the +water in my dreams."</p> + +<p>"So do I," he replied, sadly. "My darling, I wish we never left the +mill-stream. I would to Heaven we had died under the running water +together."</p> + +<p>"So do I," she said, "but we are living, not dead, and life holds duties +just as death holds relief. We must remember much harm has been done—we +need not do more."</p> + +<p>"Say that you will forgive me, Leone, and then I do not care what +happens. I will do anything you tell me. I will humble myself in every +way. I will do anything you can desire if you will only forgive me. Do, +for Heaven's sake. I am so utterly wretched that I believe if you refuse +to say one word of pardon to me I shall go mad or kill myself."</p> + +<p>There was a long struggle in her mind. Could she forgive the injury +which seemed greater than man had ever inflicted on woman? She was very +proud, and her pride was all in arms. How could she pardon a traitor? +She had loved him better than her life, and with the first sight of his +handsome, beloved face all the glamour of her love was over her again.</p> + +<p>How could she forgive him? Yet the proud figure was bent so humbly +before her, the proud head so low.</p> + +<p>"What am I to say?" she cried. "I was a good and innocent girl—now it +seems to me that the evil spirits of passion and unrest have taken +possession of me. What am I to say or to do? Heaven help and teach me."</p> + +<p>"Forgive me," he repeated. "Your refusal will send me away a madman, +ready for any reckless action. Your consent will humble me, but it will +make me happier. Oh, my darling, forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Suppose that harm follows my forgiveness—we are better enemies than +friends, Lord Chandos."</p> + +<p>"We will never be enemies, and no harm can come except that I shall be +happier for it. Say you will forgive me, Leone. See, I ask your pardon +on my knees. For Heaven's sake, for my great love's sake, say you +forgive me!"</p> + +<p>He knelt before her humbly as a child, he bowed his handsome head until +his face rested on her knees; he sobbed aloud in his sorrow and his deep +regret. She stood for a few minutes quite uncertain; her clear reason +and common sense told her that it would be better if she would refuse +him pardon, and that they should part for all time; but love and pity +pleaded, and of course love and pity won. She laid her hand on the dark +head of the man whom she had once believed her husband; her beautiful +face quivered with emotion.</p> + +<p>"I forgive you," she said, "freely, frankly, fully, as I hope Heaven +will forgive me all my sins. Nay, you must not kiss me, not even my +hand. Your kisses belong to some one else now—not to me. I forgive you, +but we must part again. Come what may—we must part, we must not meet +again."</p> + +<p>"I can never part with you," he said, in a hoarse voice. "You have been +life of my life, heart of my heart too long for that."</p> + +<p>She held up her hand with a superb gesture of warning and silence.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Lord Chandos," she said; "if you speak to me in that strain, I +shall never see you again. Remember you have a wife; you must not be +false to two women—keep true to one. Neither your kisses nor your +loving words belong to me now."</p> + +<p>"I will not offend you," he said, sadly.</p> + +<p>She leaned her beautiful arms on the table, her white hands under her +chin, looking steadily at him.</p> + +<p>"I have forgiven you," she said, musingly, "I, who have sworn such +terrible oaths, such bitter revenge, I have ended by forgiving you, +after the fashion of the most milk-and-water type of women. I have +forgiven you, and Heaven knows how I tried to hate you, and have tried +to take pleasure in the thoughts of my vengeance."</p> + +<p>"You have had your vengeance on me, Leone, in the shape of the love that +has never left me, and the memories which have haunted me. You swore +vengeance against my mother, but you will forego that."</p> + +<p>A slow smile came over her face and died away again.</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos," she said, "you will not be my debtor in generosity. You +have asked me to pardon you; I have done so. Grant me one favor in +return—tell me who influenced you to forsake me?"</p> + +<p>He looked puzzled.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know, Leone, I can hardly tell you."</p> + +<p>"It was not the lady whom you have married," she continued, "of that I +am sure. Who was it?"</p> + +<p>"I think if any one influenced me it must have been my mother," he said, +gently; "she was always violently opposed to it."</p> + +<p>The beautiful lips paled and trembled.</p> + +<p>"I thought it was your mother," she said, gravely, "No, I shall not +forego my vengeance against her, although I know not when I may gain +it."</p> + +<p>"You will forget all that," he said. "You are too noble to care for +vengeance."</p> + +<p>"I am not too noble," she replied. "All that was best and noble in me +died on the day you forsook me. And now, Lord Chandos, listen to me. +Words of peace and pardon have passed between us. It has raised a heavy +funeral pall from my life; it has, perhaps, raised a black cloud from +yours. Lord Chandos, we must not meet again."</p> + +<p>"You cannot be so cruel, Leone. Having found you, how can I lose you +again?"</p> + +<p>"You must, it is imperative," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"But, Leone, why should we not be friends?" he said, gently.</p> + +<p>She laughed a hard, scornful laugh that struck him in the face like the +sting of a sharp blade.</p> + +<p>"Friends?" she repeated. "Could we who have been wedded lovers ever be +friends? You do not know what words mean if you think that."</p> + +<p>He stood before her with a stern, white face.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he cried, "are you really going to be cruel enough to send me +away out of your life again, I who have been mad with joy at finding +you?"</p> + +<p>"If I were cruel," she said, slowly, "now I would take my vengeance. I +should say as you once left me so now I leave you, but I am not cruel, +and that is my reason. My reason is a good and pure one; we could never +remain friends, we love each other too much for that; we must live as +strangers now; and remember, it is your fault, not mine."</p> + +<p>"I cannot submit to it," he cried.</p> + +<p>But she looked at him with a face stern, resolute, fixed as his own.</p> + +<p>"Remember, Lord Chandos," she said, "that I am my own mistress. I can +choose my friends and associates. I refuse to admit you among the +number."</p> + +<p>"You cannot prevent me from coming to see you, Leone."</p> + +<p>"No; but I can, and shall, refuse to see you when you come," she +replied; "and I shall do so."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my love, my cruel, beautiful love," he cried.</p> + +<p>The girl's face flushed with hot anger and indignation.</p> + +<p>"Will you be silent?" she cried. "Shame on you, Lord Chandos, to use +such words. You have a beautiful and beloved wife at home to whom all +your love and fidelity belong. If you say one more such word to me I +will never see you again."</p> + +<p>"But, Leone, it seems so very hard; you might let me call at times and +see you."</p> + +<p>"No, I cannot, I cannot trust myself, even if I could trust you. I have +had no other husband, no other love; you have married. I would not trust +myself; my love is as great now as ever it was, but it shall not run +away with me; it shall not be my master. I will master it. You must not +come near me."</p> + +<p>"But, surely, if I meet you in the street, you will not ask me to pass +you by?" he said.</p> + +<p>"No; if we meet quite by chance, quite by accident, I will always speak +to you. Ah, Lance," she added, with a smile, "I know you so well, I know +every look in your eyes; you are thinking to yourself you will often see +me by accident. You must not; such honor as you have left me let me +keep."</p> + +<p>"If this is to be our last interview, for some time, at least," he +continued, "tell me, Leone, how is it that you have become so famous?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will tell you all about that; I am rather proud of my power. It +is not a long story, and it dates from the day on which your mother sent +me that letter."</p> + +<p>She told him all her studies, her struggles, her perseverance, her +success, finally her crowning by fame.</p> + +<p>"It is like a romance," he said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, only it is true," she replied.</p> + +<p>He tried to prolong the interview, but she would close it; and he was +compelled to leave her, when he would have given years of his life to +have remained one hour longer.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<h3>"LET US BE FRIENDS."</h3> + + +<p>"Lance," said the sweet voice of Lady Marion, plaintively, "I am +beginning to have a faint suspicion about you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed. Your suspicions are not faint as a rule. What is this?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid that you are growing just a little tired of me," said the +beautiful queen of blondes.</p> + +<p>"What makes you think so?" he asked, trying to laugh, as he would have +done a few weeks since at such an accusation.</p> + +<p>"Several reasons. You are not so attentive to me as you used to be; you +do not seem to listen when I speak; you have grown so absent-minded; and +then you say such strange things in your sleep."</p> + +<p>He looked grave for half a minute, then laughed carelessly.</p> + +<p>"Do I? Then I ought to be ashamed of myself. Men talk enough in their +waking hours without talking in their sleep. What do I say, Marion?"</p> + +<p>He asked the question carelessly enough, but there was an anxious look +in his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell; I hardly remember," said Lady Chandos; "but you are +always asking some one to forgive you and see you. Have you ever +offended any one very much, Lance?"</p> + +<p>"I hope not," he replied. "Dreams are so strange, and I do not think +they are often true reflections of our lives. Have you any further +reason for saying I am growing tired of you? It is a vexed question, and +we may as well settle it now as renew the argument."</p> + +<p>"No, I have no other reason. Lance, you are not cross with me, dear?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not cross; but, at the same time, I must say frankly I do not +like the idea of a jealous wife; it is very distasteful to me."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion raised her eyes in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Jealous, Lance?" she repeated. "I am not jealous. Of whom could I be +jealous? I never see you pay the least attention to any one."</p> + +<p>"Jealous wives, as a rule, begin by accusing their husbands of cooling +love, want of attention, and all that kind of thing."</p> + +<p>"But, Lance," continued the beautiful woman, "are you quite sure that +there is no truth in what I say?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her with a dreamy gaze in his dark eyes.</p> + +<p>"I am quite sure," he replied. "I love you, Marion, as much as ever I +did, and I have not noticed in the least that I have failed in any +attention toward you; if I have I will amend my ways."</p> + +<p>He kissed the fair face bent so lovingly over him; and his wife laid her +fair arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"I should not like to be jealous," she said; "but I must have your whole +heart, Lance; I could not be content with a share of it."</p> + +<p>"Who could share it with you?" he asked, evasively.</p> + +<p>"I do not know, I only know that it must be all or none for me," she +answered. "It is all—is it not, Lance?"</p> + +<p>He kissed her and would fain have said yes, but it came home to him with +a sharp conviction that his heart had been given to one woman, and one +only—no other could ever possess it.</p> + +<p>A few days afterward, when Lord Chandos expressed a wish to go to the +opera again, his wife looked at him in wonder.</p> + +<p>"Again?" she said. "Why, Lance, it is only two nights since you were +there, and it is the same opera; you will grow tired of it."</p> + +<p>"The only amusement I really care for is the opera," he said. "I am +growing too lazy for balls, but I never tire of music."</p> + +<p>He said to himself, that if for the future he wished to go to the opera +he would not mention the fact, but would go without her.</p> + +<p>They went out that evening: the opera was "Norma." Lord Chandos heard +nothing and saw nothing but the wondrous face of Norma; every note of +that music went home to his heart—the love, the trust, the reproaches. +When she sang them in her grandly pathetic voice, it was as though each +one were addressed to himself. Three times did Lady Chandos address him +without any response, a thing which in her eyes was little less than a +crime.</p> + +<p>"How you watch La Vanira," she said. "I am sure you admire her very +much."</p> + +<p>He looked at her with eyes that were dazed—that saw nothing; the eyes +of a man more than half mad.</p> + +<p>"And now look," she said. "Why, Lance, La Vanira is looking at me. What +eyes she has. They stir my very heart and trouble me. They are saying +something to me."</p> + +<p>"Marion, hush! What are you talking about?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"La Vanira's eyes—she is looking at me, Lance."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense!" he said, and the one word was so abruptly pronounced that +Lady Chandos felt sure it was nonsense and said no more.</p> + +<p>But after that evening he said no more about going to the opera. If he +felt any wish to go, he would go; it would be quite easy for him to make +some excuse to her.</p> + +<p>And those evenings grew more and more frequent. He did not dare to +disobey Leone; he did not dare to go to her house, or to offer to see +her in the opera house. He tried hard to meet her accidentally, but that +happy accident never occurred; yet he could not rest, he must see her; +something that was stronger than himself drew him near her.</p> + +<p>He was weak of purpose; he never resolutely took himself in hand and +said:</p> + +<p>"I am married now. I have a wife at home. Leone's beauty, Leone's +talents, are all less than nothing to me. I will be true to my wife."</p> + +<p>He never said that; he never braced his will, or his energies to the +task of forgetting her; he dallied with the temptation as he had done +before; he allowed himself to be tempted as he had done before; the +result was that he fell as he had fallen before.</p> + +<p>Every day his first thought was how he could possibly get away that +evening without drawing particular attention to his movements; and he +went so often that people began to laugh and to tease him and to wonder +why he was always there.</p> + +<p>Leone always saw him. If any one had been shrewd and quick enough to +follow her, they would have seen that she played to one person; that her +eyes turned to him continually; that the gestures of her white arms +seemed to woo him. She never smiled at him, but there were times, when +she was singing some lingering, pathetic notes, it seemed as though she +were almost waiting for him to answer her.</p> + +<p>He did not dare to go behind the scenes, to linger near the door, to +wait for her carriage, but his life was consumed with the one eager +desire to see her. He went night after night to the box; he sat in the +same place; he leaned his arms on the same spot, watching her with eyes +that seemed to flash fire as they rested on her.</p> + +<p>People remarked it at last, and began to wonder if it could be possible +that Lord Chandos, with that beautiful wife, the queen of blondes, was +beginning to care for La Vanira; he never missed one night of her +acting, and he saw nothing but her when she was on the stage.</p> + +<p>Again one evening Lady Chandos said to him:</p> + +<p>"Lance, have you noticed how seldom you spend an evening—that is, the +whole of an evening—with me? If you go to a ball with me, it seems to +me that you are always absent for an hour or two."</p> + +<p>"You have a vivid imagination, my dear wife," he replied.</p> + +<p>And yet he knew it was on the night Leone played; he could no more have +kept from going to see her than he could have flown; it was stronger +than himself, the impulse that led him there.</p> + +<p>Then his nights became all fever; his days all unrest; his whole heart +and soul craved with passionate longing for one half hour with her, and +yet he dared not seek it. Even then, had he striven to conquer his love, +and have resolutely thought of his duty, his good faith and his loyalty, +he would have conquered, as any strong man can conquer when he likes; he +never tried. When the impulse led him, he went; when the temptation came +to him to think of her, he thought of her, when the temptation came to +him to love her, he gave way to it and never once set his will against +it.</p> + +<p>Then, when the fever of his longing consumed him, and his life had grown +intolerable to him, he wrote a note to her; it said simply:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Leone,</span>—Life is very sad. Do let us be friends—why should we +not? Life is so short. Let us be friends. I am very miserable; +seeing you sometimes would make me happy. Let us be friends, Leone. +Why refuse me? I will never speak of love—the word shall never be +mentioned. You shall be to me like my dearest, best-beloved sister. +I will be your brother, your servant, and your friend; only give +me, for God's dear sake, the comfort of seeing you. Leone, be +friends."</p></blockquote> + +<p>It was one evening when she was tired that this letter was brought to +her. She read it with weeping eyes; life was hard; she found it so. She +loved her art, she lived in it, but she was only a woman, and she wanted +the comfort of a human love and friendship.</p> + +<p>Wearily enough she repeated the words to herself:</p> + +<p>"Let us be friends. As he says, 'life is short.' The comfort will be +small enough, Heaven knows, but it will be better than nothing. Yes, we +will be friends."</p> + +<p>So she answered the letter in a few words, telling him if he really +wished what he said, she would discuss the prudence of such a friendship +with him.</p> + +<p>This letter of hers fell into the hands of Lady Marion. She looked at +the fine, beautiful, clear handwriting.</p> + +<p>"Lance, this is from a lady," she said.</p> + +<p>When he took it from her his face flushed, for he knew the hand.</p> + +<p>"It is from a lady," she repeated.</p> + +<p>"It is on business," he replied, coldly, putting the envelope aside; +and, to his intense delight, Lady Marion forgot it.</p> + +<p>He was to go and see her. It was wrong to be so pleased, he knew, but he +did not even try to hide his delight over it.</p> + +<p>When should he go? He should count the hours—he could not wait longer +than to-morrow. Would she be willing; or would she not? How long the +hours seemed, yet they passed, and once more he was at the Cedars.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII" id="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<h3>BECOMING SUSPICIOUS.</h3> + + +<p>So they made the second great mistake of their lives. These two, who had +been married lovers, fancied they could be friends. If it had not been +so sad and so pitiful, it would have been amusing to have heard the +conditions of that friendship—they were as numerous as the +preliminaries of an article of peace. They made all arrangements; their +friendship was to be of the purest and most platonic nature; there was +to be nothing said which would remind them of the past; he was to shake +hands with her when he came and when he went; he might pay her a visit +twice or three times a week; if they met, they were to be on friendly +terms; they would discuss art, literature, and music—anything and +everything except their own story; they were to take an interest in each +other's lives and fortunes.</p> + +<p>"I shall take such a pride in your career, Leone," said Lord Chandos, in +all good faith; "it will be the dearest part of my life."</p> + +<p>She held up one white finger with a smile; that was trespassing on +forbidden ground. He must not break the new code of friendship by saying +such things.</p> + +<p>"We are friends, not lovers, Lord Chandos," she said, gently; "you will +annoy me if you forget that. The dearer part of your life is at home."</p> + +<p>He apologized for the words.</p> + +<p>"I mean," he said, "that I shall take the keenest interest in your +career, and watch it with pride."</p> + +<p>"That is right, as I shall yours, Lord Chandos. I am proud of you, I am +proud when I read your speeches; it seems to me no other man ever spoke +so well. I am proud when I read that the rising man of the day is Lord +Chandos, that England looks to Lord Chandos as a great power and a +promising statesman. Ah, yes, I am proud of you when I read those +things. Your face, your eager, hopeful eyes rise before me, and I say to +myself, 'Ah, yes, he is a genius, and the world knows it.' It is +pleasant to have true friends, such as we shall be to each other."</p> + +<p>"Yes," he had answered her, with a sigh; "we should have been foolish +indeed, Leone, to have deprived ourselves of this, the only consolation +left in life for either of us. We shall be more happy as friends, Leone; +it would have been too horrible to have been always apart."</p> + +<p>They hedged themselves round with precautions; they were to be so +prudent; they were not to address each other as Lance and Leone; they +were never to sing old songs together; he was not to go behind the +scenes in the theater, he was not to wait for her in the evening. She +said to him laughingly, that they ought to have these conditions of +friendship written down as they write down the articles of war or the +preliminaries of peace.</p> + +<p>"We ought to have parchment strong as parchment can be; but, Lord +Chandos, we must keep to our rules, no matter what happens."</p> + +<p>So they intended, and neither of them had the faintest idea of ever +deviating from the rules laid down. It was better than nothing, spending +a few hours with her each week was refreshing as an oasis in a desert; +he eagerly looked forward to those days on which he was permitted to +call, and before long these visits became chiefly the event of his +life—he thought of little else.</p> + +<p>So it gradually came about that the stronger nature gained the +ascendency, the stronger soul gained the upper hand in his life. The +love of Leone had always been by far the strongest element in his life; +it had been set aside by a series of clever maneuvers, but now it +resumed its sway. He did not intend it; he was weak enough and foolish +enough to think that the prudent friendship could replace mad love, and +he was not very long before he found out his mistake. But at first all +went well—her praise stimulated him, he gave loose to the fiery +eloquence that was natural to him. Knowing that she would read and +criticise every word, he took more pride and pleasure in his public life +than he had ever done before; he liked to hear her criticisms on his +opinions and actions; he was delighted with the interest she took in his +works.</p> + +<p>At times the visits he paid were all occupied with the discussion of +these details. He would tell her of some great oration or speech that he +intended to make on some important measure, she would talk it over to +him, and her marvelous intelligence, her bright wit and originality +always threw some new light on the matter, some more picturesque view. +In this she differed from Lady Marion, who was more timid and retiring, +who looked upon everything connected with public life as a dreadful +ordeal, who, fond as she was of literature, could not read a newspaper, +who, dearly as she loved her husband, could not interest herself in his +career.</p> + +<p>So gradually and slowly the old love threw its glamour over them, slowly +the master passion took its place again in Lord Chandos' life, but just +at that time it was unknown to himself. It came at last that the only +real life for him was the time spent with her—the morning hours when he +discussed all the topics of the day with her, and the evening when he +leaned over his opera box, his eyes drinking in the marvelous beauty of +her face.</p> + +<p>Then, as a matter of course, Lady Marion began to wonder where he went. +He had been accustomed, when he had finished his breakfast, always to +consult her about the day's plans—whether she liked to walk, ride, or +drive, and he had always been her companion; but now it often happened +that he would say to her:</p> + +<p>"Marion, drive with my mother this morning, she likes to have you with +her; my father goes out so little, you know."</p> + +<p>She always smiled with the most amiable air of compliance with his +wishes, but she looked up at him on this particular morning.</p> + +<p>"Where are you going, Lance?" she asked. Her eyes took in, in their +quiet fashion, every detail of his appearance, even to the dainty exotic +in his button-hole.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos had a habit of blushing—his dark face would flush like a +girl's when any sudden emotion stirred him—it did so now, and she, with +wondering eyes, noticed the flush.</p> + +<p>"Why, Lance," she said, "you are blushing; blushing just like a girl, +because I just asked you where you were going."</p> + +<p>And though the fiery red burned the dark skin, he managed to look calmly +at his wife and say:</p> + +<p>"You are always fanciful over me, Marion, and your fancies are not +always correct."</p> + +<p>She was one of the sweetest and most amiable of women, no one ever saw +her ruffled or impatient. She went up to him now with the loveliest +smile, and laid her fair arms round his neck; the very heaven of repose +was in the eyes she raised to his.</p> + +<p>"My darling Lance," she said, "I can never have any fancy over you; my +thoughts about you are always true." She laid one slim, white hand on +his face. "Why, your face burns now," she said, and he made some little +gesture of impatience, and then his heart smote him. She was so fair, so +gentle, and loved him so dearly.</p> + +<p>"Have I vexed you, Lance?" she said. "I did not mean to do so. If you do +not like me to ask you where you are going, I will not, but it seems to +me such a simple thing."</p> + +<p>"How can I object, or, rather, why should I object to tell you where I +go, Marion? Here is my note-book; open it and read."</p> + +<p>But when he said the words he knew that on his note-book there was no +mention of Leone's name, and again his heart smote him. It was so very +easy to deceive this fair, trusting woman. Lady Chandos put the +note-book back in his pocket.</p> + +<p>"I do not want to see it, Lance. I merely asked you the question because +you looked so very nice, and you have chosen such a beautiful flower. I +thought you were going to pay some particular visit."</p> + +<p>He kissed the sweet, wistful face raised to his, and changed the +subject.</p> + +<p>"Do I not always look what you ladies call 'nice'?" he asked, +laughingly; and she looked admiringly at him.</p> + +<p>"You are always nice to me, Lance; there is no one like you. I often +wonder if other wives are as proud of their husbands as I am of you? Now +I shall try to remember that you do not like me to ask you where you are +going. The greatest pleasure I have on earth is complying with every +little wish of yours."</p> + +<p>He could not help kissing her again, she was so sweet, so gentle, so +kind, yet his heart smote him. Ah, Heaven! if life had been different to +him; if he had been but firmer of purpose, stronger of will! He left her +with an uneasy mind and a sore heart.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion was more than usually thoughtful after he had gone. She +could not quite understand.</p> + +<p>The time had been when he had never left the house without saying +something about where he was going; now his absences were long, and she +did not know where his time was spent.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell noticed the unusual shadow on the girl's sweet face, and +in her quick, impetuous way asked her about it.</p> + +<p>"Marion, you are anxious or thoughtful—which is it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Thoughtful," said Lady Chandos. "I am not anxious, not in the least."</p> + +<p>"Of what are you thinking, that it brings a shadow on that dear face of +yours?" said Lady Lanswell, kindly.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos turned to her, and in a low tone of voice said:</p> + +<p>"Has Lance any very old or intimate friends in London?"</p> + +<p>"No; none that I know of. He knows a great many people, of course, and +some very intimately, but I am not aware of any especial friendship. Why +do you ask me?"</p> + +<p>"I fancied he had; he is so much more from home than he used to be, and +does not say where he goes."</p> + +<p>"My dear Marion," said the countess, kindly, "Lance has many occupations +and many cares; he cannot possibly tell you every detail of how and +where he passes the time. Let me give you a little warning; never give +way to any little suspicions of your husband; that is always the +beginning of domestic misery; trust him all in all. Lance is loyal and +true to you; do not tease him with suspicions and little jealousies."</p> + +<p>"I am not jealous," said Lady Chandos, "but it seems to me only natural +that I should like to know where my husband passes his time."</p> + +<p>The older and wiser woman thought to herself, with a sigh, that it might +be quite as well that she should not know.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII" id="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<h3>"DEATH ENDS EVERYTHING."</h3> + + +<p>Madame Vanira became one of the greatest features of the day. Her beauty +and her singing made her the wonder of the world. Royalty delighted to +honor her. One evening after she had entranced a whole audience, keeping +them hanging, as it were, on every silvery note that came from her +lovely lips—people were almost wild over her—they had called her until +they were tired. Popular enthusiasm had never been so aroused. And then +the greatest honor ever paid to any singer was paid to her. Royal lips +praised her and the highest personage in the land presented her with a +diamond bracelet, worthy of the donor and the recipient. Her triumph was +at its height; that night the opera in which she played was the "Crown +Diamonds." Her singing had been perfection, her acting magnificent; she +bad electrified the audience as no other <i>artiste</i> living could have +done; her passion, her power, her genius had carried them with her. When +she quitted the stage it was as though they woke from a long trance of +delight.</p> + +<p>That evening crowned her "Queen of Song." No one who saw her ever forgot +her. The next morning the papers raved about her; they prophesied a new +era for music and for the stage; it was, perhaps, the most triumphant +night of her great career. She had the gift which makes an actress or a +singer; she could impress her individuality on people; she made a mark +on the hearts and minds of those who saw her that was never effaced; her +gestures, her face, her figure, her magnificent attitudes stood out +vivid and clear, while they lived distinct from any others.</p> + +<p>"Where royalty smiles, other people laugh," says the old proverb. No +sooner was it known that the warmest praise kindly and royal lips could +give had been given to Madame Vanira than she became at once the darling +of the world of fashion.</p> + +<p>Invitations poured in upon her, the most princely mansions in London +were thrown open to her; the <i>creme de la creme</i> of the <i>elite</i> sought +her eagerly; there was nothing like her; her beauty and her genius +inthralled every one. The time came when she was the most popular and +the most eagerly sought after woman in London, yet she cared little for +society; her art was the one thing she lived for, and her friendship +with Lord Chandos. One day she said to him:</p> + +<p>"I have never seen Lady Marion. What is she like?"</p> + +<p>He noticed then and afterward that she never spoke of the queen of +blondes as Lady Chandos, or as "your wife," but always as Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>This was a beautiful morning in May, and there, sitting under the great +cedar-tree on the lawn, all the sweet-smelling wind wafting luscious +odors from jasmine and honeysuckle, the brilliant sun shining down on +them, he had been reading to her the notes of a speech by which he hoped +to do wonders; she had suggested some alterations, and, as he found, +improvements; then she sat silently musing. After some time she startled +him with the question:</p> + +<p>"What is Lady Marion like?"</p> + +<p>"Did you not see her," he replied, "on the first evening we were at the +opera? She was by my side, and you saw me. Nay, I remember that she told +me you were looking at her, and that your eyes magnetized hers."</p> + +<p>"I remember the evening," said Leone sadly, "but I do not remember +seeing my lady. I—I saw nothing but you. Tell me what she is like. Is +she very beautiful?" she asked, and the tone of her voice was very +wistful.</p> + +<p>"Yes; she is very fine and queenly," he replied; "she is very quiet, +gentle, and amiable. Would you like to see her, Leone?"</p> + +<p>A sudden flame of passion flashed in those dark eyes, and then died +away.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I should like just once to see her. She is very clever, is she +not?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in a quiet way. She plays beautifully, and she composes pretty +airs to pretty words."</p> + +<p>Leone looked up, with vivid interest in her face.</p> + +<p>"Does she? Ah, that is greater art than being able to sing the music +another has written."</p> + +<p>"I do not think so," he replied. "If you are thinking of Lady Marion in +comparison with yourself, there is no comparison; it is like moonlight +and sunlight, water and wine. She has the grace and calm of repose. You +have the fire of genius, before which everything grows pale. She quiets +a man's heart. You stir every pulse in it. She soothes one into +forgetfulness of life. You brace and animate and brighten. You cannot +compare the two characters, because they are quite different. You are +smiling. What amuses you?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing. I was not amused, Lord Chandos. I was thinking, and the +thought I smiled over was not amusing."</p> + +<p>"What was it?"</p> + +<p>"I was thinking of how it would be the same, the end of all; all grace, +gifts, and talents; all beauty and genius. I read some lines yesterday +that have haunted me ever since. Shall I repeat them to you?"</p> + +<p>"It is always a great treat to hear you recite poetry," he replied. "I +shall be only too delighted."</p> + +<p>Her beautiful face grew more beautiful and more earnest, as it always +did under the influence of noble words. Her voice was sweeter than that +of a singing-bird, and stirred every pulse in the heart of the listener +as she recited this little poem:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"While roses are so red,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While lilies are so white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall a woman exalt her face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because it gives delight?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She's not so sweet as a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lily is straighter than she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if she were as red or white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'd be but one of three.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Whether she flush in love's summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in its winter grow pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether she flaunt her beauty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or hide it in a veil;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be she red or white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stand she erect or bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time will win the race he runs with her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hide her away in a shroud."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Those words took my fancy, Lord Chandos," continued Leone; "they are so +true, so terribly true. All grace and beauty will be hidden away some +day in a shroud."</p> + +<p>"There will be no shroud for the soul," he said.</p> + +<p>She rose from her seat and looked round with a weary sigh.</p> + +<p>"That is true. After all, nothing matters, death ends everything; +nothing matters except being good and going to heaven."</p> + +<p>He smiled half sadly at her.</p> + +<p>"Those are grave thoughts for the most brilliant beauty, the most gifted +singer, the most popular queen of the day," he said.</p> + +<p>"The brilliant beauty will be a mere handful of dust and ashes some +day," she said.</p> + +<p>Then Lord Chandos rose from his seat with a shudder.</p> + +<p>"Let us go out into the sunlight," he said; "the shade under the old +cedar makes you dull. How you have changed! I can remember when you +never had a dull thought."</p> + +<p>"I can remember when I had no cause for dull thoughts," she answered. +Then, fancying that the words implied some little reproach to him, she +continued, hastily: "My soul has grown larger, and the larger one's soul +the more one suffers. I have understood more of human nature since I +have tried to represent the woes of others."</p> + +<p>He glanced at her with sudden interest.</p> + +<p>"Which, of all the characters you represent, do you prefer?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I can hardly tell you. I like Norma very much—the stately, proud, +loving woman, who has struggled so much with her pride, with her sense +of duty, with her sacred character, who fought human love inch by inch, +who yielded at last; who made the greatest sacrifice a woman could make, +who risked her life and dearer than her life for her love. All the +passion and power in my nature rises to that character."</p> + +<p>"That is easily seen," he replied. "There have been many Normas, but +none like you."</p> + +<p>Her face brightened; it was so sweet to be praised by him!</p> + +<p>"And then," she continued, "the grand tragedy of passion and despair, +the noble, queenly woman who has sacrificed everything to the man she +loves finds that she has a rival—a young, beautiful, beloved rival." +She clasped her hands with the manner of a queen. "My whole soul rises +to that," she continued; "I understand it—the passion, the anguish, the +despair!"</p> + +<p>His dark eyes, full of admiration, were riveted on her.</p> + +<p>"Who would have thought," he said, gravely, "that you had such a marvel +of genius in you?"</p> + +<p>"You are very good to call it genius," she said. "I always knew I had +something in me that was not to be described or understood—something +that made me different from other people; but I never knew what it was. +Do you know those two lines:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'The poets learn in suffering<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What they tell in song.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I think the passion of anguish and pain taught me to interpret the pains +and joys of others. There is another opera I love—'L'Etoile du Nord.' +The grave, tender, grand character of Catherine, with her passionate +love, her despair, and her madness, holds me in thrall. There is no love +without madness."</p> + +<p>A deep sigh from her companion aroused her, and she remembered that she +was on dangerous ground; still the subject had a great charm for her.</p> + +<p>"If I ever wrote an opera," she said, "I should have jealousy for my +ground-work."</p> + +<p>"Why?" he asked, briefly.</p> + +<p>"Because," she replied, "it is the strongest of all passions."</p> + +<p>"Stronger than love?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I shall always think they go together," said Leone. "I know that +philosophers call jealousy the passion of ignoble minds; I am not so +sure of it. It goes, I think, with all great love, but not with calm, +well-controlled affection. I should make it the subject of my opera, +because it is so strong, so deep, so bitter; it transforms one, it +changes angels into demons. We will not talk about it." She drew a +little jeweled watch from her pocket. "Lord Chandos," she said, "we have +been talking two hours, and you must not stay any longer."</p> + +<p>When he was gone she said to herself that she would not ask him any more +questions about Lady Marion.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV" id="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.</h2> + +<h3>THE RIVALS FACE TO FACE.</h3> + + +<p>Madame de Chandalle gave a grand <span class="smcap">soiree</span>, and she said to herself that it +should be one of the greatest successes of the season. Three women were +especially popular and sought after: Madame Vanira, whose beauty and +genius made her queen of society; Lady Chandos, whose fair, tranquil +loveliness was to men like the light of the fair moon, and Miss Bygrave, +the most brilliant of brunettes—the most proud and exclusive of ladies.</p> + +<p>Madame de Chandalle thought if she could but insure the presence of all +three at once, her <i>soiree</i> would be the success of the season. She went +in person to invite the great singer herself, a compliment she seldom +paid to any one, and Leone at first refused. Madame de Chandalle looked +imploringly at her.</p> + +<p>"What can I offer as an inducement? The loveliest woman in London, Lady +Chandos, will be there. That will not tempt you, I am afraid."</p> + +<p>She little knew how much.</p> + +<p>As Leone heard the words, her heart beat wildly. Lady Chandos, the fair +woman who was her rival. She had longed to see her, and here was a +chance. She dreaded, yet desired to look at her, to see what the woman +was like whom Lance had forsaken her for. The longing tempted her.</p> + +<p>"Your desire to welcome me," she said, gracefully, "is the greatest +inducement you can offer me."</p> + +<p>And Madame de Chandalle smiled at her victory.</p> + +<p>Madame de Chandalle was the widow of an eminent French general. She +preferred London to Paris. She was mistress of a large fortune, and gave +the best entertainments of the season.</p> + +<p>She knew that the beautiful singer accepted but few of the many +invitations sent to her. Last week she had declined the invitations of a +duchess and the wife of an American millionaire. She was doubly +delighted that her own was accepted. The same was for Tuesday evening. +On that evening Leone was free, and she had some idea that madame had +chosen it purposely.</p> + +<p>At last she was to see Lance's wife, the woman whom the laws of man, of +society, and the world had placed in her place, given her position, her +name, her love—the woman whom a mere legal quibble had put in her +place.</p> + +<p>The hours seemed long until Tuesday evening came. It struck her that if +Lady Chandos were there Lord Chandos would be there too; he would see +her at last in the regal position her own genius had won for herself; a +position that seemed to her a thousand times grander than the one +derived from the mere accident of birth. He would see then the world's +estimation of the woman he had forsaken. She was pleased, yet half +frightened, to know that at last she and her rival would meet face to +face.</p> + +<p>She had so noble a soul that vanity was not among her faults, but on +this evening she was more than usually particular. Never had the +matchless beauty of the great actress shown to greater advantage. She +wore a dress of faint cream-colored brocade, half hidden in fine, costly +lace, in the beautiful waves of her hair a large, cream-colored rose +nestled, and with that she wore a set of diamonds a princess might have +envied. The superb beauty, the half stately, half-languid grace, the +southern eyes, the full, sweet lips, the wondrous beauty of her white +neck and arms, the inexpressible charm of her attitudes, the play of her +superb features—all made her marvelous to look upon. A dainty, delicate +perfume came from the folds of her dress. She had a richly jeweled fan, +made from the delicate amber plumage of some rare tropical bird; the +radiance and light of her beauty would have made a whole room bright. +She reached Madame de Chandalle's rather late. She gave one hasty glance +round the superb reception-room as she passed to where madame was +receiving her guests, but the dark, handsome head and face of Lord +Chandos were nowhere to be seen.</p> + +<p>Madame overwhelmed her with civilities, and Leone soon found herself the +center of an admiring crowd. The assembly was a most brilliant one; +there were princes of the blood, royal dukes, marshals of France, peers +of England, men of highest note in the land; to each and all the +radiant, beautiful artist was the center of all attraction.</p> + +<p>A royal duke was bending over her chair, one of the noblest marshals of +France, with the young Marquis of Tyrol to assist him, was trying to +entertain her. They were lavishing compliments upon her.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she saw some slight stir in the groups, the French marshal +murmured: "<i>Comme elle est belle!</i>" and, looking up, she saw a fair, +regal woman bowing to Madame de Chandalle—a woman whose fair, tranquil +loveliness was like moonlight on a summer's lake. Leone was charmed by +her. The graceful figure was shown to the best advantage by the dress of +rich white silk; she wore a superb suit of opals, whose hundred tints +gleamed and glistened as she moved.</p> + +<p>"The very queen of blondes," she overheard one gentleman say to another, +her eyes riveted by the fair, tranquil loveliness of this beautiful +woman, whose dress was trimmed with white water-lilies, who wore a +water-lily in her hair and one on her white breast.</p> + +<p>Leone watched her intently. Watching her was like reading a sweet, +half-sad poem, or listening to sweet, half-sad music—every movement was +full of sweet harmony. Leone watched this beautiful woman for some time; +every one appeared to know her; she was evidently a leader of fashion; +still she had no idea who she was. She expected, she did not know why, +to see Lord and Lady Chandos enter together.</p> + +<p>The French marshal was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"You admire La Reine des Blondes, madame?" he said. "Ah, Heaven, how we +should rave in Paris over so fair a lady. Do you know who she is?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered Leone, "but I should like to know very much. She is very +beautiful."</p> + +<p>"It is the beauty of an angel," cried the marshal. "She is the wife of +one of the most famous men in England—she is Lady Chandos."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said Leone, with a long, low cry.</p> + +<p>The very mention of the name had stabbed her through the heart.</p> + +<p>The marshal looked up in wonder.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon," she said, quickly, "what name did you say? A sudden +faintness seized me; the room is warm. What is the lady's name?"</p> + +<p>She would not for the whole world that he should have known what caused +either the pain or the cry.</p> + +<p>The marshal repeated:</p> + +<p>"That is Lady Chandos, the wife of Lord Chandos, who is the rising light +of this generation."</p> + +<p>"There are so many rising lights," she said, carelessly; but her heart +was beating fast the while.</p> + +<p>Ah, me! so fair, so graceful, so high-bred! Was it any wonder that he +had loved her? Yet to this gorgeous woman, with her soul of fire, it +seemed that those perfect features were almost too gentle, and lacked +the fire of life. She saw several gentlemen gather round the chair on +which Lady Chandos sat, like a queen on a throne; and then the golden +head was hidden from her sight.</p> + +<p>So at last she was face to face with her rival—at last she could see +and hear her—this fair woman who had taken her lover from her. It was +with difficulty that she was herself, that she maintained her brilliant +repartees; her fire of wit, her <i>bon mots</i> that were repeated from one +to the other. Her powers of conversation were of the highest order. She +could enchain twenty people at once, and keep all their intellects in +active exercise. It was with difficulty she did that now; she was +thinking so entirely of the golden head, with its opal stars. Then came +another stir among the brilliant groups—the <i>entree</i> of a prince, +beloved and revered by all who knew him. Leone, with her quick, artistic +eye, thought she had never seen a more brilliant picture than this—the +magnificent apartment, with its superb pictures, its background of +flowers, its flood of light; the splendid dresses and jewels of the +women, the blending of rich colors, the flashing of light made it a +picture never to be forgotten.</p> + +<p>Suddenly she saw Madame de Chandalle smiling in her face, and by her +side was the beautiful rival who supplanted her.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira," said their hostess, "permit me to make known to you +Lady Chandos, who greatly desires the pleasure of your acquaintance."</p> + +<p>Then the two who had crossed each other's lives so strangely looked at +each other face to face. Leone's heart almost stood still with a great +throb of pain as she glanced steadily at the fair, lovely face of her +rival. How often had he sunned himself in those blue eyes? how often had +he kissed those sweet lips and held those white hands in his own? She +recovered herself with a violent effort and listened. Lady Chandos was +speaking to her.</p> + +<p>"I am charmed to see you, Madame Vanira," she said; "I am one of your +greatest admirers."</p> + +<p>"You are very kind, Lady Chandos," said Leone.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Marion turned to her hostess.</p> + +<p>"I should like to remain with Madame Vanira," she said; "that is, if you +will, madame?"</p> + +<p>Leone drew aside her rich cream-colored draperies and lace. Lady Chandos +sat down by her side.</p> + +<p>"I am so pleased to meet you," she continued, with what was unusual +animation with her. "I have longed to see you off the stage."</p> + +<p>Leone smiled in the fair face.</p> + +<p>"I can only hope," she said, "that you will like me as well off the +stage as you do on."</p> + +<p>"I am sure of that," said Lady Chandos, with charming frankness.</p> + +<p>She admired the beautiful and gifted singer more than she cared to say. +She added, timidly:</p> + +<p>"Now that I have met you here, madame, I shall hope for the pleasure and +honor of receiving you at my own house."</p> + +<p>She wondered why Madame Vanira drew back with a slight start: it seemed +so strange to be asked into the house that she believed to be her own.</p> + +<p>"I shall be delighted," continued Lady Chandos. "I give a ball on +Wednesday week; promise me that you will come."</p> + +<p>"I will promise you to think of it," she replied, and Lady Chandos +laughed blithely.</p> + +<p>"That means you will come," she said, and the next moment Lord Chandos +entered the room.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV" id="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV.</h2> + +<h3>AN INVITATION.</h3> + + +<p>They both saw him at the same moment. Leone, with a sudden paling of her +beautiful face, with a keen sense of sharp pain, and Lady Chandos with a +bright, happy flush.</p> + +<p>"Here is my husband," she said, proudly; little dreaming that the +beautiful singer had called him husband, too.</p> + +<p>He came toward them slowly; it seemed to him so wonderful that these two +should be sitting side by side—the woman he loved with a passionate +love, and the woman he married under his mother's influence.</p> + +<p>There were so many people present that it was some time before he could +get up to them, and by that time he had recovered himself.</p> + +<p>"Lance," cried Lady Chandos, in a low voice, "see how fortunate I am; I +have been introduced to Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>Yes, his heart smote him again; it seemed so cruel to deceive her when +she was so kind, so gentle; she trusted in him so implicitly that it +seemed cruel to deceive her. She turned with a radiant face to Leone.</p> + +<p>"Let me introduce my husband, Lord Chandos, to you, Madame Vanira," she +said, and they looked at each other for one moment as though they were +paralyzed.</p> + +<p>Then the simple, innate truth of Leone's disposition came uppermost. +With the most dignified manner she returned the bow that Lord Chandos +made.</p> + +<p>"I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Chandos before," she said.</p> + +<p>And Lady Marion looked at her husband in reproachful wonder.</p> + +<p>"And you never told me," she said. "Knowing my great admiration for +Madame Vanira, you did not tell me."</p> + +<p>"Where was it, madame?" he asked, looking at her with an air of +helpless, hopeless entreaty.</p> + +<p>Then she bethought herself that perhaps those few words might cause +unpleasantness between husband and wife, and she tried to make little of +them.</p> + +<p>"I was at the French Embassy here in London, Lord Chandos, at the same +time you were," she said.</p> + +<p>And Lady Marion was quite satisfied with the explanation, which was +perfectly true.</p> + +<p>Then they talked for a few minutes, at the end of which Lady Chandos was +claimed by her hostess for a series of introductions.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos and Leone were left alone.</p> + +<p>She spoke to him quickly and in an undertone of voice.</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos," she said, "I wish to speak to you; take me into the +conservatory where we shall not be interrupted."</p> + +<p>He obeyed in silence; they walked through the brilliant throng of +guests, through the crowded, brilliant room, until they reached the +quiet conservatory at the end.</p> + +<p>The lamps were lighted and shone like huge pearls among the blossoms. +There were few people and those few desired no attention from the +new-comers. He led her to a pretty chair, placed among the hyacinths; +the fragrance was very strong.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you will find this odor too much, beautiful as it is," he +said.</p> + +<p>"I do not notice," she said; "my heart and soul are full of one thing. +Oh, Lord Chandos, your wife likes me, likes me," she repeated, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"I am not surprised at it; indeed, I should have been surprised if she +had not liked you," he said.</p> + +<p>The dark, beautiful eyes had a wistful look in them as they were raised +to his face.</p> + +<p>"How beautiful she is, how fair and stately!" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes, beautiful; but compared to you, Leone, as I said before, she is +like moonlight to sunlight, like water to wine."</p> + +<p>"I have done no wrong," continued Leone, with a thrill of subdued +passion in her voice; "on the contrary, a cruel wrong was done to me. +But when I am with her, I feel in some vague way that I are guilty. Does +she know anything of your story and mine?"</p> + +<p>His dark face burned.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied; "she knows nothing of that except that in my +youth—ah, Leone, that I must say this to you—in my youth I made some +mistake; so my lady mother Was pleased to call it," he added, bitterly. +"She does not know exactly what it was, nor could she ever dream for one +moment that it was you."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with a serious, questioning gaze.</p> + +<p>"Surely you did not marry her without telling her that you had gone +through that service already, did you? If so, I think you acted +disloyally and dishonorably."</p> + +<p>He bent his head in lowly humility before her.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said—"ah, forgive me for calling you Leone, but the name is +so sweet and so dear to me—Leone, I am a miserable sinner. When I think +of my weakness and cowardice, I loathe myself; I could kill myself; yet +I can never undo the wrong I have done to either. She knows little, and +I believe implicitly she has forgotten that little. Why do you ask me?"</p> + +<p>"It seems so strange," said Leone, musingly, "I asked you to come here +to speak to me that I might ask your advice. She, Lady Marion, has asked +me to her house—has pressed me, urged me to go; and I have said that I +will think of it. I want you to advise me and tell me what I should do."</p> + +<p>"My dear Leone, I—I cannot. I should love above all things to see you +at my house, but it would be painful for you and painful to me."</p> + +<p>She continued, in a low voice:</p> + +<p>"Lady Marion has asked me to be her friend; she is good enough to say +she admires me. What shall I do?"</p> + +<p>He was silent for some minutes, then he said:</p> + +<p>"There is one thing, Leone, if you become a friend, or even a visitor of +Lady Marion's, I should see a great deal of you, and that would be very +pleasant; it is all there is left in life. I should like it, +Leone—would you?"</p> + +<p>Looking up, she met the loving light of the dark eyes full upon her. Her +face flushed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she whispered, "I, too, should like it."</p> + +<p>There was silence between them for some little time, then Leone said:</p> + +<p>"Would it be quite safe for me to visit you? Do you think that Lady +Lanswell would recognize me?"</p> + +<p>"No," he answered, "if the eyes of love failed to recognize you at one +glance, the eyes of indifference will fail altogether. My mother is here +to-night; risk an introduction to her, and you will see. It would give +fresh zest and pleasure to my life if you could visit us."</p> + +<p>"It would be pleasant," said Leone, musingly; "and yet to my mind, I +cannot tell why, there is something that savors of wrong about it. Lord +Chandos," she added, "I like your wife, she was kindness itself to me. +We must mind one thing if I enter your house; I must be to you no more +than any other person in it—I must be a stranger—and you must never +even by one word allude to the past; you promise that, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"I will promise everything and anything," he replied. "I will ask Madame +de Chandalle to introduce you to my mother—I should not have the nerve +for it."</p> + +<p>"If she should recognize me there will be a scene," said Leone, with a +faint smile; "it seems to me that the eyes of hate are keener than the +eyes of love."</p> + +<p>"She will not know you. I believe that she has forgotten even your name; +who would think of finding Leone in the brilliant actress for whose +friendship all men sigh? Why, Leone, forgive me for using the word—life +will be quite different to me if we are to be friends, if I may see your +face sometimes in the home that should have been yours. It will make all +the difference in the world, and I am absurdly happy at the bare thought +of it."</p> + +<p>"I think our conference has lasted long enough," she said, rising. "You +think, then, that I should accept Lady Marion's invitation?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it will give us more opportunities of meeting, and will bring +about between Lady Marion and yourself a great intimacy," he said.</p> + +<p>"Heaven send it may end well," she said, half sadly.</p> + +<p>"Thank Heaven for its kindness," he replied, and then they left the +quiet conservatory, where the soft ripple of the scented fountain made +sweetest music.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos quitted her, much to his regret, and Leone sought out +Madame de Chandalle.</p> + +<p>"I should like to ask you, madame, for one more introduction," she said. +"I should much like to know the Countess of Lanswell."</p> + +<p>Nothing could exceed madame's delight and courtesy. She took Leone to +the blue saloon, as it was called, where the Countess of Lanswell sat in +state. She looked up in gratified surprise as the name of the great +singer was pronounced. If Leone felt any nervousness she did not show +it; there must be no hesitation or all would be lost. She raised her +eyes bravely to the handsome, haughty face of the woman who had spurned +her. In the one moment during which their eyes met, Leone's heart almost +stood still, the next it beat freely, for not even the faintest gleam of +recognition came into my lady's eyes.</p> + +<p>But when they had been talking for some minutes, and the countess had +excelled herself in the grace of her compliments, she gazed with keen, +bright eyes in that beautiful face.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Madame Vanira, that the first time I saw you there was +something quite familiar in your face."</p> + +<p>There was something startling in the crimson blush that mounts even to +the locks of her dark hair.</p> + +<p>"Is it so?" she asked.</p> + +<p>And the countess did not relax the questioning gaze.</p> + +<p>"I think now," she added, "that I am wrong. I cannot think of any one +who is like you. I shall be glad to see you at Dunmore House, Madame +Vanira. We have a dinner-party next week, and I hope you will be +inclined to favor us. Do you know Lady Chandos?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the half sad reply, "I was introduced to her this evening."</p> + +<p>They talked on indifferent subjects. The countess was most charming to +the gifted singer, and Leone could not help contrasting this interview +with the last that she had with Lady Lanswell. One thing was quite +certain. The countess did not recognize her, and her visits to Dunmore +House would be quite safe.</p> + +<p>She talked to Lady Lanswell for some time, and went away that night +quite pleased with the new prospects opening before her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI" id="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.</h2> + +<h3>AT THE BALL.</h3> + + +<p>"I like Madame Vanira," said the Countess of Lanswell, a few days after +the introduction. "She is not only the most gifted singer of the present +day, but she is an uncommon type of woman. Who or what was she?"</p> + +<p>My lady was seated in her own drawing-room in the midst of a circle of +morning callers. Lord Chandos was there, and he listened with some +amusement to the conversation that followed. The countess was speaking +to Major Hautbois, who was supposed to know the pedigree of everybody. +She looked at him now for the information he generally gave readily, but +the major's face wore a troubled expression.</p> + +<p>"To tell the truth," he replied, "I have heard so many conflicting +stories as to the lady's origin that I am quite at a loss which to +repeat."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell smiled at the naive confession.</p> + +<p>"Truth does wear a strange aspect at times," she said. "When Major +Hautbois has to choose between many reports, I should say that none of +them were true. Myself," she continued, "I should say that Madame Vanira +was well-born—she has a patrician face."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos thought of the "dairy-maid," and sighed while he smiled. +Ah, if his mother could but have seen Leone with the same eyes with +which she saw Madame Vanira all would have been well.</p> + +<p>It was quite evident that my lady did not in the least recognize +her—there could be no doubt of it. She continued to praise her.</p> + +<p>"I have always," she said, "been far above what I consider the +littleness of those people who think to show their superiority by +abusing the stage, or rather by treating with supercilious contempt +those who ornament the stage. Something," she added, with an air of +patronage, "is due to queens."</p> + +<p>And again Lord Chandos smiled bitterly to himself. If his mother had but +owned these opinions a short time before, how different life might have +been. Lady Lanswell turned to her son.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira will be at Lady Marion's ball on Tuesday," she said: "I +am sorry that I shall not meet her."</p> + +<p>"Are you not coming, mother?" he asked, with a certain secret hope that +she was not.</p> + +<p>"No; the earl has made an engagement for me, which I am compelled to +keep," she said, "much to my regret."</p> + +<p>And she spoke truthfully. The proud and haughty countess found herself +much impressed by the grace, genius, and beauty of Madame Vanira.</p> + +<p>Leone had looked forward to the evening of the ball as to an ordeal that +must be passed through. She dreaded it, yet longed for it. She could not +rest for thinking of it. She was to enter as a guest the house where she +should have reigned mistress. She was to be the visitor of the woman who +had taken her place. How should she bear it? how would it pass? For the +first time some of the terrible pain of jealousy found its way into her +heart—a pain that blanched her face, and made her tremble; a new pain +to her in the fire of its burning.</p> + +<p>When the night of the ball came it found her with a pale face; her usual +radiant coloring faded, and she looked all the lovelier for it. She +dressed herself with unusual care and magnificence.</p> + +<p>"I must look my best to-night," she said to herself, with a bitter +smile. "I am going to see the home that should have been my own. I am +going to visit Lady Chandos, and I believed myself to be Lady Chandos +and no other. I must look my best."</p> + +<p>She chose a brocade of pale amber that looked like woven sunbeams; it +was half covered with point lace and trimmed with great creamy roses. +She wore a <i>parure</i> of rubies, presented by an empress, who delighted in +her glorious voice; on her beautiful neck, white and firm as a pillar, +she wore a necklace of rubies; on her white breast gleamed a cross of +rubies, in which the fire flashed like gleams of light.</p> + +<p>She had never looked so magnificently beautiful. The low dress showed +the white shining arms and shoulders like white satin. The different +emotions that surged through her whole heart and soul gave a softened +tenderness to the beautiful, passionate face.</p> + +<p>She was a woman at whose feet a man could kneel and worship; who could +sway the heart and soul of a man as the wind sways the great branches of +strong trees.</p> + +<p>On the morning of the day of the ball, a bouquet arrived for her, and +she knew that it held her favorite flowers, white lilies-of-the-valley, +with sweet hanging bells and gardenias that filled the whole room with +perfume. She had nerve enough to face the most critical audience in the +world.</p> + +<p>She sung while kings and queens looked on in wonder; the applause of +great multitudes had never made her heart beat or her pulses thrill; but +as she drove to Stoneland House a faint, languid sensation almost +overcame her; how should she bear it? What should she do? More than once +the impulse almost mastered her to return, and never see Lord Chandos +again; but the pain, the fever and the longing urged her on.</p> + +<p>It was like a dream to her, the brilliantly-lighted mansion, the rows of +liveried servants, the spacious entrance-hall lined with flowers, the +broad white staircase with the crimson carpet, the white statues holding +crimson lamps.</p> + +<p>She walked slowly up that gorgeous staircase, every eye riveted by her +queenly beauty. She said to herself:</p> + +<p>"All this should have been mine."</p> + +<p>Yet, it was not envy of the wealth and magnificence surrounding her, it +was the keen pain of the outrageous wrong done to her which stung her to +the quick. Brilliantly dressed ladies passed her, and she saw that more +deference was paid to her than would have been paid to a duchess.</p> + +<p>Then, in the drawing-room that led to the ballroom, she saw Lady Marion +in her usual calm, regal attitude, receiving her guests. The queen of +blondes looked more than lovely; her dress was of rich white lace over +pale blue silk, with blue forget-me-nots in her hair. Leone had one +moment's hard fight with herself as she gazed at this beautiful woman.</p> + +<p>"She stands in my place, she bears my name; on her finger shines the +ring that ought to shine on mine; she has taken the love I believed to +be mine for life," said Leone to herself; "how shall I bear it?"</p> + +<p>As she stood among the brilliant crowd, a strong impulse came over her +to go up to Lady Marion and say:</p> + +<p>"Stand aside; this is my place. Men cannot undo the laws of God. Stand +aside, give me my place."</p> + +<p>Words were still burning from her heart to her lips when she saw Lady +Marion holding out her hand in kindliest greeting to her; all the bitter +thoughts melted at once in the sunshine of that fair presence; her own +hand sought Lady Marion's, and the two women, whose lives had crossed +each other's so strangely, stood for one moment hand locked in hand, +their eyes fixed on each other.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion spoke first, and she seemed to draw her breath with a deep +sigh as she did so.</p> + +<p>"I am so pleased to see you, Madame Vanira," she said, eagerly. "We must +find time for a long talk this evening."</p> + +<p>With a bow Leone passed on to the ballroom, where the first person to +meet her was Lord Chandos; he looked at the bouquet she carried.</p> + +<p>"You have honored my flowers, madame," he said. "I remember your love +for lilies-of-the-valley. You will put my name down for the first +waltz?"</p> + +<p>There was a world of reproach in the dark eyes she raised to his.</p> + +<p>"No, I will not waltz with you," she replied, gently.</p> + +<p>"Why not?" he asked, bending his handsome head over her.</p> + +<p>"I might make false excuses, but I prefer telling you the truth," she +answered; "I will not trust myself."</p> + +<p>And when Leone took that tone Lord Chandos knew that further words were +useless.</p> + +<p>"You will dance a quadrille, at least?" he asked, and she consented.</p> + +<p>Then he offered her his arm and they walked through the room together.</p> + +<p>The ballroom at Stoneland House was a large and magnificent apartment; +many people thought it the finest ballroom in London; the immense dome +was brilliantly lighted, the walls were superbly painted, and tier after +tier of superb blossoms filled the room with exquisite color and +exquisite perfume.</p> + +<p>The ballroom opened into a large conservatory, which led to a fernery, +and from the fernery one passed to the grounds. Leone felt embarrassed; +she longed to praise the beautiful place, yet it seemed to her if she +did so it would be like reminding him that it ought to have been hers; +while he, on the contrary, did not dare to draw her attention to +picture, flower, or statue, lest she should remember that they had been +taken from her by a great and grievous wrong.</p> + +<p>"We are not very cheerful friends," he said, trying to arouse himself.</p> + +<p>"I begin to think we have done wrong in ever thinking of friendship at +all," she replied.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos turned to her suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said, "you have quite made a conquest of my mother—you do +not know how she admires you!"</p> + +<p>A bitter smile curled the beautiful lips.</p> + +<p>"It is too late," she said sadly. "It does not seem very long since she +refused even to tolerate me."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos continued:</p> + +<p>"She was speaking about you yesterday, and she was quite animated about +you; she praised you more than I have ever heard her praise any one."</p> + +<p>"I ought to feel flattered," said Leone; "but it strikes me as being +something wonderful that Lady Lanswell did not find out any good +qualities in me before."</p> + +<p>"My mother saw you through a haze of hatred," said Lord Chandos; "now +she will learn to appreciate you."</p> + +<p>A sudden glow of fire flashed in those superb eyes.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," she said, "if I shall ever be able to pay my debt to Lady +Lanswell, and in what shape I shall pay it?"</p> + +<p>He shuddered as he gazed in the beautiful face.</p> + +<p>"Try to forget that, Leone," he said; "I never like to remember that you +threatened my mother."</p> + +<p>"We will not discuss it," she said, coldly; "we shall never agree."</p> + +<p>Then the band began to play the quadrilles. Lord Chandos led Leone to +her place. He thought to himself what cruel wrong it was on the part of +fate, that the woman whom he had believed to be his wedded wife should +be standing there, a visitor in the house which ought to have been her +home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII" id="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE COMPACT OF FRIENDSHIP.</h3> + + +<p>The one set of quadrilles had been danced, and Leone said to herself +that there was more pain than pleasure in it, when Lady Marion, with an +unusual glow of animation on her face, came to Leone, who was sitting +alone.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira," she said, "it seems cruel to deprive others of the +pleasure of your society, but I should like to talk to you. I have some +pretty things which I have brought from Spain, which I should like to +show you. Will it please you to leave the ballroom and come with me, or +do you care for dancing?"</p> + +<p>Leone smiled sadly; tragedy and comedy are always side by side, and it +seemed to her, who had had so terrible a tragedy in her life, who stood +face to face with so terrible a tragedy now, it seemed to her absurd +that she should think of dancing.</p> + +<p>"I would rather talk to you," she replied, "than do anything else." The +two beautiful, graceful women left the ballroom together. Leone made +some remark on the magnificence of the rooms as they passed, and Lady +Chandos smiled.</p> + +<p>"I am a very home-loving being myself. I prefer the pretty little +morning-room where we take breakfast, and my own boudoir, to any other +place in the house; they seem to be really one's own because no one else +enters them. Come to my boudoir now, Madame Vanira, and I will show you +a whole lot of pretty treasures that I brought from Spain."</p> + +<p>"From Spain." She little knew how those words jarred even on Leone's +heart. It was in Spain they had intrigued to take her husband from her, +and while Lady Marion was collecting art treasures the peace and +happiness of her life had been wrecked, her fair name blighted, her love +slain. She wondered to herself at the strange turn of fate which had +brought her into contact with the one woman in all the world that she +felt she ought to have avoided. But there was no resisting Lady Marion +when she chose to make herself irresistible. There was something +childlike and graceful in the way in which she looked up to Madame +Vanira, with an absolute worship of her genius, her voice, and her +beauty. She laid her white hand on Leone's.</p> + +<p>"You will think me a very gushing young lady, I fear, Madame Vanira, if +I say how fervently I hope we shall always be friends; not in the common +meaning of the words, but real, true, warm friends until we die. Have +you ever made such a compact of friendship with any one?"</p> + +<p>Leone's heart smote her, her face flushed.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she replied; "I have once."</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos looked up at her quickly.</p> + +<p>"With a lady, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Leone; "I have no lady friends; indeed, I have few friends of +any kind, though I have many acquaintances."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion's hand lingered caressingly on the white shoulder of Leone.</p> + +<p>"Something draws me to you," she said; "and I cannot tell quite what it +is. You are very beautiful, but it is not that; the beauty of a woman +would never win me. It cannot be altogether your genius, though it is +without peer. It is a strange feeling, one I can hardly explain—as +though there was something sympathetic between us. You are not laughing +at me, Madame Vanira?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am not laughing," said Leone, with wondering eyes. How strange it +was that Lance's wife, above all other women, should feel this curious, +sympathetic friendship for her!</p> + +<p>They entered the beautiful boudoir together, and Lady Marion, with +pardonable pride, turned to her companion.</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos arranged this room for me himself. Have you heard the +flattering, foolish name for me that the London people have invented? +They call me the Queen of Blondes."</p> + +<p>"That is a very pretty title," said Leone, "they call me a queen, the +Queen of Song."</p> + +<p>And the two women who were, each in her way, a "queen," smiled at each +other.</p> + +<p>"You see," continued Lady Chandos, "that my husband used to think there +was nothing in the world but blondes. I have often told him if I bring a +brunette here she is quite at a disadvantage; everything is blue, white, +or silver."</p> + +<p>Leone looked round the sumptuous room; the ceiling was painted by a +master hand; all the story of Endymion was told there; the walls were +superbly painted; the hangings were of blue velvet and blue silk, +relieved by white lace; the carpet, of rich velvet pile, had a white +ground with blue corn-flowers, so artistically grouped they looked as +though they had fallen on the ground in picturesque confusion. The +chairs and pretty couch were covered with velvet; a hundred little +trifles that lay scattered over the place told that it was occupied by a +lady of taste; books in beautiful bindings, exquisite drawings and +photographs, a jeweled fan, a superb bouquet holder, flowers costly, +beautiful, and fragrant; a room that was a fitting shrine for a goddess +of beauty.</p> + +<p>"My own room," said Lady Chandos, with a smile, as she closed the door; +"and what a luxury it is, Madame Vanira—a room quite your own! Even +when the house is full of visitors no one comes here but Lord Chandos; +he always takes that chair near those flowers while he talks to me, and +that is, I think, the happiest hour in the day. Sit down there +yourself."</p> + +<p>Leone took the chair, and Lady Chandos sat down on a footstool by her +side. It was one of the most brilliant and picturesque pictures ever +beheld; the gorgeous room, with its rich hangings, the beautiful, +dark-eyed woman, with the Spanish face, her dress like softened +sunbeams, the fire of her rubies like points of flame, her whole self +lovely as a picture, and the fair Queen of Blondes, with the golden hair +and white roses—a picture that would have made an artist's fortune.</p> + +<p>"How pleasant this is," said Lady Chandos, "a few minutes' respite from +the music and dancing! Do you love the quiet moments of your life, +Madame Vanira?"</p> + +<p>Leone looked down on the fair, lovely face with a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"No, I think not," she replied; "I like my stage life best."</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos asked, in a half pitying tone:</p> + +<p>"Why did you go on the stage? Did you always like it?"</p> + +<p>And Leone answered, gravely:</p> + +<p>"A great sorrow drove me there."</p> + +<p>"A great sorrow? How strange! What sorrow could come to one so +beautiful, so gifted as you?"</p> + +<p>"A sorrow that crushed all the natural life in me," said Leone; "but we +will not speak of it. I live more in my life on the stage than in my +home life; that is desolate always."</p> + +<p>She spoke unconsciously, and the heart of the fair woman who believed +herself so entirely beloved warmed with pity and kindness to the one +whose heart was so desolate.</p> + +<p>"A great sorrow taught you to find comfort in an artificial life," she +said, gently; "it would not do that to me."</p> + +<p>And her white hand, on which the wedding-ring shone, caressed the +beautiful white arm of Madame Vanira.</p> + +<p>"What would it do to you?" asked Leone, slightly startled.</p> + +<p>"A really great trouble," replied Lady Chandos, musingly, "what would it +do for me? Kill me. I have known so little of it; I cannot indeed +remember what could be called trouble."</p> + +<p>"You have been singularly fortunate," said Leone, half enviously.</p> + +<p>And the fair face of the Queen of Blondes grew troubled.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," she said, "all my troubles are to come. I should not like to +believe that."</p> + +<p>She was quite silent for some few minutes, then, with a sigh, she said:</p> + +<p>"You have made me feel nervous, and I cannot tell why. What trouble +could come to me? So far as I see, humanly speakingly, none. No money +troubles could reach me; sickness would hardly be a trouble if those I +loved were round me. Ah, well, that is common to every one." A look of +startled intelligence came over her face. "I know one, and only one +source of trouble," she said; "that would be if anything happened to +Lord Chandos, to—to my husband; if he did not love me, or I lost him."</p> + +<p>She sighed as she uttered the last words, and the heart of the gifted +singer was touched by the noblest, kindest pity; she looked into the +fair, flower-like face.</p> + +<p>"You love your husband then?" she said, with a gentle, caressing voice.</p> + +<p>"Love him," replied Lady Chandos, her whole soul flashing in her +eyes—"love him? Ah, that seems to me a weak word! My husband is all the +world, all life to me. It is strange that I should speak to you, a +stranger, in this manner; but, as I told you before, my heart warms to +you in some fashion that I do not myself understand. I am not like most +people. I have so few to love. No father, no mother, no sisters, or +brothers. I have no one in the wide world but my husband; he is more to +me than most husbands are to most wives—he is everything."</p> + +<p>Leone looked down on that fair, sweet face with loving eyes; the very +depths of her soul were touched by those simple words; she prayed God +that she might always remember them. There was infinite pathos in her +voice and in her face when she said:</p> + +<p>"You are very happy, then, with your husband, Lady Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am very happy," said the young wife, simply. "My husband loves +me, I have no rivals, no jealousies, no annoyances; I may say I am +perfectly happy."</p> + +<p>"I pray God that you may always be so!" said Leone, gently.</p> + +<p>And with an impulse she could not resist she bent down and kissed the +sweet face.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Chandos looked up.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid," she said, "that our pleasant five minutes' chat is ended. +We must go back to the ballroom. I am afraid all your admirers will be +very angry with me, Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>"That is a matter of perfect indifference?" she replied. "I know you +better, Lady Marion, for those five minutes spent here than I should +have done during a century in ballrooms."</p> + +<p>"And you promise that we shall always be friends," said the fair woman +who called herself Lady Chandos.</p> + +<p>"I promise, and I will keep my word," said the beautiful singer, who had +believed herself to be his wife.</p> + +<p>And with those words they parted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII" id="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE HUSBAND'S KISS.</h3> + + +<p>Lady Marion never did anything by halves. It was seldom that her calm, +quiet nature was stirred, but when that happened she felt more deeply, +perhaps, than people who express their feelings with great ease and +rapidity. She was amused herself at her own great liking for Madame +Vanira; it was the second great love of her life; the first had been for +her husband, this was the next. She talked of her incessantly, until +even Lord Chandos wondered and asked how it was.</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell," she replied; "I think I am infatuated. I am quite sure, +Lance, that if I had been a gentleman, I should have followed Madame +Vanira to the other side of the world. I think her, without exception, +the most charming woman in the world."</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes with innocent tenderness to his face.</p> + +<p>"Are you jealous because I love her so much?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He shuddered as he heard the playful, innocent words, so different from +the reality.</p> + +<p>"I should never be jealous of you, Marion," he replied, and then turned +the conversation.</p> + +<p>Nothing less than a visit to Madame Vanira would please Lady Chandos. +She asked her husband if he would go to the Cedars with her, and +wondered when he declined. The truth was that he feared some chance +recognition, some accidental temptation; he dared not go, and Lady +Marion looked very disappointed.</p> + +<p>"I thought you liked Madame Vanira," she said. "I am quite sure, Lance, +that you looked as if you did."</p> + +<p>"My dear Marion, between liking persons and giving up a busy morning to +go to see them there is an immense difference. If you really wish me to +go, Marion, you know that I will break all my appointments."</p> + +<p>"I would not ask you to do that," she replied, gently, and the result of +the conversation was that Lady Chandos went alone.</p> + +<p>She spent two hours with Leone, and the result was a great increase of +liking and affection for her. Leone sang for her, and her grand voice +thrilled through every fiber of that gentle heart; Leone read to her, +and Lady Chandos said to herself that she never quite understood what +words meant before. When it was time to go, Lady Chandos looked at her +watch in wonder.</p> + +<p>"I have been here two hours," she said, "and they have passed like two +minutes. Madame Vanira, I have no engagement to-morrow evening, come and +see me. Lord Chandos has a speech to prepare, and he asked me to forego +all engagements this evening."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I should be in the way," said Leone; but Lady Marion laughed at +the notion. She pleaded so prettily and so gracefully that Leone +consented, and it was arranged that she should spend the evening of the +day following at Stoneland House.</p> + +<p>She went—more than once. She had asked herself if this intimacy were +wise? She could not help liking the fair, sweet woman who had taken her +place, and yet she felt a great undercurrent of jealous indignation and +righteous anger—it might blaze out some day, and she knew that if it +ever did so it would be out of her control. It was something like +playing with fire, yet how many people play with fire all their lives +and never get burned!</p> + +<p>She went, looking more beautiful and regal than ever, in a most becoming +dress of black velvet, her white arms and white shoulders looking whiter +than ever through the fine white lace.</p> + +<p>She wore no jewels; a pomegranate blossom lay in the thick coils of her +hair; a red rose nestled in her white breast.</p> + +<p>She was shown into the boudoir she had admired so much, and there Lady +Chandos joined her.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos had been busily engaged during the day in looking up facts +and information for his speech. He had joined his wife for dinner, but +she saw him so completely engrossed that she did not talk to him, and it +had not occurred to her to tell him that Madame Vanira was coming, so +that he was quite ignorant of that fact.</p> + +<p>The two ladies enjoyed themselves very much—they had a cup of orange +Pekoe from cups of priceless china, they talked of music, art, and +books.</p> + +<p>The pretty little clock chimed ten. Lady Chandos looked at her +companion.</p> + +<p>"You have not tried my piano yet," she said. "It was a wedding present +from Lord Chandos to me; the tone of it is very sweet and clear."</p> + +<p>"I will try it," said Madame Vanira. "May I look through the pile of +music that lies behind it?"</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos laughed at the eagerness with which Leone went on her knees +and examined the music.</p> + +<p>Just at that moment, when she was completely hidden from view, the door +suddenly opened, and Lord Chandos hastily entered. Seeing his wife near, +without looking around the room, in his usual caressing manner, he threw +one arm round her, drew her to him, and kissed her.</p> + +<p>It was that kiss which woke all the love, and passion, and jealousy in +Leone's heart; it came home to her in that minute, and for the first +time, that the husband she had lost belonged to another—that his kisses +and caresses were never more to be hers, but would be given always to +this other.</p> + +<p>There was one moment—only one moment of silence; but while it lasted a +sharp sword pierced her heart; the next, Lady Chandos, with a laughing, +blushing face, had turned to her husband, holding up one white hand in +warning.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she cried, "do you not see Madame Vanira?"</p> + +<p>She wondered why the words seemed to transfix him—why his face paled +and his eyes flashed fire.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira!" he cried, "I did not see that she was here."</p> + +<p>Then Leone rose slowly from the pile of music.</p> + +<p>"I should ask pardon," she said; "I did not know that I had hidden +myself so completely."</p> + +<p>It was like a scene from a play; a fair wife, with her sweet face, its +expression of quiet happiness in her husband's love; the husband, with +the startled look of passion repressed; Leone, with her grand Spanish +beauty all aglow with emotion. She could not recover her presence of +mind so as to laugh away the awkward situation. Lady Chandos was the +first to do that.</p> + +<p>"How melodramatic we all look!" she said. "What is the matter?"</p> + +<p>Then Lord Chandos recovered himself. He knew that the kiss he had given +to one fair woman must have stabbed the heart of the other, and he would +rather have done anything than that it should have happened. There came +to him like a flash of lightning the remembrance of that first home at +River View, and the white arms that were clasped round his neck when he +entered there; and he knew that the same memory rankled in the heart of +the beautiful woman whose face had suddenly grown pale as his own.</p> + +<p>The air had grown like living flame to Leone; the pain which stung her +was so sharp she could have cried aloud with the anguish of it. It was +well nigh intolerable to see his arm round her, to see him draw her fair +face and head to him, to see his lips seek hers and rest on them. The +air grew like living flames; her heart beat fast and loud; her hands +burned. All that she had lost by woman's intrigue and man's injustice +this fair, gentle woman had gained. A red mist came before her eyes; a +rush, as of many waters, filled her ears. She bit her lips to prevent +the loud and bitter cry that seemed as though it must escape her.</p> + +<p>Then Lord Chandos hastened to place a chair for her, and tried to drive +from her mind all recollection of the little incident.</p> + +<p>"You are looking for some music, madame," he said, "from which I may +augur the happy fact that you intended to sing. Let me pray that you +will not change your intention."</p> + +<p>"Lady Chandos asked me to try her piano," she said shyly.</p> + +<p>"I told Madame Vanira how sweet and silvery the tone of it is, Lance," +said Lady Chandos.</p> + +<p>And again Leone shrunk from hearing on another woman's lip the word she +had once used. It was awkward, it was intolerable; it struck her all at +once with a sense of shame that she had done wrong in ever allowing Lord +Chandos to speak to her again. But then he had pleaded so, he had seemed +so utterly miserable, so forlorn, so hopeless, she could not help it. +She had done wrong in allowing Lady Marion to make friends with her; +Lady Marion was her enemy by force of circumstances, and there ought not +to have been even one word between them. Yet she pleaded so eagerly, it +had seemed quite impossible to resist her.</p> + +<p>She was roused from her reverie by the laughing voice of Lady Marion, +over whose fair head so dark a cloud hung.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira," she was saying, "ask my husband to sing with you. He +has a beautiful voice, not a deep, rolling bass, as one would imagine +from the dark face and tall, stalwart figure, but a rich, clear tenor, +sweet and silvery as the chime of bells."</p> + +<p>Leone remembered every tone, every note of it; they had spent long hours +in singing together, and the memory of those hours shone now in the eyes +that met so sadly. A sudden, keen, passionate desire to sing with him +once more came over Leone. It might be rash—it was imprudent.</p> + +<p>"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself, with a most bitter +smile. "It might be dangerous—but once more."</p> + +<p>Just once more she would like to hear her voice float away with his. She +bent over the music again—the first and foremost lay Mendelssohn's +beautiful duet. "Oh, would that my love." They sang it in the summer +gloamings when she had been pleased and proud to hear her wonderful +voice float away over the trees and die in sweetest silence. She raised +it now and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Will you sing this?" she asked; but her eyes did not meet his, and her +face was very pale.</p> + +<p>She did not wait for an answer, but placed the music on a stand, and +then—ah, then—the two beautiful voices floated away, and the very air +seemed to vibrate with the passionate, thrilling sound; the +drawing-room, the magnificence of Stoneland House, the graceful presence +of the fair wife, faded from them. They were together once more at the +garden at River View, the green trees making shade, the deep river in +the distance.</p> + +<p>But when they had finished, Lady Chandos was standing by, her face wet +with tears.</p> + +<p>"Your music breaks my heart," she said; but she did not know the reason +why.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX" id="CHAPTER_XLIX"></a>CHAPTER XLIX.</h2> + +<h3>THE WOUND IN HER HEART.</h3> + + +<p>If Leone had been wiser after that one evening, she would have avoided +Lord Chandos as she would have shunned the flames of fire; that one +evening showed her that she stood on the edge of a precipice. Looking in +her own heart, she knew by its passionate anguish and passionate pain +that the love in her had never been conquered. She said to herself, when +the evening was over and she drove away, leaving them together, that she +would never expose herself to that pain again.</p> + +<p>It was so strange, so unnatural for her—she who believed herself his +wife, who had spent so many evenings with him—to go away and leave him +with this beautiful woman who was really his wife. She looked up at the +silent stars as she drove home; surely their pale, golden eyes must +shine down in dearest pity on her. She clinched her white, soft hands +until the rings made great red dents; she exhausted herself with great +tearless sobs; yet no tears came from her burning eyes.</p> + +<p>Was ever woman so foully, so cruelly wronged? had ever woman been so +cruelly tortured?</p> + +<p>"I will not see him again," she cried to herself; "I cannot bear it."</p> + +<p>Long after the stars had set, and the crimson flush of dawn stirred the +pearly tints of the sky, she lay, sobbing, with passionate tears, +feeling that she could not bear it—she must die.</p> + +<p>It would have been well if that had frightened her, but when morning +dawned she said to herself that hers had always been a mad love, and +would be so until the end. She made one desperate resolve, one desperate +effort; she wrote to Lord Chandos, and sent the letter to his club—a +little, pathetic note, with a heart-break in every line of it—to say +that they who had been wedded lovers were foolish to think of being +friends; that it was not possible, and that she thought they had better +part; the pain was too great for her, she could not bear it.</p> + +<p>The letter was blotted with tears, and as he read it for whom it was +written, other tears fell on it. Before two hours had passed, he was +standing before her, with outstretched hands, the ring of passion in his +voice, the fire of passion in his face.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said, "do you mean this—must we part?"</p> + +<p>They forgot in that moment all the restraints by which they had +surrounded themselves; once more they were Lance and Leone, as in the +old days.</p> + +<p>"Must we part?" he repeated, and her face paled as she raised it to his.</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear the pain, Lance," she said, wearily. "It would be better +for us never to meet than for me to suffer as I did last evening."</p> + +<p>He drew nearer to her.</p> + +<p>"Did you suffer so much, Leone?" he asked, gently.</p> + +<p>"Yes, more almost than I can bear. It is not many years since I believed +that I was your wife, and now I have to see another woman in my place. +I—I saw you kiss her—I had to go away and leave you together. No, I +cannot bear it, Lance!"</p> + +<p>The beautiful head drooped wearily, the beautiful voice trembled and +died away in a wail that was pitiful to hear; all her beauty, her +genius, her talent—what did it avail her?</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos had suffered much, but his pain had never been so keen as +now at this moment, when this beautiful queenly woman wailed out her +sorrow to him.</p> + +<p>"What shall I do, Leone? I would give my life to undo what I have done; +but it is useless—I cannot. Do you mean that we must part?"</p> + +<p>The eyes she raised to his face were haggard and weary with pain.</p> + +<p>"There is nothing for it but parting, Lance," she said. "I thought we +could be friends, but it is not possible; we have loved each other too +well."</p> + +<p>"We need not part now," he said; "let us think it over; life is very +long; it will be hard to live without the sunlight of your presence, +Leone, now that I have lived in it so long. Let us think it over. Do you +know what I wanted to ask you last evening?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "what was it?"</p> + +<p>"A good that you may still grant me," he said. "We may part, if you wish +it, Leone. Leone, let us have one happy day before the time comes. +Leone, you see how fair the summer is, I want you to spend one day with +me on the river. The chestnuts are all in flower—the whole world is +full of beauty, and song, and fragrance; the great boughs are dipping +into the stream, and the water-lilies lie on the river's breast. My dear +love and lost love, come with me for one day. We may be parted all the +rest of our lives, come with me for one day."</p> + +<p>Her face brightened with the thought. Surely for one day they might be +happy; long years would have to pass, and they would never meet. Oh, for +one day, away on the river, in the world of clear waters, green boughs +and violet banks—one day away from the world which had trammeled them +and fettered them.</p> + +<p>"You tempt me," she said, slowly. "A day with you on the river. Ah, for +such a pleasure as that I would give twenty years of my life."</p> + +<p>He did not answer her, because he dared not. He waited until his heart +was calm and at rest again, then he said:</p> + +<p>"Let us go to-morrow, Leone, no one knows what twenty-four hours may +bring forth. Let us go to-morrow, Leone. Rise early. How often we have +gone out together while the dew lay upon the flowers and grass. Shall it +be so?"</p> + +<p>The angel of prudence faded from her presence as she answered, "Yes." +Knowing how she loved him, hearing the old love story in his voice, +reading it in his face, she would have done better had she died there in +the splendor of her beauty and the pain of her love than have said, +"Yes." So it was arranged.</p> + +<p>"It will be a beautiful day," said Lord Chandos. "I am a capital rower, +Leone, as you will remember. I will take you as far as Medmersham Abbey: +we will land there and spend an hour in the ruins; but you will have to +rise early and drive down to the river side. You will not mind that."</p> + +<p>"I shall mind nothing that brings me to you," she said, with a vivid +blush, and so it was settled.</p> + +<p>They forgot the dictates of honor; he forgot his duty to his wife at +home, and she forgot prudence and justice.</p> + +<p>The morning dawned. She had eagerly watched for it through the long +hours of the night; it wakes her with the song of the birds and the +shine of the sun; it wakes her with a mingled sense of pain and +happiness, of pleasure and regret. She was to spend a whole day with +him, but the background to that happiness was that he was leaving a wife +at home who had all claims to his time and attention.</p> + +<p>"One happy day before I die," she said to herself.</p> + +<p>But will it be happy? The sun will shine brightly, yet there will be a +background; yet it shall be happy because it will be with him.</p> + +<p>It was yet early in the morning when she drove to the appointed place at +the river side. The sun shone in the skies, the birds sang in the trees, +the beautiful river flashed and glowed in the light, the waters seemed +to dance and the green leaves to thrill.</p> + +<p>Ah, if she were but back by the mill-stream, if she were but Leone Noel +once again, with her life all unspoiled before her; if she were anything +on earth except a woman possessed by a mad love. If she could but +exchange these burning ashes of a burning love for the light, bright +heart of her girlhood, when the world had been full of beauty which +spoke to her in an unknown tongue.</p> + +<p>God had been so good to her; he had given to her the beauty of a queen, +genius that was immortal, wit, everything life holds most fair, and they +were all lost to her because of her mad love. Ah, well, never mind, the +sun was shining, the river dancing far away in the sun, and she was to +spend the day with him. She had dressed herself to perfection in a +close-fitting dress of dark-gray velvet, relieved by ribbons of rose +pink; she wore a hat with a dark-gray plume, under the shade of which +her beautiful face looked doubly bewitching; the little hands, which by +their royal gestures swayed multitudes, were cased in dark gray. Lord +Chandos looked at her in undisguised admiration.</p> + +<p>"The day seems to have been made on purpose for us," he said, as he +helped her in the boat.</p> + +<p>Leone laughed, but there was just the least tinge of bitterness in that +laugh.</p> + +<p>"A day made for us would have gray skies, cold rains, and bleak, bitter +winds," she said.</p> + +<p>And then the pretty pleasure boat floated away on the broad, beautiful +stream.</p> + +<p>It was a day on which to dream of heaven; there was hardly a ripple on +the beautiful Thames; the air was balmy, sweet, filled with the scent of +hay from the meadows; of flowers from the banks; it was as though they +had floated away into Paradise.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos bent forward to see that the rugs were properly disposed; +he opened her sunshade, but she would not use it.</p> + +<p>"Let me see the beautiful river, the banks and the yews, while I may," +she said, "the sun will not hurt me."</p> + +<p>There was no sound save that of the oars cleaving the bright waters. +Leone watched the river with loving eyes; since she had left River +View—and she had loved it with something like passion—it seemed like +part of that married life which had ended so abruptly. They passed by a +thicket, where the birds were singing after a mad fashion of their own.</p> + +<p>"Stop and listen," she said, holding up her hand.</p> + +<p>He stopped and the boat floated gently with the noiseless tide.</p> + +<p>"I wonder," said Leone, "if in that green bird kingdom there are +tragedies such as take place in ours?"</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos laughed.</p> + +<p>"You are full of fanciful ideas, Leone," he said. "Yes, I imagine, the +birds have their tragedies because they have their loves."</p> + +<p>"I suppose there are pretty birds and plain birds, loving birds, and +hard-hearted ones; some who live a happy life, filled with sunlight and +song—some who die while the leaves are green, shot through the heart. +In the kingdom of birds and the kingdom of men it is all just the same."</p> + +<p>"Which fate is yours, Leone?" asked Lord Chandos.</p> + +<p>"Mine?" she said, looking away over the dancing waters, "mine? I was +shot while the sun shone, and the best part of me died of the wound in +my heart."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L" id="CHAPTER_L"></a>CHAPTER L.</h2> + +<h3>"AS DEAD AS MY HOPES."</h3> + + +<p>The broad, beautiful river widened, and the magnificent scenery of the +Thames spread out on either side, a picture without parallel in English +landscapes. The silvery water, the lights and shades ever changing, the +overhanging woods, the distant hill, the pretty islets, the +pleasure-boats, the lawns, the great nests of water-lilies, the green +banks studded with flowers, the rushes and reeds that grew even on the +water's edge. On they went, through Richmond, Kew, past Hampton Court, +past the picturesque old Hampton windmill, on to one of the prettiest +spots on the river—the "Bells" at Ousely, and there Lord Chandos +fastened the boat to a tree while they went ashore.</p> + +<p>Ah, but it was like a faint, far-off dream of heaven—the lovely, +laughing river, the rippling foliage, the gorgeous trees, the quaint old +hostelry, the hundreds of blooming flowers—the golden sunlight pouring +over all. Sorrow, care and death might come to-morrow, when the sky was +gray and the water dull; but not to-day. Oh, lovely, happy to-day. +Beautiful sun and balmy wind, blooming flowers and singing birds. Lord +Chandos made a comfortable seat for Leone on the river bank, and sat +down by her side. They did not remember that they had been wedded +lovers, or that a tragedy lay between them; they did not talk of love or +of sorrow, but they gave themselves up to the happiness of the hour, to +the warm, golden sunshine, to the thousand beauties that lay around +them. They watched a pretty pleasure-boat drifting slowly along the +river. It was well filled with what Lord Chandos surmised to be a picnic +party, and somewhat to his dismay the whole party landed near the spot +where he, with Leone, was sitting. "I hope," he thought to himself, +"that there is no one among them who knows me—I should not like it, for +Leone's sake."</p> + +<p>The thought had hardly shaped itself in his mind, when some one touched +him on the arm. Turning hastily he saw Captain Harry Blake, one of his +friends, who cried out in astonishment at seeing him there, and then +looked in still greater astonishment at the beautiful face of Madame +Vanira.</p> + +<p>"Lady Evelyn is on board the Water Witch," he said. "Will you come and +speak to her?"</p> + +<p>The handsome face of Lord Lanswell's son darkened.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "pray excuse me. And—Harry, say nothing of my being +here. I rowed down this morning. There is no need for every one in +London to hear of it before night."</p> + +<p>Captain Harry Blake laughed; at the sound of that laugh Lord Chandos +felt the greatest impulse to knock him down. His face flushed hotly, and +his eyes flashed fire. Leone had not heard one word, and had +persistently turned her face from the intruder, quite forgetting that in +doing so she was visible to every one on the boat. Lady Evelyn Blake was +the first to see her, and she knew just enough of life to make no +comment. When her husband returned she said to him carelessly:</p> + +<p>"That was Madame Vanira with Lord Chandos, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"You had better bring stronger glasses or clearer eyes with you the next +time you come," he replied, laughingly, and then Lady Evelyn knew that +she was quite right in her suspicions. It was only a jest to her and she +thought nothing of it. That same evening when Lady Ilfield, who was one +of Lady Marion's dearest friends, spoke of Stoneland House, Lady Evelyn +told the incident as a grand jest. Lady Ilfield looked earnestly at her.</p> + +<p>"Do you really mean that you saw Lord Chandos with Madame Vanira at +Ousely?" she asked. "Alone, without his wife?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," laughed Lady Evelyn, "a stolen expedition, evidently. He looked +horrified when Captain Blake spoke to him."</p> + +<p>"I do not like it," said Lady Ilfield, who was one of the old school, +and did not understand the science of modern flirtation. "I have heard +already more of Lord Chandos than has pleased me, and I like his wife."</p> + +<p>This simple conversation was the beginning of the end—the beginning of +one of the saddest tragedies on which the sun ever shone.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry that he saw me," said Lord Chandos, as the captain waved his +final adieu; "but he did not see your face, Leone, did he?"</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "I think not."</p> + +<p>"It does not matter about me," he said, "but I should not like to have +any one recognize you."</p> + +<p>He forgot the incident soon after. When the boat was again on the +bright, dancing river, then they forgot the world and everything else +except that they were together.</p> + +<p>"Lance," said Leone, "row close to those water-lilies. I should like to +gather one."</p> + +<p>Obediently enough he went quite close to the white water-lilies, and +placed the oars at the bottom of the boat, while he gathered the lilies +for her. It was more like a poem than a reality; a golden sun, a blue, +shining river, the boat among the water-lilies, the beautiful regal +woman, her glorious face bent over the water, her white hands throwing +the drops of spray over the green leaves.</p> + +<p>It was the prettiest picture ever seen. Lord Chandos filled the boat +with flowers; he heaped the pretty white water-lilies at the feet of +Leone, until she looked as though she had grown out of them. Then, while +the water ran lazily on, and the sun shone in golden splendor, he asked +her if she would sing for him.</p> + +<p>"One song, Leone," he said, "and that in the faintest voice. It will be +clear and distinct as the voice of an angel to me."</p> + +<p>There must have been an instinct of pride or defiance in her heart, for +she raised her head and looked at him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I will sing for you, Lance," she replied. "Those water-lilies take +me home. I will sing a song of which not one word has passed my lips +since I saw you. Listen, see if you know the words:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still sings its tuneful lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My darling once did dwell there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now she's far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ring in pledge I gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The rich, beautiful voice, low and plaintive, now seemed to float over +the water: it died away among the water-lilies; it seemed to hang like a +veil over the low boughs; it startled the birds, and hushed even the +summer winds to silence. So sweet, so soft, so low, as he listened, it +stole into his heart and worked sweet and fatal mischief. He buried his +face in his hands and wept aloud.</p> + +<p>On went the sweet voice, with its sad story: he held up his hand with a +gesture of entreaty.</p> + +<p>"Hush, Leone," he said, "for God's sake, hush. I cannot bear it."</p> + +<p>On went the sweet voice:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'But while I hear that mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My pains will never cease;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would the grave would hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For there alone is peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For there alone is peace.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I will sing that verse again," she said, "it is prophetic."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'I would the grave would hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For there alone is peace.'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>She bent her head as she sung the last few words, and there was silence +between them—silence unbroken save for the ripple of the waters as it +washed past the boat, and the song of a lark that soared high in the +sky.</p> + +<p>"Leone," said Lord Chandos, "you have killed me. I thought I had a +stronger, braver heart, I thought I had a stronger nature—you have +killed me."</p> + +<p>He looked quite exhausted, and she saw great lines of pain round his +mouth, great shadows in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Have I been cruel to you?" she asked, and there was a ring of +tenderness in her voice.</p> + +<p>"More cruel than you know," he answered. "Once, Leone, soon after I came +home we went to a concert, and among other things I heard 'In Sheltered +Vale.' At the first sound of the first notes my heart stood still. I +thought, Leone, it would never beat again; I thought my blood was frozen +in my veins; I felt the color die from my face. Lady Marion asked me +what was the matter, and the countess thought that I was going to swoon. +I staggered out of the room like a man who had drunk too much wine, and +it was many hours before I recovered myself; and now, Leone, you sing +the same words to me; they are like a death knell."</p> + +<p>"They hold a prophecy," said Leone, sadly, "the only place where any one +can find rest is the grave."</p> + +<p>"My beautiful Leone," he cried, "you must not talk about the grave. +There should be no death and no grave for one like you."</p> + +<p>"There will be none to my love," she said, but rather to herself than to +him. Then she roused herself and laughed, but the laugh was forced and +bitter. "Why should I speak of my love?" she said. "Mine was a 'Mad +Love.'"</p> + +<p>The day drifted on to a golden, sunlight afternoon, and the wind died on +the waters while the lilies slept. And then they went slowly home.</p> + +<p>"Has it been a happy day, Leone?" asked Lord Chandos, as they drew near +home.</p> + +<p>"It will have no morrow," she answered, sadly. "I shall keep those +water-lilies until every leaf is withered and dead; yet they will never +be so dead as my hopes—as dead as my life, though art fills it and +praises crown it."</p> + +<p>"And I," he said, "shall remember this day until I die. I have often +wondered, Leone, if people take memory with them to heaven. If they do, +I shall think of it there."</p> + +<p>"And I," she said, "shall know no heaven, if memory goes with me."</p> + +<p>They parted without another word, without a touch of the hands, or one +adieu; but there had been no mention of parting, and that was the last +thing thought of.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI" id="CHAPTER_LI"></a>CHAPTER LI.</h2> + +<h3>THE CONFESSION.</h3> + + +<p>"I do not believe it," said Lady Marion; "it is some absurd mistake. If +Lord Chandos had been out alone, or on a party of pleasure where you +say, he would have told me."</p> + +<p>"I assure you, Lady Chandos, that it is true. Captain Blake spoke to him +there, and Lady Evelyn saw him. Madame Vanira was with him."</p> + +<p>The speakers were Lady Chandos and Lady Ilfield; the place was the +drawing-room at Stoneland House; the time was half past three in the +afternoon; and Lady Ilfield had called on her friend because the news +which she had heard preyed upon her mind and she felt that she must +reveal it. Like all mischief-makers Lady Ilfield persuaded herself that +she was acting upon conscientious motives; she herself had no +nonsensical ideas about singers and actresses; they were quite out of +her sphere, quite beneath her notice, and no good, she was in the habit +of saying, ever came from associating with them. She had met Madame +Vanira several times at Stoneland House, and had always felt annoyed +over it, but her idea was that a singer, an actress, let her be +beautiful as a goddess and talented above all other women, had no right +to stand on terms of any particular friendship with Lord Chandos. Lady +Ilfield persuaded herself it was her duty, her absolute Christian duty, +to let Lady Chandos know what was going on. She was quite sure of the +truth of what she had to tell, and she chose a beautiful, sunshiny +afternoon for telling it. She wore a look of the greatest +importance—she seated herself quite close to Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady Chandos," she said, "I have called on the most unpleasant +business. There is something which I am quite sure I ought to tell you, +and I really do not know how. People are saying such things—you ought +to know them."</p> + +<p>The fair, sweet face lost none of its tranquillity, none of its calm. +How could she surmise that her heart was to be stabbed by this woman's +words?</p> + +<p>"The sayings of people trouble me but little, Lady Ilfield," she +replied, with a calm smile.</p> + +<p>"What I have to say concerns you," she said, "concerns you very much. I +would not tell you but that I consider it my duty to do so. I told Lady +Evelyn that she, who had actually witnessed the scene, ought to be the +one to describe it, but she absolutely refused; unpleasant as the duty +is, it has fallen on me."</p> + +<p>"What duty? what scene?" asked Lady Chandos, beginning to feel something +like alarm. "If you have anything to say, Lady Ilfield, anything to tell +me, pray speak out; I am anxious now to hear it."</p> + +<p>Then indeed was Lady Ilfield in her glory. She hastened to tell the +story. How Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake had gone with a few friends for +a river-party, and at Ousely had seen Lord Chandos with Madame Vanira, +the great queen of song.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion's sweet face colored with indignation. She denied it +emphatically; it was not true. She was surprised that Lady Ilfield +should repeat such a calumny.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Lady Chandos, it is true. I should not have repeated it if +there had been a single chance of its being a falsehood. Lady Evelyn saw +the boat fastened to a tree, your husband and Madame Vanira sat on the +river bank, and when the captain spoke to Lord Chandos he seemed quite +annoyed at being seen."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion's fair face grew paler as she listened; the story seemed so +improbable to her.</p> + +<p>"My husband—Lord Chandos—does not know Madame Vanira half so well as I +do," she said; "it is I who like her, nay, even love her. It is by my +invitation that madame has been to my house. Lord Chandos was introduced +to her by accident. I sought her acquaintance. If people had said she +had been out for a day on the river with me there would have been some +sense in it."</p> + +<p>Lady Ilfield smiled with the air of a person possessed of superior +knowledge.</p> + +<p>"My dear Lady Chandos," she said, "it is time your eyes were opened; you +are about the only person in London who does not know that Lord Chandos +is Madame Vanira's shadow."</p> + +<p>"I do not believe it," was the indignant reply. "I would not believe it, +Lady Ilfield, if all London swore it."</p> + +<p>Lady Ilfield laughed, and the tinge of contempt in that laugh made the +gentle heart beat with indignation. She rose from her seat.</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt," she said, "that you came to tell me this with a +good-natured intention. I will give you credit for that always, Lady +Ilfield, when I remember this painful scene, but I have faith in my +husband. Nothing can shake it. And if the story you tell be true, I am +quite sure Lord Chandos can give a good explanation of it. Permit me to +say good-morning, Lady Ilfield, and to decline any further conversation +on the matter."</p> + +<p>"For all that," said Lady Ilfield to herself, "you will have to suffer, +my lady; you refuse to believe it, but the time will come when you will +have to believe it and deplore it."</p> + +<p>Yet Lady Ilfield was not quite satisfied when she went away.</p> + +<p>While to Lady Chandos had come the first burst of an intolerable pain, +her first anguish of jealousy, her only emotion at the commencement of +the conversation was one of extreme indignation. It was a calumny, she +told herself, and she had vehemently espoused her husband's cause; but +when she was alone and began to think over what had been said her faith +was somewhat shaken.</p> + +<p>It was a straightforward story. Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake were quite +incapable of inventing such a thing. Then she tried to remember how +Tuesday had passed. It came back to her with a keen sense of pain that +on Tuesday she had not seen him all day. He had risen early and had gone +out, leaving word that he should not return for luncheon. She had been +to a morning concert, and had stayed until nearly dinner-time with the +countess. When she returned to Stoneland House he was there; they had a +dinner-party, and neither husband nor wife had asked each other how the +day was spent. She remembered it now. Certainly so far his absence +tallied with the story; but her faith in her husband was not to be +destroyed by the gossip of people who had nothing to do but talk.</p> + +<p>What was it Lady Ilfield had said? That she was the only person in +London who did not know that her husband was Madame Vanira's shadow. +Could that be true? She remembered all at once his long absences, his +abstraction; how she wondered if he had any friends whom he visited long +and intimately.</p> + +<p>Madame Vanira's beautiful face rose before her with its noble eloquence, +its grandeur and truth. No, that was not the woman who would try to rob +a woman of her husband's love. Madame Vanira, the queen of song, the +grand and noble woman who swayed men's hearts with her glorious voice; +Madame Vanira, who had kissed her face and called herself her friend. It +was impossible. She could sooner have believed that the sun and the moon +had fallen from the skies than that her husband had connived with her +friend to deceive her. The best plan would be to ask her husband. He +never spoke falsely; he would tell her at once whether it were true or +not. She waited until dinner was over and then said to him:</p> + +<p>"Lance, can you spare me a few minutes? I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>They were in the library, where Lord Chandos had gone to write a letter. +Lady Marion looked very beautiful in her pale-blue dinner dress and a +suit of costly pearls. She went up to her husband, and kneeling down by +his side, she laid her fair arms round his neck.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "before I say what I have to say I want to make an +act of faith in you."</p> + +<p>He smiled at the expression.</p> + +<p>"An act of faith in me, Marion?" he said. "I hope you have all faith."</p> + +<p>Then, remembering, he stopped, and his face flushed.</p> + +<p>"I have need of faith," she said, "for I have heard a strange story +about you. I denied it, I deny it now, but I should be better pleased +with your denial also."</p> + +<p>"What is the story?" he asked, anxiously, and her quick ear detected the +anxiety of his voice.</p> + +<p>"Lady Ilfield has been here this afternoon, and tells me that last +Tuesday you were with Madame Vanira at Ousely, that you rowed her on the +river, and that Captain Blake spoke to you there. Is it true?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Ilfield is a mischief-making old——" began Lord Chandos, but his +wife's sweet, pale face startled him.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she cried, suddenly, "oh, my God, it is not true?"</p> + +<p>The ring of pain and passion in her voice frightened him; she looked at +him with eyes full of woe.</p> + +<p>"It is not true?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>"Who said it was true?" he asked, angrily.</p> + +<p>Then there was a few minutes of silence between them; and Lady Marion +looked at him again.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "is it true?"</p> + +<p>Their eyes met, hers full of one eager question. His lips parted; her +whole life seemed to hang on the word that was coming from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Is it true?" she repeated.</p> + +<p>He tried to speak falsely, he would have given much for the power to say +"No." He knew that one word would content her—that she would believe it +implicitly, and that she would never renew the question. Still with that +fair, pure face before him—with those clear eyes fixed on him—he could +not speak falsely, he could not tell a lie. He could have cried aloud +with anguish, yet he answered, proudly:</p> + +<p>"It is true, Marion."</p> + +<p>"True?" she repeated, vacantly, "true, Lance?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, the gossips have reported correctly; it is quite true."</p> + +<p>But he was not prepared for the effect of the words on her. Her fair +face grew pale, her tender arms released their hold and fell.</p> + +<p>"True?" she repeated, in a low, faint voice, "true that you took Madame +Vanira out for a day, and that you were seen by these people with her?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is true," he replied.</p> + +<p>And the poor child flung her arms in the air, as she cried out:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lance, it is a sword in my heart, and it has wounded me sorely."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII" id="CHAPTER_LII"></a>CHAPTER LII.</h2> + +<h3>A GATHERING CLOUD.</h3> + + +<p>It was strange that she should use the same words which Leone had used.</p> + +<p>"I cannot bear it, Lance," she said. "Why have you done this?"</p> + +<p>He was quite at a loss what to say to her; he was grieved for her, vexed +with those who told her, and the mental emotions caused him to turn +angrily round to her.</p> + +<p>"Why did you take her? What is Madame Vanira to you?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"My dear Marion, can you see any harm in my giving madame a day's +holiday and rest, whether on water or on land?"</p> + +<p>She was silent for a minute before she answered him.</p> + +<p>"No," she replied, "the harm lay in concealing it from me; if you had +told me about it I would have gone with you."</p> + +<p>Poor, simple, innocent Lady Marion! The words touched him deeply; he +thought of the boat among the water-lilies, the beautiful, passionate +voice floating over the water, the beautiful, passionate face, with its +defiance as the words of the sweet, sad song fell from her lips.</p> + +<p>"Lance, why did you not tell me? Why did you not ask me to go with you? +I cannot understand."</p> + +<p>When a man has no proper excuse to make, no sensible reason to give, he +takes refuge in anger. Lord Chandos did that now; he was quite at a loss +what to say; he knew that he had done wrong; that he could say nothing +which could set matters straight; obviously the best thing to do was to +grow angry with his wife.</p> + +<p>"I cannot see much harm in it," he said. "I should not suppose that I am +the first gentleman in England who has taken a lady out for a holiday +and felt himself highly honored in so doing."</p> + +<p>"But, Lance," repeated his fair wife, sorrowfully, "why did you not take +me or tell me?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Marion, I did not think that I was compelled to tell you every +action of my life, everywhere I went, everything I did, every one I see; +I would never submit to such a thing. Of all things in the world, I +abhor the idea of a jealous wife."</p> + +<p>She rose from her knees, her fair face growing paler, and stood looking +at him with a strangely perplexed, wondering gaze.</p> + +<p>"I cannot argue with you, Lance," she said, gently; "I cannot dispute +what you say. You are your own master; you have a perfect right to go +where you will, and with whom you will, but my instinct and my heart +tell me that you are wrong. You have no right to take any lady out +without telling me. You belong to me, and to no one else."</p> + +<p>"My dear Marion, you are talking nonsense," he said, abruptly; "you know +nothing of the world. Pray cease."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with more of anger on her fair face than he had ever +seen before.</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos," she said, "is this all you have to say to me? I am told +that you have spent a whole day in the society of the most beautiful +actress in the world, perhaps, and when I ask for an explanation you +have none to give me."</p> + +<p>"No," he replied, "I have none."</p> + +<p>"Lance, I do not like it," she said, slowly; "and I do not understand. I +thought Madame Vanira was so good and true?"</p> + +<p>"So she is," he replied. "You must not say one word against her."</p> + +<p>"I have no wish; but if she is so good why should she try to take my +husband from me?"</p> + +<p>"She has not done so," he replied, angrily. "Marion, I will not be +annoyed by a jealous wife."</p> + +<p>"I am not jealous, Lance," she replied; "but when I am told such a +story, and it proves to be true, what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"Say nothing, Marion, which is always the wisest thing a woman can do," +he replied.</p> + +<p>His wife gazed at him with proud indignation.</p> + +<p>"I do not like the tone in which you speak of this; tell me frankly, is +it with Madame Vanira you spend all the time which you pass away from +home?"</p> + +<p>"I shall say nothing of Madame Vanira," he replied.</p> + +<p>She drew nearer to him; she laid one white hand on his shoulder and +looked wistfully into his face.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "are we to quarrel—over a woman, too? I will not +believe it. You have always been honest with me; tell me what Madame +Vanira is to you?"</p> + +<p>"She is nothing to me," he replied.</p> + +<p>Then the remembrance of what she had been to him came over him and froze +the words on his lips. His wife was quick to notice it.</p> + +<p>"You cannot say it with truth. Oh, Lance, how you pain me."</p> + +<p>There was such absolute, physical pain in her face that he was grieved +for her.</p> + +<p>"Say no more about it, Marion," he cried. "I did ask madame to let me +row her on the river; I know she loves the river; I ought to have asked +you to go with us, or to have told you about it," he said; "I know that; +but people often do imprudent things. Kiss me and say no more about it."</p> + +<p>But for the first time that sweet girl looked coldly on him. Instead of +bending down to kiss him, she looked straight into his face.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "do you like Madame Vanira?"</p> + +<p>His answer was prompt.</p> + +<p>"Most decidedly I do," he answered; "every one must like her."</p> + +<p>"Lady Ilfield says that you are her shadow. Is that true?"</p> + +<p>"Lady Ilfield is a gossip, and the wife who listens to scandal about her +husband lowers herself."</p> + +<p>She did not shrink now from his words.</p> + +<p>"I have not gossiped about you, Lance," she said; "but I wish you +yourself to tell me why people talk about you and Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>"How can I tell? Why do people talk? Because they have nothing better to +do."</p> + +<p>But that did not satisfy her; her heart ached; this was not the manner +in which she had expected him to meet the charge—so differently—either +to deny it indignantly, or to give her some sensible explanation. As it +was, he seemed to avoid the subject, even while he owned that it was +true.</p> + +<p>"I am not satisfied, Lance," she said; "you have made me very unhappy; +if there is anything to tell me tell it now."</p> + +<p>"What should I have to tell you?" he asked, impatiently.</p> + +<p>"I do not know; but if there is any particular friendship or +acquaintance between Madame Vanira and yourself, tell me now."</p> + +<p>It would have been better if he had told her, if he had made an open +confession of his fault, and have listened to her gentle counsel, but he +did not; on the contrary, he looked angrily at her.</p> + +<p>"If you wish to please me, you will not continue this conversation, +Marion; in fact, I decline to say another word on the subject. I have +said all that was needful, let it end now."</p> + +<p>"You say this, knowing that I am dissatisfied, Lance," said Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>"I say it, hoping that you intend to obey me," he replied.</p> + +<p>Without another word, and in perfect silence, Lady Chandos quitted the +room, her heart beating with indignation.</p> + +<p>"He will not explain to me," she said; "I will find out for myself."</p> + +<p>She resolved from that moment to watch him, and to find out for herself +that which he refused to tell her. She could not bring herself to +believe that there was really anything between her husband and Madame +Vanira; he had always been so good, so devoted to herself.</p> + +<p>But the result of her watching was bad; it showed that her husband had +other interests; much of his time was spent from home; a cloud came +between them; when she saw him leaving home she was too proud to ask him +where he was going, and if even by chance she did ask, his reply was +never a conciliatory one.</p> + +<p>It was quite by accident she learned he went often to Highgate. In the +stables were a fine pair of grays; she liked using them better than any +other horses they had, and one morning the carriage came to the door +with a pair of chestnuts she particularly disliked.</p> + +<p>"Where are the grays?" she asked of the coachman.</p> + +<p>"One of them fell yesterday, my lady," said the man, touching his hat.</p> + +<p>"Fell—where?" asked Lady Chandos.</p> + +<p>"Coming down Highgate Hill, my lady. It is a terrible hill—so steep and +awkward," replied the man.</p> + +<p>Then she would have thought nothing of it but for a sudden look of +warning she saw flash from the groom to the coachman, from which she +shrewdly guessed that they had been told to be silent about the visits +to Highgate. Then she remembered that Madame Vanira lived there. She +remembered how she had spoken of the hills, of the fresh air, and the +distance from town; she watched again and found out that her husband +went to Highgate nearly every day of his life, and then Lady Chandos +drew her own conclusions and very miserable ones they were.</p> + +<p>The cloud between them deepened—deepened daily; all her loving +amiability, her gentle, caressing manner vanished; she became silent, +watchful, suspicious; no passion deteriorates the human mind or the +human heart more quickly than jealousy. If, during those watchful days, +Lord Chandos had once told his wife the plain truth, she would have +forgiven him, have taken him from the scene of his danger, and all might +have gone well; as it was, all went wrong.</p> + +<p>One day a sense of regret for her lost happiness came over her, and she +determined to speak to him about it. She would destroy this shadow that +lay between them; she would dispel the cloud. Surely he would do +anything for her sake—she would have given up the world for him. He was +alone in his study, in the gloaming of a bright day, when she went in to +him and stood once more by his side.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, bending her fair, sweet face over his, "Lance, I want +to speak to you again. I am not happy, dear—there is a cloud between +us, and it is killing me. You love me, Lance, do you not?"</p> + +<p>"You know that I do," he said, but there was no heartiness in his voice.</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you, dear, that I have been jealous. I am very unhappy, +but I will conquer myself. I will be to you the most loving wife in all +the world if you will give up Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>He pushed the outstretched hand away.</p> + +<p>"You do not know what you are asking," he said, hoarsely, and his manner +so alarmed her that she said no more.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII" id="CHAPTER_LIII"></a>CHAPTER LIII.</h2> + +<h3>A QUARREL.</h3> + + +<p>From that hour all pretense of peace was at an end between them. Lady +Chandos was justly indignant and wounded. If her husband had trusted her +all might, even then, have been well, but he did not; he said to himself +that she would forget the story of her annoyance in time, and all would +be well; he did not give his wife credit for the depth of feeling that +she really possessed. Fiercest, most cruel jealousy had taken hold of +the gentle lady, it racked and tortured her; the color faded from her +face, the light from her eyes; she grew thin and pale; at night she +could not sleep, by day she could not rest; all her sweetness, grace and +amiability, seemed to have given way to a grave sadness; the sound of +her laughter, her bright words, died away; nothing interested her. She +who had never known a trouble or a care, now wore the expression of one +who was heart-broken; she shrunk from all gayety, all pleasures, all +parties; she was like the ghost of her former self; yet after those +words of her husband's she never spoke again of Madame Vanira. The sword +was sheathed in her heart and she kept it there.</p> + +<p>There is no pain so cruel as jealousy; none that so quickly deteriorates +a character; it brings so many evils in its train—suspicion, envy, +hatred of life, distrust in every one and in everything; it is the most +fatal passion that ever takes hold of a human heart, and turns the +kindest nature to gall. There was no moment during the day in which Lady +Chandos did not picture her husband with her rival; she drove herself +almost mad with the pictures she made in her own mind. All the cruel +pain, the sullen brooding, the hot anguish, the desolation, the jealousy +seemed to surge over her heart and soul like the waves of a deadly sea. +If she saw her husband silent and abstracted, she said he was thinking +of Madame Vanira; if she saw him laugh and light of heart she said he +was pleased because he was going to see Madame Vanira. She had sensible +and reasonable grounds for jealousy, but she was unreasonably jealous.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Trifles light as air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are to the jealous confirmation strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As proofs of holy writ."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>It was so with Lady Marion, and her life at last grew too bitter to be +borne. There was excuse for Lord Chandos, the mistake was in renewing +the acquaintance; a mistake that can never be remedied.</p> + +<p>People were beginning to talk; when Lord Chandos was mentioned, they +gave significant smiles. Against Madame Vanira there had never been even +the faintest rumor of scandal; but a certain idea was current in +society—that Lord Chandos admired the queen of song. No one insinuated +the least wrong, but significant smiles followed the mention of either +name.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira was at Lady Martyn's last night," one would say.</p> + +<p>And the laughing answer was always:</p> + +<p>"Then Lord Chandos was not very far away."</p> + +<p>"La Vanira sung to perfection in 'Fidelio,'" would remark one.</p> + +<p>Another would answer:</p> + +<p>"Lord Chandos would know how to applaud."</p> + +<p>Madame Vanira was more eagerly sought after than other women in London. +She reigned queen, not only over the stage, but over the world of +fashion also.</p> + +<p>The Countess of Easton gave a grand ball—it was the most exclusive of +the season. After much praying Madame Vanira had promised to go, and +Lady Chandos was the belle of the ball. They had not met since the +evening madame had sung for her, and Lord Chandos had many an anxious +thought as to what their next meeting would be like. He knew that Leone +would bear much for his sake, yet he did not know what his wife would be +tempted to say.</p> + +<p>They met on the night of Lady Easton's ball; neither knew that the other +was coming. If Lady Chandos had dreamed of meeting Leone there she would +not have gone. As it was, they met face to face in the beautiful +ante-room that led to the ballroom.</p> + +<p>Face to face. Leone wore a superb dress of pale amber brocade, and Lady +Chandos a beautiful costume of pale-blue velvet, the long train of which +was fastened with white, shining pearls.</p> + +<p>It was like the meeting of rival queens. Leone's face flushed, Lady +Marion's grew deadly pale. Leone held out her hand; Lady Marion declined +to see it. They looked at each other for a brief space of time, then +Leone spoke.</p> + +<p>"Lady Marion," she said, in a low, pained voice, "have I displeased +you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you have," was the brief reply.</p> + +<p>"You will not touch my hand?" said Leone.</p> + +<p>"No, I decline to touch your hand," said Lady Marion; "I decline to +speak to you after this."</p> + +<p>"Will you tell me why?" asked Leone.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion's face flushed crimson.</p> + +<p>"Since you ask me, I will tell you. You have been seeking my husband, +and I do not approve of it. You spent a day with him on the river—he +never told me about it. I am not a jealous wife, but I despise any woman +who would seek to take the love of a husband from his wife."</p> + +<p>Conscience, which makes cowards of us all, kept Leone silent.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos continued:</p> + +<p>"What is there between my husband and you?"</p> + +<p>"True friendship," answered Leone, trying to speak bravely.</p> + +<p>"I do not believe it," said Lady Chandos; "true friendship does not hide +itself, or make mystery of its actions. Madame Vanira, I loved you when +I first saw you; I take my love and my liking both from you. Now that I +find that you have acted treacherously I believe in you no more."</p> + +<p>"Those are strong words, Lady Chandos," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"They are true; henceforth we are strangers. My friends are honorable +women, who would seek to steal my jewels rather than seek to steal from +me my husband's love."</p> + +<p>Leone could have retaliated; the temptation was strong; she could have +said:</p> + +<p>"He was my husband, as I believed, before he was yours; you stole him +from me, not I from you."</p> + +<p>The temptation was strong, the words leaped in a burning torrent from +her heart to her lips; she repressed them for his sake and bore the +crushing words without reply.</p> + +<p>"I have always heard," she said, "that there was ample reason that +singers, even though they be queens of song, should not be admitted into +the heart of one's home; now I see the justice of it; they are not +satisfied with legitimate triumphs. You, Madame Vanira, have not been +contented with my liking and friendship, with the hospitality of my +home, but you must seek to take my husband's interest, time, affection."</p> + +<p>"Are you not judging me harshly, Lady Chandos?" asked the singer. "You +bring all these accusations against me and give me no opportunity of +clearing myself of them."</p> + +<p>"You cannot," said Lady Chandos; "I have no wish to hear your defense, +you can neither deny nor explain the fact that you spent a day with my +husband on the river; all the sophistry in the world cannot deny that +fact, and that fact condemns you."</p> + +<p>"Would you say the same thing to any of your former friends?" asked +Leone—"to Lady Caldwell or Lady Blake?"</p> + +<p>"Neither of them would do such a thing," cried Lady Chandos. "Ladies of +the class to which I belong do not spend whole days on the river with +gentlemen unknown to their wives. Madame Vanira—you and I are strangers +from this time."</p> + +<p>"You are very hard on me," said Leone; "the day may come when you will +admit that."</p> + +<p>"The day will never come in which I will mistake good for evil, or right +for wrong," said Lady Chandos. "Others may applaud you, you may continue +your sway over the minds and hearts of men, but I shall protest against +you, and all those like you, who would come between husbands and wives +to separate them."</p> + +<p>It was such a satire of fate, such a satire of her own life, that +Leone's beautiful lips curled with a bitter smile. It was she who had +been parted from her husband by a quibble of the law, and this fair, +angry woman had taken him for herself.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos saw the smile and misunderstood it. She bowed, and would +have passed, but Leone tried to stop her.</p> + +<p>"Will you not say one kind word to me before you go, Lady Chandos?" she +asked.</p> + +<p>"I have not one kind word to say," was the brief reply.</p> + +<p>She would have passed on, but fate again intervened in the person of +Lord Chandos, who was walking with his hostess, the Countess of Easton. +They stopped before the two ladies, and Lord Chandos saw at once that +something was wrong. Madame Vanira, after exchanging a few words with +the countess, went away, and as soon as he could, Lord Chandos rejoined +his wife.</p> + +<p>"Marion," he said, curtly, "you have had some disagreeable words with +Madame Vanira. I know it by the expression of your face."</p> + +<p>"You are right," she said; "I have told her that henceforth she and I +shall be strangers."</p> + +<p>"You have dared!" he cried, forgetting himself at the thought of Leone's +face.</p> + +<p>She turned her fair face proudly to him.</p> + +<p>"I have dared," she replied; "I refuse to speak or see Madame Vanira +again—she must not cross the threshold of my door again."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos grew deadly pale as he heard the words.</p> + +<p>"And I say that you wrong a good and blameless woman, Marion, when you +say such words."</p> + +<p>"My lord, am I or am I not at liberty to choose my friends?" she asked, +haughtily.</p> + +<p>"Certainly you are at liberty to do just as you please in that respect," +he replied.</p> + +<p>"Then among them I decline to receive Madame Vanira," she said.</p> + +<p>"As you refuse to see my friends, I must go to meet them," said Lord +Chandos.</p> + +<p>And then between husband and wife began one of those scenes which leave +a mark on both their lives—cruel, hard, unjust and bitter words—hard +and cruel thoughts.</p> + +<p>Then Lady Chandos had her carriage called and went home.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV" id="CHAPTER_LIV"></a>CHAPTER LIV.</h2> + +<h3>A MOTHER'S APPEAL.</h3> + + +<p>"She would not bear it—she could not bear it," this was Lady Marion's +conclusion in the morning, when the sunbeams peeping in her room told +her it was time to rise. She turned her face to the wall and said it +would be easier to die—her life was spoiled, nothing could give her +back her faith and trust in her husband or her love for him.</p> + +<p>Life held nothing for her now. It was noon before she rose, and then she +went to her boudoir. Lord Chandos had gone out, leaving no message for +her. She sat there thinking, brooding over her sorrow, wondering what +she was to do, when the Countess of Lanswell was announced.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion looked up. It was as though an inspiration from Heaven had +come to her; she would tell Lady Lanswell, and hear what she had to say.</p> + +<p>"You have been crying," said the countess, as she bent over her +daughter-in-law. "Crying, and how ill you look—what is the matter?"</p> + +<p>"There is something very wrong the matter," said Lady Marion. "Something +that I cannot bear—something that will kill me if it is not stopped."</p> + +<p>"My dearest Marion," said the countess, "what is wrong? I have never +seen you so distressed before. Where is Lance?"</p> + +<p>"I never know where he is now," she said. "Oh, Lady Lanswell, I am so +miserable, so unhappy that I wish I were dead."</p> + +<p>This outbreak from Lady Marion, who was always so calm, so high-bred, so +reticent in expressing her feelings, alarmed Lady Lanswell. She took the +cold, trembling hands in her own.</p> + +<p>"Marion," she said, "you must calm yourself; you must tell me what is +the matter and let me help you."</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos told her all, and the countess listened in wondering amaze.</p> + +<p>"Are you quite sure?" she said. "Lady Ilfield exaggerates sometimes when +she repeats those gossiping stories."</p> + +<p>"It must be true, since my husband acknowledged it himself, and yet +refused to give me any explanation of it. Some time since, I found that +he passed so much of his time away from home I asked you if he had any +friends with whom he was especially intimate, and you thought not. Now I +know that it was Madame Vanira he went to see. She lives at Highgate, +and he goes there every day."</p> + +<p>"I should not think much of it, my dear, if I were you," said the +countess. "Madame Vanira is very beautiful and very accomplished—all +gentlemen like to be amused."</p> + +<p>"I cannot argue," said Lady Chandos; "I can only say that my own +instinct and my own heart tell me there is something wrong, that there +is some tie between them. I know nothing of it—I cannot tell why I feel +this certain conviction, but I do feel it."</p> + +<p>"It is not true, I am sure, Marion," said the countess, gravely. "I know +Lance better than any one else; I know his strength, his weakness, his +virtues, his failings. Love of intrigue is not one, neither is lightness +of love."</p> + +<p>"Then if he cares nothing for Madame Vanira, and sees me unhappy over +her, why will he not give her up?"</p> + +<p>"He will if you ask him," said Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>"He will <i>not</i>. I have asked him. I have told him that the pain of it is +wearing my life away; but he will not. I am very unhappy, for I love my +husband."</p> + +<p>"And he loves you," said the countess.</p> + +<p>"I do not think so. I believe—my instinct tells me—that he loves +Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>"Marion, it is wicked to say such things," said the countess, severely. +"Because your husband, like every other man of the world, pays some +attention to the most gifted woman of her day, you suspect him of +infidelity, want of love and want of truth. I wonder at you."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion raised her fair, tear-stained face.</p> + +<p>"I cannot make you understand," she said slowly, "nor do I understand +myself. I only know what I feel, what my instinct tells me, and that is +that between my husband and Madame Vanira there is something more than I +know. I feel that there is a tie between them. He looks at her with +different eyes; he speaks to her with a different voice; when he sung +with her it was as though their souls floated away together."</p> + +<p>"Marion," interrupted the countess, "my dear child, I begin to see what +is the matter with you—you are jealous."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am jealous," said the unhappy wife, "and not without cause—you +must own that. Ah, Lady Lanswell, you would be sorry for me if you knew +all. See, it is wearing me away; my heart beats, my hands tremble, and +they burn like fire. Oh, my God, how I suffer!"</p> + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell, in her superb dress of black velvet, sat by in +silence; for the first time in her life she was baffled; for the first +time in her life she was face to face with a human passion. Hitherto, in +her cold, proud presence all passion had veiled itself; this unhappy +wife laid hers bare, and my lady was at a loss what to say. In her calm, +proud life there had been no room for jealousy; she had never known it, +she did not even understand the pain.</p> + +<p>If her husband had gone out for a day with the most beautiful woman on +earth, she would either have completely ignored the fact, or, with a +smiling satire, have passed it by. She did not love the earl well enough +to be jealous of him; she did not understand love or jealousy in others. +She sat now quite helpless before the unhappy wife, whose grief annoyed +her.</p> + +<p>"This will not do, Marion," she said, "you will make yourself quite +ill."</p> + +<p>"Ill," repeated Lady Marion, "I have been ill in heart and soul for many +days, and now I am sick unto death. I wish I could die; life has nothing +left for me."</p> + +<p>"Die, my dear, it seems such a trifle, such a trifle; one day spent +together on a river. Is that anything for you to die about?"</p> + +<p>The sweet blue eyes raised wistfully to hers were full of pain.</p> + +<p>"You do not see, you do not understand. Only think how much intimacy +there must have been between them before he would ask her to go, or she +consent to go. If they are but strangers, or even every-day friends, +what could they find to talk about for a whole day?"</p> + +<p>The countess shrugged her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I am surprised," she said, "for I thought Madame Vanira so far above +all coquetry. If I were you, Marion, I would forget it."</p> + +<p>"I cannot forget it," she cried. "Would to God that I could. It is +eating my heart away."</p> + +<p>"Then," said my lady, "I will speak to Lance at once, and I am quite +sure that at one word from me he will give up the acquaintance, for the +simple reason that you do not like it."</p> + +<p>And with this promise the countess left her daughter-in-law. Once +before, not by her bidding, but by her intrigues, she had persuaded him +to give up one whom he loved; surely a few words from her now would +induce him to give up her whom he could not surely love. It never +occurred to her to dream that they were the same.</p> + +<p>She saw him as she was driving home, and, stopping the carriage, asked +him to drive with her.</p> + +<p>"Lance, I have something very serious to say to you. There is no use +beating about the bush, Marion is very ill and very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"I am sorry for it, mother, but add also she is very jealous and very +foolish."</p> + +<p>"My dear Lance, your wife loves you—you know it, she loves you with all +her heart and soul. If your friendship with Madame Vanira annoys her, +why not give it up?"</p> + +<p>"I choose to keep my independence as a man; I will not allow any one to +dictate to me what friends I shall have, whom I shall give up or +retain."</p> + +<p>"In some measure you are right, Lance," said the countess, "and so far +as gentleman friends are concerned, I should always choose my own; but +as this is a lady, of whom Lady Marion has certain suspicions, I should +most certainly give her up."</p> + +<p>"My wife has no right to be jealous," he said angrily; "it does not add +to my love for her."</p> + +<p>"Let me speak seriously to you, Lance," said the countess. "Marion is so +unhappy that I should not wonder if she were really ill over it; now why +not do as she wishes? Madame Vanira can be nothing to you—Marion is +everything. Why not give her up?"</p> + +<p>A certain look of settled determination that came to her son's face made +the countess pause and wonder. She had seen it there for the first and +last time when she had asked her son to renounce his young wife, and now +she saw it again. Strange that his next words should seem like an answer +to her thoughts.</p> + +<p>"Mother," he said, "do not ask me; you persuaded me to give up all the +happiness of my life, years ago—do not try me a second time. I refuse, +absolutely refuse, to gratify my wife's foolish, jealous wish. I say, +emphatically, that I will not give up my friendship for Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>Then my lady looked fixedly at him.</p> + +<p>"Lance," she said, "what is Madame Vanira to you?"</p> + +<p>He could not help the flush that burned his handsome, angry face, and +that flush aroused his mother's curiosity. "Have you known her long? Did +you know her before your marriage, Lance? I remember now that I was +rather struck by her manner. She reminds me forcibly of some one. Poor +Marion declares there is some tie between you. What can it be?"</p> + +<p>She mused for some minutes, then looked into her son's face.</p> + +<p>"Great Heaven, Lance, it can never be!" she cried. "A horrible idea has +occurred to me, and yet it is not possible."</p> + +<p>He made no answer, but a look of more dogged defiance came into his +face.</p> + +<p>"It can never be, and yet I think it is so. Can it be possible that +Madame Vanira is the—the dairy-maid to whom you gave your young +affections?"</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira is the girl I loved, mother, and whom I believed to be my +wife—until you parted us."</p> + +<p>And my lady fell back in her carriage with a low cry of "Heaven have +mercy on us!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV" id="CHAPTER_LV"></a>CHAPTER LV.</h2> + +<h3>"WAR TO THE KNIFE."</h3> + + +<p>Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, was in terrible trouble, and it was the +first real trouble of her life. Her son's marriage had been rather a +difficulty than a trouble—a difficulty that the law had helped her +over. Now no law could intervene, and no justice. Nothing could exceed +her surprise in finding Madame Vanira, the Queen of Song, the most +beautiful, the most gifted woman in England, positively the +"dairy-maid," "the tempestuous young person," the artful, designing girl +from whom by an appeal to the strong arm of the law she had saved her +son. She paused in wonder to think to herself what would have happened +if the marriage had not been declared null and void. In that case, she +said to herself, with a shrug of the shoulders, in all probability the +girl would not have taken to the stage at all. She wondered that she had +not sooner recognized her. She remembered the strong, dramatic passion +with which Leone had threatened her. "She was born an actress," said my +lady to herself, with a sneer. She determined within herself that the +secret should be kept, that to no one living would she reveal the fact +that the great actress was the girl whom the law had parted from her +son.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos, the Duke of Lester, the world in general, must never know +this. Lord Chandos must never tell it, neither would she. What was she +to do? A terrible incident had happened—terrible to her on whose life +no shadow rested. Madame Vanira had accepted an engagement at Berlin, +the fashionable journals had already announced the time of her +departure, and bemoaned the loss of so much beauty and genius. Lord +Chandos had announced his intention of spending a few months in Berlin, +and his wife would not agree to it.</p> + +<p>"You know very well," she said, "that you have but one motive in going +to Berlin, and that is to be near Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>"You have no right to pry into my motives," he replied, angrily; and she +retorted that when a husband's motives lowered his wife, she had every +reason to inquire into them.</p> + +<p>Hot, bitter, angry words passed between them. Lord Chandos declared that +if it pleased him to go to Berlin he should go; it mattered little +whether his wife went or not; and Lady Chandos, on her side, declared +that nothing should ever induce her to go to Berlin. The result was just +what one might have anticipated—a violent quarrel. Lady Chandos +threatened to appeal to the duke. Her husband laughed at the notion.</p> + +<p>"The duke is a great statesman and a clever man," he replied; "but he +has no power over me. If he interfered with my arrangements, in all +probability we should not meet again."</p> + +<p>"I will appeal to him," cried Lady Marion; "he is the only friend I have +in the world."</p> + +<p>The ring of passionate pain in her voice startled him; a sense of pity +came over him. After all, this fair, angry woman was his wife, whom he +was bound to protect.</p> + +<p>"Marion, be reasonable," he said. "You go the wrong way to work; even +supposing I did care for some one else, you do not go the way to make me +care for you; but you are mistaken. Cease all these disagreeable +recriminations, and I will be the kindest of husbands and the best of +friends to you. I have no wish, believe me, Marion, to be anything +else."</p> + +<p>Even then she might have become reconciled to him, and the sad after +consequences have been averted, but she was too angry, too excited with +jealousy and despair.</p> + +<p>"Will you give up Madame Vanira for me?" she said, and husband and wife +looked fixedly at each other. "You say you will be a loving husband and +a true friend: prove it by doing this—prove it by giving up Madame +Vanira."</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos was silent for a few minutes; then he said:</p> + +<p>"I cannot, for this reason: Madame Vanira, as I happen to know, has had +great troubles in her life, but she is thoroughly good. I repeat it, +Marion, thoroughly good. Now, if I, as you phrase it, 'give her up,' it +would be confessing that I had done wrong. My friendship is some little +comfort to her, and she likes me. What harm is there in it? Above all, +what wrong does it inflict on you? Answer me. Has my friendship for +Madame Vanira made me less kind, less thoughtful for you?"</p> + +<p>No answer came from the white lips of the trembling wife.</p> + +<p>He went on:</p> + +<p>"Why should you be foolish or narrow-minded? Why seek to end a +friendship pure and innocent? Why not be your noble self, Marion—noble, +as I have always thought you? I will tell you frankly, Madame Vanira is +going to Berlin. You know how lonely it is to go to a fresh place. She +happened to say how desolate she should feel at first in Berlin. I +remarked that I knew the city well, and then she wished we were going. I +pledge you my honor that she said 'we.' Never dreaming that you would +make any opposition, I said that I should be very glad to spend the next +few weeks in Berlin. I cannot tell how it really was, but I found that +it was all settled and arranged almost before I knew it. Now, you would +not surely wish me to draw back? Come with me to Berlin, and I will show +you how happy I will make you."</p> + +<p>"No," she replied; "I will share your heart with no one. Unless I have +all I will have none. I will not go to Berlin, and you must give up +Madame Vanira," she continued; "Lance, you cannot hesitate, you must see +your duty; a married man wants no woman friend but his wife. Why should +you spend long hours and whole days <i>tete-a-tete</i> with a stranger? Of +what can you find to speak? You know in your heart that you are wrong. +You say no. Now in the name of common sense and fairness, let me ask, +would you like me to make of any man you know such a friend as you have +made of Madame Vanira?"</p> + +<p>"That is quite another thing," he replied.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos laughed, sadly.</p> + +<p>"The usual refuge of a man when he is brought to bay," she said. "No +words, no arguments will be of any use to me; I shall never be really +friends with you until you give up Madame Vanira."</p> + +<p>"Then we will remain enemies," he replied. "I will never give up a true +friend for the caprice of any woman," he replied, "even though that +woman be my wife."</p> + +<p>"Neither will I consent to go to Berlin," she answered, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Then I must go alone," he said; "I will not be governed by caprices +that have in them neither reason nor sense."</p> + +<p>"Then," cried Lady Marion, "it is war to the knife between us!"</p> + +<p>"War, if you will," said Lord Chandos; "but always remember you can put +an end to the warfare when you will!"</p> + +<p>"I shall appeal to Lady Lanswell and to the Duke of Lester," said Lady +Marion, and her husband merely answered with a bow.</p> + +<p>With them it was indeed "war to the knife." Such was the Gordian knot +that Lady Lanswell had to untie, and it was the most difficult task of +her life.</p> + +<p>On the same evening when that conversation took place, Lord Chandos went +to the opera, where Leone was playing "Anne Boleyn." He waited until she +came out and was seated in her carriage; then he stood for a few moments +leaning over the carriage door and talking to her.</p> + +<p>"How you tremble, Leone," he said. "Your face is white and your eyes all +fire!"</p> + +<p>"The spell is still on me," she answered. "When I have thrown my whole +soul into anything, I lose my own identity for many hours. I wish," she +continued, "that I did not so thoroughly enter into those characters. I +hardly realize this moment whether I am Anne Boleyn, the unhappy wife of +bluff King Hal, or whether I am Leone, the singer."</p> + +<p>"I know which you are," he said, his eyes seeking hers with a wistful +look. "All King Hal's wives put together are not worth your little +finger, Leone. See how the stars are shining. I have something to say to +you. May I drive with you as far as Highgate Hill?"</p> + +<p>The beautiful face, all pale with passion, looked into his.</p> + +<p>"It is against our compact," she said; "but you may if you wish."</p> + +<p>The silent stars looked down in pity as he took his place by her side.</p> + +<p>"Leone," he said, "I want to ask you something. A crisis is come in our +lives; my wife, who was told about that day on the river, has asked me +to give up your acquaintance."</p> + +<p>A low cry came from the beautiful lips, and the face of the fairest +woman in England grew deadly pale.</p> + +<p>"To give me up," she murmured; "and you, Lord Chandos, what have you +said?"</p> + +<p>"I said 'No,' a thousand times over, Leone; our friendship is a good and +pure one; I would not give it up for any caprice in the world."</p> + +<p>A great, tearless sob came from her pale lips.</p> + +<p>"God bless you a thousand times!" she said. "So you would not give me +up, and you told them so?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; I refused to do anything of the kind," he replied; "why should I, +Leone? They parted us once by stratagem, by intrigue, by working on all +that was weakest in my character; now we are but friends, simply honest +friends; who shall part us?"</p> + +<p>She clasped his hand for an instant in her own.</p> + +<p>"So you will not give me up again, Lance?" she said.</p> + +<p>"No, I will die first, Leone. There is one thing more I have to say. I +said that I would go to Berlin, and I have asked my wife to go with me; +she has refused, and I have said that I would go alone. Tell me what you +think?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot—I think nothing; perhaps—oh, Heaven help me!—perhaps as +your wife has told you she will not go with you, your duty is to stay +with her."</p> + +<p>"My duty," he repeated; "who shall say what a man's duty is? Do you +think I have no duty toward you?"</p> + +<p>"Your first thought should be—must be—your wife. If she would have +countenanced our friendship, it would have been our greatest pride and +pleasure; if she opposes it, we must yield. She has the first right to +your time. After all, Lance, what can it matter? We shall have to part; +what can it matter whether it is now or in three months to come? The +more we see of each other the harder it will be."</p> + +<p>A flush as of fire came over his face.</p> + +<p>"Why must we part?" he cried. "Oh, Heaven, what a price I pay for my +folly!"</p> + +<p>"Here is Highgate Hill," said Leone; "you go no further, Lord Chandos."</p> + +<p>Only the silent stars were looking on; he stood for a few minutes at the +carriage door.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go to Berlin?" he whispered, as he left her, and her answer was +a low, sad:</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI" id="CHAPTER_LVI"></a>CHAPTER LVI.</h2> + +<h3>AN APPROACHING TEMPEST.</h3> + + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell was in despair. Any little social difficulty, +the exposing of an adventuress, the setting aside of a marriage, +intrigues, or a royal invitation, "dropping" people when it was +convenient to do so, and courting them when she required them, to all +and each of these deeds she was quite equal; but a serious case of cruel +jealousy, a heart-broken, desolate wife on the one hand, an obstinate +husband on the other, was past her power of management. Lady Chandos had +written to ask her to come to Stoneland House that day.</p> + +<p>"I have something of the greatest importance to say to you," she wrote. +"Do not delay; to-morrow may be too late."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell received this urgent note just as she was sipping her +chocolate, luxuriously robed in a dressing-gown of silk and softest +velvet, a pretty morning-cap of finest Mechlin lace on her head. Her +handsome, haughty face grew pale as she read it.</p> + +<p>"It is a wretched piece of business from beginning to end," she said to +herself. "Now here is my peace of mind for the day gone. I was to have +seen Madame Adelaide soon after noon about my dresses, and the dentist +at three. I know absolutely nothing which I can say to a jealous wife, I +know nothing of jealousy. Most of the wives whom I know are pleased +rather than otherwise when their husbands are away from home. Marion +takes things too seriously. I shall tell her so."</p> + +<p>But any little speech of that kind she might have tried to make was +forgotten when she caught the first glimpse of Lady Marion's white, +tragic face.</p> + +<p>"My dear child, what is the matter? What a face! why, you have been +crying for hours, I am sure," said the countess. "Marion, you should not +go on in this way, you will kill yourself."</p> + +<p>"Lady Lanswell, I wish that I were dead; my husband has ceased to love +me. Oh, God, let me die!" cried poor Lady Marion, and the countess was +seriously alarmed.</p> + +<p>"My dear child, pray be reasonable," she cried; "how can you say that +Lance has ceased to love you?"</p> + +<p>"It is true," said the unhappy wife; "he refused to give up Madame +Vanira, and what seems to me more dreadful still, she is going to +Berlin, and he insists on going also. I cannot bear it, Lady Lanswell!"</p> + +<p>"We must reason with him," said the countess, grandly, and despite the +tragedy of her sorrow, Lady Marion smiled.</p> + +<p>"Reason with him? You might as well stand before a hard, white rock and +ask roses to bloom on it; you might as well stand before the great +heaving ocean and ask the tide not to roll in, as to try to reason with +him. I do not understand it, but I am quite sure that he is infatuated +by Madame Vanira; I could almost fancy that she had worked some spell +over him. Why should he care for her? Why should he visit her? Why +should he go to Berlin because she is there?"</p> + +<p>The countess, listening, thanked Heaven that she did not know. If ever +that secret became known, it was all over with the House of Lanswell.</p> + +<p>"I have said all that I can say," she continued, rising in great +agitation; "and it is of no use; he is utterly shameless."</p> + +<p>"Hush, woman! I will not have you say such things of my son; he may like +and admire Madame Vanira, but I trust him, and would trust him anywhere; +you think too much of it, and you make more of it than you need. Let me +pray of you to be prudent; want of prudence in a wife at such a juncture +as this has very often occasioned misery for life. Are you quite sure +that you cannot be generous enough to allow your husband the pleasure of +this friendship, which I can certify is a good one?"</p> + +<p>The countess sighed; the matter was indeed beyond her. In her artificial +life, these bare, honest human passions had no place.</p> + +<p>"Over the journey to Berlin," she said, "you are making too much of it. +If he enjoys madame's society, and likes Berlin, where is the harm of +his enjoying them together?"</p> + +<p>So she spoke; but she shrunk from the clear gaze of those blue eyes.</p> + +<p>"Lady Lanswell, you know all that is nonsense. My husband is mine, and I +will not share his love or his affection with any one. Unless he gives +up Madame Vanira, I shall leave him. If he goes to Berlin, I will never +see him again."</p> + +<p>"You are very foolish, my dear. I heard yesterday, on very good +authority, that my son, Lord Chandos, will be offered the vacant Garter. +I believe it is true, I feel sure of it. I would not for the world +anything should happen now, any disgrace of any kind; and these +matrimonial quarrels are disgraceful, Marion. You should trust your +husband."</p> + +<p>"I have done so, but he does not love me, Lady Lanswell; my mind is +quite made up. If he goes to Berlin, I shall never see or speak to him +again."</p> + +<p>"But, my dearest Marion," cried the countess, "this is terrible. Think +of appearances, think of the world—what will the world say? And yours +was supposed to be a love-match. It must not be. Have you not the sense +to see that such a course of proceeding would be simply to throw him +into Madame Vanira's hands? You will be your own worst enemy if you do +this!"</p> + +<p>"I shall do what my own heart prompts," she said; "no matter what the +world says; I care nothing for the world's opinion. Oh, Lady Lanswell, +do not look so angry at me. I am miserable; my heart is broken!"</p> + +<p>And the unhappy girl knelt at Lady Lanswell's feet, and laid her head on +the silken folds of her dress.</p> + +<p>If there was one creature in this world whom Lady Lanswell loved more +than another, it was her son's wife, the fair, gentle girl who had been +a most loving daughter to her; she could not endure the sight of her +pain and distress.</p> + +<p>"I have made up my mind," sobbed Lady Marion; "I shall appeal to the +Duke of Lester; he will see that justice is done to me!"</p> + +<p>"My dearest Marion, that is the very thing you must not do. If you +appeal to the duke, it becomes at once a serious quarrel, and who shall +say how such a quarrel may end? If you appeal to the duke, the whole +thing will be known throughout the land; there is an end to all my hopes +of the vacant Garter; in fact, I may say there is an end to the race of +Lanswell. Think twice before you take such an important step!"</p> + +<p>"No one thinks for me!" cried Lady Marion.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I think of you and for you. Give me your promise that for a week +at least you will say nothing to the Duke of Lester. Will you promise me +that, Marion?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Lady Chandos, wearily; "I promise you that, but not one day +longer than a week; my heart is breaking! I cannot bear suspense!"</p> + +<p>"I promise you that in a few days there shall be an end of all your +trouble," said the countess, who had secretly made her own resolves. +"Now, Marion, put your trust in me. You have had no breakfast this +morning, I am sure."</p> + +<p>Raising the delicate figure in her arms, the countess kissed the weeping +face.</p> + +<p>"Trust in me," she repeated; "all will be well. Let me see you take some +coffee."</p> + +<p>The countess rang and ordered some coffee; then, when she had compelled +Lady Marion to drink it, she kissed her again.</p> + +<p>"Do you know how it will end?" she said gently, "all this crying and +fasting and sorrow? You will make yourself very ill, and then Lance will +never forgive himself. Do be reasonable, Marion, and leave it all with +me."</p> + +<p>But after the countess had left her, Lady Marion still felt very ill; +she had never felt so ill; she tried to walk from her dressing-room to +her bedroom, and to the great alarm of her maid, she fell fainting to +the ground.</p> + +<p>The doctor came, the same physician who had attended her for some years +since she was a child, and he looked very grave when he heard of the +long deathlike swoon. He sat talking to her for some time.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I am very ill, doctor?" she asked.</p> + +<p>He answered:</p> + +<p>"You are not very well, my dear Lady Chandos."</p> + +<p>"Do you think I will die?"</p> + +<p>"Not of this illness, please God," he said. "Now, if you will promise me +not to be excited, I will tell you something," and, bending down, he +whispered something in her ear.</p> + +<p>A flood of light and rapture came in her face, her eyes filled with joy.</p> + +<p>"Do you mean it? Is it really true?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Really true; but remember all depends on yourself;" and the doctor went +away, leaving behind him a heart full of emotion, of pleasure, of pain, +hope, and regret.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the countess for the second time had sought her son. Her +stern, grave face, her angry eyes, the repressed pride and emotion that +he saw in every gesture, told him that the time for jesting or evasion +had passed.</p> + +<p>"Lance," said my lady, sternly, "you are a man now. I cannot command you +as I did when you were a boy."</p> + +<p>"No, mother; that is quite true. Apropos of what do you say that?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid the sin of your manhood will be greater than the follies of +your youth," she said.</p> + +<p>"It is just possible," he replied, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"You have heard that you have been mentioned for the vacant Garter, and +that it is highly probable you may receive it?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard so," he answered, indifferently.</p> + +<p>"I want to ask you a straightforward question. Do you think it worth +your while to risk that, to risk the love and happiness of your wife, to +risk your fair name, the name of your race, your position, and +everything else that you ought to hold most dear? Do you think it worth +while to risk all this for the sake of spending three months in Berlin, +where you can see Madame Vanira every day?"</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos looked straight in his mother's face.</p> + +<p>"Since you ask me the question," he replied, "most decidedly I do."</p> + +<p>My lady shrunk back as though she had received a blow.</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed of you," she said.</p> + +<p>"And I, mother, have been ashamed of my cowardice; but I am a coward no +longer."</p> + +<p>"Are tears and prayers of any avail?" asked Lady Lanswell; and the +answer was:</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Then my lady, driven to despair between her son and his wife, resolved +some evening to seek the principal cause of the mischief—Madame Vanira +herself.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVII" id="CHAPTER_LVII"></a>CHAPTER LVII.</h2> + +<h3>A PROUD WOMAN HUMBLED.</h3> + + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell had never in all her life been defeated before; +now all was over, and she went home with a sense of defeat such as she +had never known before. Her son refused not only to obey her, but to +listen to her remonstrances; he would not take heed of her fears, and my +lady saw nothing but social disgrace before them. Her own life had been +so crowned with social triumphs and success she could not realize or +understand anything else. The one grand desire of her heart since her +son's marriage had been that he should become a Knight of the Order of +the Garter, and now, by the recent death of a famous peer, the desire +was on the eve of accomplishment; but if, on the very brink of success, +it were known that he had left all his duties, his home, his wife, to +dance attendance on a singer, even though she were the first singer in +Europe, it would be fatal to him. It would spoil his career. My lady had +carried herself proudly among the mothers of other sons; hers had been a +success, while some others had proved, after all, dead failures; was she +to own to herself at the end of a long campaign that she was defeated? +Ah, no! Besides which there was the other side of the question—Lady +Marion declared she would not see him or speak to him again if he went +to Berlin, and my lady knew that she would keep her word. If Lord +Chandos persisted in going to Berlin his wife would appeal to the duke, +would in all probability insist on taking refuge in his house, then +there would be a grand social scandal; the whole household would be +disbanded. Lady Chandos, an injured, almost deserted wife, living with +the duke and the duchess; Lord Chandos abroad laughed at everywhere as a +dupe.</p> + +<p>My lady writhed again in anguish as she thought of it. It must not be. +She said to herself that it would turn her hair gray, that it would +strike her with worse than paralysis. Surely her brilliant life was not +to end in such a fiasco as this. For the first time for many years hot +tears blinded those fine eyes that had hitherto looked with such +careless scorn on the world.</p> + +<p>My lady was dispirited; she knew her son well enough to know that +another appeal to him would be useless; that the more she said to him on +the subject the more obstinate he would be. A note from Lady Chandos +completed her misery, and made her take a desperate resolve—a sad +little note, that said:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Lady Lanswell,</span>—If you can do anything to help me, let it be +done soon. Lance has begun to-day his preparations for going to +Berlin. I heard him giving instructions over his traveling trunk. +We have no time to lose if anything can be done to save him."</p></blockquote> + +<p>"I must do it," said the countess, to herself, with desperation. "Appeal +to my son is worse than useless. I must appeal to the woman I fear he +loves. Who could have imagined or prophesied that I should ever have +been compelled to stoop to her, yet stoop I must, if I would save my +son!"</p> + +<p>With Lady Lanswell, to resolve was to do; when others would have beaten +about the bush she went direct.</p> + +<p>On the afternoon of that day she made out Leone's address, and ordered +the carriage. It was a sign of fear with her that she was so particular +with her toilet; it was seldom that she relied, even in the least, on +the advantages of dress, but to-day she made a toilet almost imperial in +its magnificence—rich silk and velvet that swept the ground in superb +folds, here and there gleaming a rich jewel.</p> + +<p>The countess smiled as she surveyed herself in the mirror, a regal, +beautiful lady. Surely no person sprung from Leone's class would dare to +oppose her.</p> + +<p>It was on a beautiful, bright afternoon that my lady reached the pretty +house where Madame Vanira lived. A warm afternoon, when the birds sung +in the green shade of the trees, when the bees made rich honey from the +choice carnations, and the butterflies hovered round the budding lilies.</p> + +<p>The countess drove straight to the house. She left her carriage at the +outer gates, and walked through the pretty lawn; she gave her card to +the servant and was shown into the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>The Countess of Lanswell would not have owned for the world that she was +in the least embarrassed, but the color varied in her face, and her lips +trembled ever so little. In a few minutes Leone entered—not the +terrified, lowly, loving girl, who braved her presence because she loved +her husband so well; this was a proud, beautiful, regal woman, haughty +as the countess herself—a woman who, by force of her wondrous beauty +and wondrous voice, had placed the world at her feet.</p> + +<p>The countess stepped forward with outstretched hands.</p> + +<p>"Madame Vanira," she said, "will you spare me a few minutes? I wish to +speak most particularly with you."</p> + +<p>Leone rang the bell and gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. +Then the two ladies looked at each other. Leone knew that hostilities +were at hand, although she could not quite tell why.</p> + +<p>The countess opened the battle by saying, boldly:</p> + +<p>"I ought, perhaps, to tell you, Madame Vanira, that I recognize you."</p> + +<p>Leone looked at her with proud unconcern.</p> + +<p>"I recognize you now, although I failed to do so when I first saw you. I +congratulate you most heartily on your success."</p> + +<p>"On what success?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"On your success as an actress and a singer. I consider you owe me some +thanks."</p> + +<p>"Truly," said Leone, "I owe you some thanks."</p> + +<p>The countess did not quite like the tone of voice in which those words +were uttered; but it was her policy to be amiable.</p> + +<p>"Your genius has taken me by surprise," she said; "yet, when I recall +the only interview I ever had with you, I recognize the dramatic talent +you displayed."</p> + +<p>"I should think the less you say of that interview, the better," said +Leone; "it was not much to your ladyship's credit."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell smiled.</p> + +<p>"We will not speak of it," she said. "But you do not ask me to sit down. +Madame Vanira, what a charming house you have here."</p> + +<p>With grave courtesy Leone drew a chair near the window, and the countess +sat down. She looked at the beautiful woman with a winning smile.</p> + +<p>"Will you not be seated, madame?" she said. "I find it so much easier to +talk when one is seated."</p> + +<p>"How did you recognize me?" asked Leone, abruptly.</p> + +<p>"I cannot say truthfully that I recognized your face," she said; "you +will not mind my saying that if I had done so I would not have invited +you to my house, neither should I have permitted my daughter-in-law to +do so. It has placed us all in a false position. I knew you from +something my son said about you. I guessed at once that you must be +Leone Noel. I must repeat my congratulations; how hard you must have +worked."</p> + +<p>Her eyes wandered over the magnificent face and figure, over the +faultless lines and graceful curves, over the artistic dress, and the +beautiful, picturesque head.</p> + +<p>"You have done well," said the countess. "Years ago you thought me hard, +unfeeling, prejudiced, cruel, but it was kindness in the end. You have +achieved for yourself fame, which no one could have won for you. Better +to be as you are, queen of song, and so queen of half the world of +fashion, than the wife of a man whose family and friends would never +have received you, and who would soon have looked on you as an +incumbrance."</p> + +<p>"Pray pardon me, Lady Lanswell, if I say that I have no wish whatever to +hear your views on the subject."</p> + +<p>My lady's face flushed.</p> + +<p>"I meant no offense," she said, "I merely wished to show you that I have +not been so much your enemy as you perhaps have thought me," and by the +sudden softening of my lady's face, and the sudden tremor of her voice, +Leone knew that she had some favor to ask.</p> + +<p>"I think," she said, after a pause, "that in all truth, Madame Vanira, +you ought to be grateful to me. You would never have known the extent of +your own genius and power if you had not gone on the stage."</p> + +<p>"The happiness of the stage resembles the happiness of real life about +as much as the tinsel crown of the mock queen resembles the regalia of +the sovereign," replied Leone. "It would be far better if your ladyship +would not mention the past."</p> + +<p>"I only mention it because I wish you to see that I am not so much your +enemy as you have thought me to be."</p> + +<p>"Nothing can ever change my opinion on that point," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"You think I was your enemy?" said the countess, blandly.</p> + +<p>"The most cruel and the most relentless enemy any young girl could +have," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry you think that," said my lady, kindly. "The more so as I +find you so happy and so prosperous."</p> + +<p>"You cannot answer for my happiness," said Leone, briefly.</p> + +<p>"I acted for the best," said the countess, with more meekness than Leone +had ever seen in her before.</p> + +<p>"It was a miserable best," said Leone, her indignation fast rising, +despite her self-control. "A wretched best, and the results have not +been in any way so grand that you can boast of them."</p> + +<p>"So far as you are concerned, Madame Vanira, I have nothing to repent +of," said my lady.</p> + +<p>Leone's dark eyes flashed fire.</p> + +<p>"I am but one," she said, "your cruelty made two people miserable. What +of your son? Have you made him so happy that you can come here and boast +of what you have done?"</p> + +<p>My lady's head fell on her breast. Ah, no, Heaven knew her son was not a +happy man.</p> + +<p>"Leone," she said, in a low, hurried voice, "it is of my son I wish to +speak to you. It is for my son's sake I am here—it is because I believe +you to be his true friend and a noble woman that I am here, Leone—it is +the first time I have called you by your name—I humble myself to +you—will you listen to me?"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII" id="CHAPTER_LVIII"></a>CHAPTER LVIII.</h2> + +<h3>"BEHOLD MY REVENGE!"</h3> + + +<p>Even as she spoke the words Lady Lanswell's heart sunk within her. No +softening came to the beautiful face, no tenderness, no kindliness; it +seemed rather as though her last words had turned Leone to stone. She +grew pale even to her lips, she folded her hands with a hard clasp, her +beautiful figure grew more erect and dignified—the words dropped +slowly, each one seeming to cut the air as it fell.</p> + +<p>"You call me noble, Lady Lanswell! you, who did your best to sully my +fair name; you call me your son's best friend, when you flung me aside +from him as though I had been of no more worth than the dust underneath +his feet!"</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell bent forward.</p> + +<p>"Will you not forget that?" she said. "Let the past die. I will own now +that I was harsh, unjust, even cruel to you; but I repent it—I have +never said as much before—I repent it, and I <i>apologize</i> to you! Will +you accept my apology?"</p> + +<p>The effort was so great for a proud woman to make, that the countess +seemed almost to struggle for breath as she said the words. Leone looked +on in proud, angry scorn.</p> + +<p>"You apologize, Lady Lanswell! You think that a few words can wash away +the most cruel wrong one woman did to another? Do you know what you +did?—you robbed me of my husband, of a man I loved as I shall love no +other; you blighted my fair name. What was I when that marriage was set +aside? You—you tortured me—you broke my heart, you slew all that was +best in me, and now all these years afterward you come to me, and think +to overwhelm me with faint, feeble words of apology. Why, if you gave me +your heart's blood, your very soul, even, it would not atone me! I had +but one life, and you have spoiled it! I had but one love, you trampled +on it with wicked, relentless feet! Ah, why do I speak? Words are but +sound. No, Lady Lanswell, I refuse your apology now or at any time! We +are enemies, and shall remain so until we die!"</p> + +<p>The countess shrunk from the passion of her indignant words.</p> + +<p>"You are right in some measure," she said, sadly. "I was very hard, but +it was for my son's sake! Ah, believe me, all for him."</p> + +<p>"Your son," retorted Leone; "you make your son the excuse for your own +vanity, pride, and ambition. What you did, Lady Lanswell, proved how +little you loved your son; you parted us knowing that he loved me, +knowing that his whole heart was bound up in me, knowing that he had but +one wish, and it was to spend his whole life with me; you parted us +knowing that he could never love another woman as he loved me, knowing +that you were destroying his life, even as you have destroyed mine. Did +love for your son actuate you then?"</p> + +<p>"What I believed to be my love for my son and care for his interests +alone guided me," said Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>"Love for your son!" laughed Leone. "Have you ever read the story of the +mother of the Maccabees, who held her twin sons to die rather than they +live to deny the Christian faith? Have you read of the English mother +who, when her fair-haired son grew pale at the sound of the first +cannon, cried, 'Be brave, my son, death does not last one minute—glory +is immortal.' I call such love as that the love of a mother for her +son—the love that teaches a man to be true, if it cost his life; to be +brave, if courage brings him death; to be loyal and noble. True motherly +love shows itself in that fashion, Lady Lanswell."</p> + +<p>The proud head of Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, drooped before this girl +as it had never done before any power on earth.</p> + +<p>"What has your love done for your son, Lady Lanswell?" she asked. "Shall +I tell you? You made him a traitor, a coward, a liar—through your +intrigues, he perjured himself. You made him disloyal and ignoble—you +made him <i>false</i>. And yet you call that love! I would rather have the +love of a pagan mother than such as yours.</p> + +<p>"What have you done for him?" she continued, the fire of her passion +rising—"what have you done for him? He is young and has a long life +before him. Is he happy? Look at his face—look at his restless, weary +eyes—listen to the forced bitter laugh! Is he happy, after all your +false love has done for him? You have taken from him the woman he loves, +and you have given him one for whom he cares so little he would leave +her to-morrow! Have you done so well, Lady Lanswell for your son?"</p> + +<p>"No, indeed I have not!" came with a great sigh from Lady Lanswell's +lips. "Perhaps, if it were to be—but no, I will not say that. You have +noble thoughts and noble ideas—tell me, Leone, will you help me?"</p> + +<p>"Help you in what?" she asked, proudly.</p> + +<p>The countess flung aside the laces and ribbons that seemed to stifle +her.</p> + +<p>"Help me over my son!" she cried; "be generous to me. Many people in my +place would look on you as an enemy—I do not. If you have ever really +loved my son you cannot be an enemy of mine. I appeal to the higher and +nobler part of you. Some people would be afraid that you should triumph +over them—I am not. I hold you for a generous foe."</p> + +<p>"What appeal do you wish to make to me?" asked Leone, quite ignoring all +the compliments which the countess paid her.</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell looked as she felt—embarrassed; it was one thing to carry +this interview through in fancy, but still another when face to face +with the foe, and that foe a beautiful, haughty woman, with right on her +side. My lady was less at ease than she had ever been in her life +before, her eyes fell, her lips trembled, her gemmed fingers played +nervously with her laces and ribbons.</p> + +<p>"That I should come to you at all, Leone, proves that I think you a +noble woman," she said; "my trouble is great—the happiness of many +lives lies in your hands."</p> + +<p>"I do not understand how," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you," continued the countess. "You are going to Berlin, are +you not?"</p> + +<p>She saw a quiver of pain pass over the beautiful face as she asked the +question.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Leone; "I have an engagement there."</p> + +<p>"And Lord Chandos, my son, has said something about going there, too?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied Leone; "and I hope he will; he knows the city well, and I +shall be glad to see a familiar face."</p> + +<p>There was a minute's silence, during which Lady Lanswell brought all her +wit and courage to bear on the situation. She continued:</p> + +<p>"Lady Chandos does not wish my son to go to Berlin. I suppose it is no +secret from you that she entirely disapproves of her husband's +friendship with you?"</p> + +<p>Leone bowed her proud, beautiful head.</p> + +<p>"That is a matter of little moment to me," she said.</p> + +<p>My lady's face flushed at the words.</p> + +<p>"I may tell you," she went on, "that since Lady Chandos heard of this +friendship, she has been very unhappy."</p> + +<p>"No one cared when I was unhappy," said Leone; "no one pleaded for me."</p> + +<p>"I do plead for Lady Marion," said the countess, "whatever you may think +of me. She has done you no harm; why should you make mischief between +her and her husband?"</p> + +<p>"Why did you make mischief between me and mine?" retorted Leone; and my +lady shrunk as she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Listen to me, Leone," she said; "you must help me, you must be my +friend. If my son goes to Berlin against his wife's prayers and wishes, +she has declared that she will never speak to him or see him again."</p> + +<p>"That cannot concern me," said Leone.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake listen, and do not speak to me so heartlessly. If he +goes to Berlin, Lady Chandos will appeal to the Duke of Lester, who has +just obtained for my son the greatest honor that can be conferred on an +English gentleman—the Order of the Garter. In plain words, Leone, if my +son follows you to Berlin, he will lose his wife, he will lose his good +name, he will lose caste, his social position, his chance of courtly +honors, the respect of his own class. He will be laughed at as a dupe, +as a man who has given up all the honors of life to dance attendance on +an actress; in short, if he goes either with you, or after you, to +Berlin, he is, in every sense of the word, a ruined man!" and my lady's +voice faltered as she said the words.</p> + +<p>"Why not tell Lord Chandos all this himself, and see what he says?" +asked Leone.</p> + +<p>Perfect desperation brings about perfect frankness—my lady knew that it +was quite useless to conceal anything.</p> + +<p>"I have said all this and more to my son, but he will not even listen to +me."</p> + +<p>A scornful smile curved those lovely lips.</p> + +<p>"He persists in going to Berlin, then?" said Leone, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," replied my lady, "he persists in it."</p> + +<p>"Then why come to me? If your son persists in a certain course of +action, why come to me?"</p> + +<p>"Because you can influence him. I ask you to be noble beyond the +nobility of women, I ask you to be generous beyond the generosity of +women, I ask you to forget the past and forbid my son to follow you to +Berlin. You know the end must be a bad one—forbid it. I ask you with +the warmest of prayers and of tears!"</p> + +<p>It was then that Leone rose in righteous wrath, in not indignation, in +angry passion; rose and stood erect before the woman who had been her +enemy.</p> + +<p>"I refuse," she said. "Years ago I went to you a simple-hearted, loving +girl, and I prayed you for Heaven's sake to have mercy on me. You +received me with scorn and contumely; you insulted, outraged, tortured +me; you laughed at my tears, you enjoyed my humiliation. I told you then +that I would have my revenge, even should I lose everything on earth to +obtain that revenge. Now it lays in my hands, and I grasp it—I glory in +it. Your son shall follow me, shall lose wife, home, friends, position, +fair name, as I lost all years ago at your bidding. Oh, cruel and wicked +woman, behold my revenge! I repay you now. Oh, God," she continued, with +a passionate cry, "I thank Thee that I hold my vengeance in my hand; I +will slay and spare not!"</p> + +<p>Then she stood silent for some minutes, exhausted by the passion of her +own words.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIX" id="CHAPTER_LIX"></a>CHAPTER LIX.</h2> + +<h3>USELESS PLEADINGS.</h3> + + +<p>"You cannot possibly know what you are saying," said Lady Lanswell; "you +must be mad."</p> + +<p>"No; I am perfectly sane; if I am mad at all it is with delight that the +very desire of my heart has been given to me. Do you forget when you +trampled my heart, my life, my love under your feet that day? Do you +forget what I have sworn?"</p> + +<p>"I have never thought of it since," said the countess, trying to +conciliate still.</p> + +<p>"Then I will remind you," said Leone. "I swore to be avenged, no matter +what my vengeance cost. I swore that you should come and plead to me on +your knees and I would laugh at you. I do so. I swore that you should +plead to me, and I would remind you how I pleaded in vain. You wrung my +heart—I will wring yours, and my only regret is that it is so hard and +cold I cannot make you suffer more."</p> + +<p>"You are mad," said my lady; "quite mad."</p> + +<p>"No," said Leone, "I am sane, but mine was a mad love."</p> + +<p>"You cannot know the consequence to yourself if you persist in this +conduct," said my lady, serenely.</p> + +<p>"Did you think of them for me when you set aside my marriage with your +son, because you did not think me good enough to be a countess?" she +asked. "Lady Lanswell, the hour of vengeance has come and I embrace it. +Your son shall lose his wife, his home, his position, his honors; I care +not what," she cried, with sudden recklessness—"I care not what the +world says of me, I will do that which I shall do, less because I love +your son than because I desire to punish you."</p> + +<p>Lady Lanswell grew very pale as she listened.</p> + +<p>"Yours is a terrible revenge," she said, gently. "I wish that you could +invent some vengeance that would fall on my head—and on mine alone, so +as to spare those who are dear to me. Could you not do that? I would +willingly suffer anything to free my son and his fair, loving wife."</p> + +<p>"No one spared me, nor will I in my turn spare," she said. "You shall +know what it means to plead for dear life and plead in vain."</p> + +<p>"Can I say nothing that will induce you to listen to me?" said the +countess, "will you deliberately persist in the conduct that will ruin +three lives?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, deliberately and willfully," said Leone. "I will never retract, +never go back, but go on to the bitter end."</p> + +<p>"And that end means my son's disgrace," said Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>"It would be the same thing if it meant his death," said Leone; "no one +withheld the hand that struck death to me—worse than death."</p> + +<p>"You have nothing but this to say to me," said Lady Lanswell as she rose +with stately grace from her seat.</p> + +<p>"No; if I knew anything which would punish you more, which would more +surely pay my debts, which would more fully wreak my vengeance, I would +do it. As for three lives, as for thirty, I would trample them under my +feet. I will live for my vengeance, no matter what it costs me; and, +Lady Lanswell, you ruined my life. Good-bye. The best wish I can form is +that I may never look on your face again. Permit me to say farewell."</p> + +<p>She went out of the room leaving the countess bewildered with surprise +and dismay.</p> + +<p>"What she says she will do," thought Lady Lanswell; "I may say good-bye +to every hope I have ever formed for my son."</p> + +<p>She went away, her heart heavy as lead, with no hope of any kind to +cheer it.</p> + +<p>Leone went to her room, her whole frame trembling with the strong +passion that had mastered her.</p> + +<p>"What has come over me?" she said; "I no longer know myself. Is it love, +vengeance, or jealousy that has hold of me? What evil spirit has taken +my heart? Would I really hurt him whom I have loved all my life—would I +do him harm? Would I crush that fair wife of his who wronged me without +knowing it? Let me find out for myself if it be true."</p> + +<p>She tried to think, but her head was in a whirl—she could not control +herself, she could not control her thoughts; the sight of Lady Lanswell +seemed to have set her heart and soul in flame—all the terrible memory +of her wrongs came over her, the fair life blighted and ruined, the +innocent girlhood and dawning womanhood all spoiled. It was too +cruel—no, she could never forgive it.</p> + +<p>And then it seemed to her that her brain took fire and she went mad.</p> + +<p>She saw Lord Chandos that same evening; they met in a crush on the +staircase at one of the ducal mansions, where a grand dinner-party +preceded a <i>soiree</i>, and the crowd was so great they were unable to +stir. It is possible to be quite alone in a great crowd, as these two +were now.</p> + +<p>Leone had on a dress of white satin trimmed with myrtle, the rich folds +of which trailed on the ground. They shook hands in silence; it was Lord +Chandos who spoke first.</p> + +<p>"I am so glad to see you, Leone; but you are looking ill—you must not +look like that. Has anything happened to distress you?"</p> + +<p>He saw great trouble in the dark eyes raised to his.</p> + +<p>"Is Lady Marion here?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No," he replied. "She was to have come with my mother, but at the last +moment she declined; I do not know why."</p> + +<p>She was debating in her own mind whether she would tell him about his +mother's visit or not; then she decided it would be better. He bent over +her.</p> + +<p>"I came," he said, "in the hope of seeing you. I heard you say last +night that you should be here."</p> + +<p>In a low tone she said to him:</p> + +<p>"Your mother has been to see me; talk about dramatic scenes, we had one. +Has she told you anything about it?"</p> + +<p>"No," he replied: "she does not speak to me; I am in disgrace; my lady +passes me in silent dignity. She was just going to Lady Marion's room +when I came away, but she did not speak to me. What was the object of +her visit, Leone?"</p> + +<p>"It was about Berlin," she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>He started.</p> + +<p>"Has she been to you about that?" he asked. "I thought she had exhausted +all the remarks she had to make on that subject."</p> + +<p>The green foliage and crimson flowers of a huge camellia bent over them. +Lord Chandos pushed aside the crimson flowers so that he might more +clearly see his companion's face.</p> + +<p>"What has my mother said to you about Berlin, Leone?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"She came to beg of me to forbid you to go. She says if you go either +with me or after me you will be a ruined man."</p> + +<p>"It will be a most sweet ruin," he whispered.</p> + +<p>"Lance," said Leone, "do you know that while Lady Lanswell was talking +to me I went mad—I am quite sure of it. I said such dreadful things to +her; did I mean them?"</p> + +<p>"How should I know, my—Leone; but we will not talk about it; never mind +what my mother says, I do not wish to hear it. She came between us once, +but she never will again. She parted us once, she shall never part us +again—never. There can be no harm in my going to Berlin, and there I +shall go—that is, always with your consent and permission."</p> + +<p>"That you have. But, Lance, is it true that Lady Marion does not wish +you to go to Berlin, and threatens to leave you if you do—is it true?"</p> + +<p>"Let us talk about something else, Leone," he said. "We have but a few +moments together."</p> + +<p>"But I cannot think of anything else," she said; "because my heart is +full of it."</p> + +<p>What else she would have said will never be known, for at that moment +there was a stir in the crowd, and they were separated.</p> + +<p>She took home with her the memory of his last look—a look that said so +plainly, "I love you and will go to Berlin for your sake." She took home +with her the memory of that look, and lay sleepless through the whole +night, wondering which of the evil spirits had taken possession of her.</p> + +<p>The countess had gone in search of Lady Marion. She found her in her +boudoir—the beautiful room she had shown with such pride to Madame +Vanira.</p> + +<p>Lady Chandos looked up eagerly as the countess entered.</p> + +<p>"Have you good news for me?" she cried, eagerly.</p> + +<p>And my lady could not destroy the lingering hope she saw in that fair +face.</p> + +<p>"Not yet," she cried, "but you must be patient, Marion."</p> + +<p>"Patience is so difficult when so much is at stake. Tell me—you had +some plan, some resource; I saw that when you left me. Have you tried +it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I have tried it," replied Lady Lanswell, sadly.</p> + +<p>"Has it succeeded or failed?" she asked, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"It has failed," answered the countess, dreading to see the effect of +her reply.</p> + +<p>But to her surprise, a tender, dreamy smile came over the fair face.</p> + +<p>"Why are you smiling, Marion?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Because I, too, have a plan," she replied; "one quite of my own; and I +pray Heaven it may succeed."</p> + +<p>"Will you tell it me?" asked Lady Lanswell.</p> + +<p>And the fair, young wife's answer was a quietly whispered:</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>Late that night, while the London streets were darkened by the cloud of +sin that seems to rise as the sun sets; while the crowded ballrooms were +one scene of gayety and frivolity; while tired souls went from earth to +Heaven; while poverty, sickness, sorrow and death reigned over the whole +city, Lady Marion, with her golden head bent and her white hands +clasped, knelt praying. There was peace on her face and holy, happy +love.</p> + +<p>"God help me," she said; "I will put all my trust in Him. My husband +will love me when he knows."</p> + +<p>She prayed there until the sun rose in the morning sky, and she watched +the first beams with a tender smile.</p> + +<p>"It will be a day of grace for me," she said, as she laid her fair head +on the pillow to sleep.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LX" id="CHAPTER_LX"></a>CHAPTER LX.</h2> + +<h3>"THIS WOMAN SHALL NEVER KNOW."</h3> + + +<p>Leone stood alone in her pretty drawing-room, the room from which she +could see the hills and the trees, and catch glimpses of pretty home +scenery that were unrivaled. She stood looking at it now, her eyes fixed +on the distant hills, her heart re-echoing the words: "In the grave +alone is peace." In her heart and mind all was dross; she seemed to have +lost the power of thinking; she had an engagement to sing in her +favorite opera on the evening previous. Hundreds had assembled to hear +her, and at the last moment they were compelled to find a substitute. +Leone could not sing; it was not that her voice failed her, but to her +inexpressible sorrow, when she began to tell the woes of another her +mind wandered off into her own. In vain she tried to collect herself, to +save herself from the terrible whirl of her brain. "Surely I am not +going mad." She bent her head on her hands, and sighed deeply; if she +could but save herself, if she could but tell what to do. The night +before, only a few hours previous, it seemed to her her heart and brain +had been on fire, first with jealousy, then with love, then with anger. +By accident, as she was going to her wardrobe, her hands fell on a +large, beautiful copy of the Bible. She opened it carelessly, and her +eyes fell on the words: "For the wicked there shall be no abiding-place, +neither shall they find rest forever."</p> + +<p>Rest, that was what she wanted, and if she were wicked she would not +find it for evermore. What was being wicked? People had behaved wickedly +to her, they had taken from her the one love that would have been the +stay of her life; they had made her most solemn vows nothing. She had +been wickedly treated, but did it follow that she must be wicked?</p> + +<p>"I could never be a sinner," she said; "I have not the nerve, I have not +the strength. I could never be a sinner."</p> + +<p>Lightly enough she turned those pages; she saw the picture of Ruth in +the corn-field—simple, loving Ruth, whose words have stood the finest +love-story ever written since she uttered them. There was another +picture of Queen Esther fainting in the awful presence of Ahasuerus the +king; another of a fair young Madonna holding in her arms a little +child; another of the Magdalen, her golden hair wet with tears; another +of a Sacred Head bent low in the agonies of death. She looked long at +that, for underneath it was written, "For our sins." Wickedness meant +sin. Standing there, her hand resting on the page, all the truth seemed +to come home to her. It would be a sin to cause disunion between husband +and wife; it would be a sin to cause the husband of another woman to +love her; it would be a sin to give way to the desire of vengeance that +was burning her heart away, and these words were so pathetic, "For our +sins." She had laid her face on that picture of the Crucifixion, and +burning tears fell from her eyes over it.</p> + +<p>"God have mercy on me," she had prayed, "and save me from myself."</p> + +<p>Then she had slept, and here was the morrow, a lovely summer day with +the air all fragrance, the birds all song, and she was still doing hard +battle with herself, for, as she had said to herself, hers was "a mad +love—a cruel, mad love."</p> + +<p>And as she stood watching the distant hills, wondering if in the blue +sky that hung over them there was peace, a servant once more entered the +room, holding a card in her hand.</p> + +<p>"Lady Chandos," said Leone, wonderingly; "ask her in here."</p> + +<p>She looked in surprise, almost too great for words, at the little card. +Lance's wife, who had refused to speak to her, who had disdained to +touch her outstretched hand—Lance's wife coming to speak to her.</p> + +<p>What could it mean? Were the whole race of the Lanswells coming to her?</p> + +<p>The next moment a fair, sweet face was smiling into hers, a face she had +seen last darkened with anger, but which was fair and bright now, with +the light of a holy love.</p> + +<p>Leone looked at her in amaze. What had happened? It looked as though a +new life, a new soul, had been given to Lady Marion. And hush, she was +speaking to her in a low, sweet voice, that thrilled through the great +singer like the softest cords from an Eolian harp.</p> + +<p>"You are surprised to see me," Lady Marion was saying, "yet I have done +right in coming. All last night, while the stars were shining, I prayed +Heaven to tell me what it was best for me to do, and I shall always +think that the white-winged angels, who they say carry prayers to +Heaven, sent me to you. I refused to touch your hand the other day. Will +you give it to me now? Will you listen to me?"</p> + +<p>Leone's whole heart and soul had risen in hot rebellion and fierce hate +against the Countess of Lanswell. They went out in sweetest love and +compassion to her fair faced rival now. The sweet voice went on:</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell why I have come to you—some impulse has sent me. Another +woman in my place would have looked on you as a successful rival and +have hated you. I cannot. The soul that has stirred other souls cannot +be base; you must be noble and good or you would not influence the +hearts and souls of men. Oh, madame, I have come to you with two lives +in my hands. Will you listen to me?"</p> + +<p>The dark, beautiful head of the gifted singer was bent for a few moments +over the golden head of her rival. Then Leone raised her eyes to +Marion's face.</p> + +<p>"You are trembling," she said; "you shall speak to me as you will, but +you shall speak to me here."</p> + +<p>Some warm, loving irresistible impulse came to her; she could not hate +or hurt this fair, gentle lady whom the countess had put in her place, +and whom her husband did not love; a great impulse of pity came over +her, a sweet and generous compassion filled her heart.</p> + +<p>"You shall speak to me here," she repeated, clasping her arms round the +trembling figure and laying the golden head on her breast. She kissed +the fair, sad face with a passion of love. "There," she said, "Lady +Marion, if I had wronged you even in the least, I should not dare do +that. Now tell me what you have come to say. Do not tremble so," and the +tender arms tightened their clasp. "Do not be afraid to speak to me."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid, for Heaven sent me," said Lady Marion. "I know that +you will tell me the truth. I am as certain of that as I am of my own +life. I have been very unhappy over you, Madame Vanira, for my husband +seems to have cared more for you than for me."</p> + +<p>"Has your husband ever told you anything about me?" asked Leone, gently.</p> + +<p>And the answer was:</p> + +<p>"No, nothing, except that, like everyone else, he admired you very +much."</p> + +<p>"Nothing more?" asked Leone.</p> + +<p>"No, nothing more."</p> + +<p>"Then," said Leone to herself, "the secret that he has kept I will keep, +and this fair, tender woman shall never know that I once believed myself +his wife."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion wondered why she bent down and kissed her with all the +fervor of self-sacrifice.</p> + +<p>"I have been very unhappy," continued Lady Marion. "I loved and admired +you. I never had the faintest suspicion in my mind against you, until +some one came to tell me that you and my husband had spent a day on the +river together. I know it was true, but he would not explain it."</p> + +<p>"Let me explain it," said Leone, sadly. "I trust you as you trust me. I +have had a great sorrow in my love; greater—oh, Heaven!—than ever fell +to the lot of woman. And one day, when I saw your husband, the +bitterness of it was lying heavily on me. I said something to him that +led him to understand how dull and unhappy I felt. Lady Chandos, he took +me on the river that he might give me one happy day, nothing more. Do +you grudge it to me, dear? Ah, if I could give you the happiness of +those few fleeting hours I would."</p> + +<p>And again her warm, loving lips touched the white brow.</p> + +<p>"I understand," said Lady Marion. "Why did my husband not speak as you +have done? Does he care for you, madame? You will tell me the truth, I +know."</p> + +<p>And the fair face looked wistfully in her own.</p> + +<p>Leone was silent for a few minutes; she could not look in those clear +eyes and speak falsely.</p> + +<p>"Yes," she answered, slowly; "I think Lord Chandos cares very much for +me; I know that he admires and likes me."</p> + +<p>Lady Marion looked very much relieved. There could surely be no harm in +their friendship if she could speak of it so openly.</p> + +<p>"And you, madame—oh, tell me truly—do you love him? Tell me truly; it +seems that all my life hangs on your word."</p> + +<p>Again the beautiful face drooped silently before the fair one.</p> + +<p>"It would be so easy for me to tell you a falsehood," said Leone, while +a great crimson flush burned her face, "but I will not. Yes, I—I love +him. Pity me, you who love him so well yourself; he belongs to you, +while I—ah, pity me because I love him."</p> + +<p>And Lady Marion, whose heart was touched by the pitiful words, looked up +and kissed her.</p> + +<p>"I cannot hate you, since you love him," she said. "He is mine, but my +heart aches for you. Now let me tell you what I have come to say. You +are good and noble as I felt you were. I have come to ask a grace from +you, and it is easier now that I know you love him. How strange it +seems. I should have thought that hearing you say that you loved my +husband would have filled my heart with hot anger, but it does not; in +some strange way I love you for it."</p> + +<p>"If you love him, madame, his interests must be dear to you."</p> + +<p>"They are dear to me," she whispered. "How strange," repeated Lady +Marion, "that while the world is full of men you and I should love the +same man."</p> + +<p>"Ah, life is strange," said Leone; "peace only comes with death."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXI" id="CHAPTER_LXI"></a>CHAPTER LXI.</h2> + +<h3>A SACRIFICE.</h3> + + +<p>Lady Marion raised herself so that she could look into the face of her +beautiful rival.</p> + +<p>"Now I will tell you," she said; "you are going to Berlin; you have an +engagement at the Royal Opera House there, and my husband wishes to go +there, too. But we all oppose it; his parents for social reasons, and +I—I tell you frankly, because I am jealous of you, and cannot bear that +he should follow you there. I have asked him to give up the idea, but he +refuses—he will not listen to me. I have said that if he goes there, I +will never see him or speak to him again, and I must keep my word. So, +madame, I have come to you; I appeal to you, do not let him go: you can +prevent it if you will."</p> + +<p>Leone's dark eyes flashed fire.</p> + +<p>"There is no harm in our friendship," she said; "would you take from me +the only gleam of happiness I have in the world?"</p> + +<p>But Lady Marion did not seem to hear the wild words; the same raptures +of holy love had come over her face, and she blushed until she looked +like a lovely, glowing rose.</p> + +<p>"Think how I trust you," she said; "I have come to tell you that which I +have told to no one. I have come to tell you that which, if ever there +has been any particular friendship between you and my husband, must end +it. I have come to tell you that which will show that now—now you must +not take my husband from me.</p> + +<p>"Bend down lower," continued the sweet voice, "that I may whisper to +you. I have been married nearly four years now, and the one desire of my +heart has been to have a little child. I love little children so dearly. +And I have always thought that if I could give to my husband children to +love he would love me better. I have prayed as Rachel prayed, but it +seemed to me the heavens were made of brass—no answer came to my +prayers. I have wept bitter tears when I have seen other mothers +caressing their children. When my husband has stopped to kiss a child or +play with it, my heart has burned with envy, and now, oh, madame, bend +lower, lower—now Heaven has been so good to me, and they tell me that +in a few months I shall have a darling little child, all my own. Oh, +madame, do you see that now you must not take my husband from me; that +now there must be no mischief between us; that we must live in peace and +love because Heaven has been so good to us."</p> + +<p>The sweet voice rose to a tone of passionate entreaty; and Lady Marion +withdrew from the clasp of her rival's arms, and knelt at her feet. The +face she raised was bright and beautiful as though angel's wings +shadowed it.</p> + +<p>"I plead with you," she said, "I pray to you. You hold my life in your +hands. If it were only myself I would be glad to die, so that if my +husband loves you best he might marry you, but it is for my little +child. Do you know that when I say to myself, 'Lance's little child,' +the words seem to me sweeter than the sweetest music."</p> + +<p>But the beautiful woman who had been no wife, turned deadly pale as she +listened to the words. She held up her hand with a terrible cry.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, hush," she said hoarsely, "I cannot bear it!"</p> + +<p>For one minute it was as though she had been turned to stone. Her heart +seemed clutched by a cold, iron hand. The next, she had recovered +herself and raised Lady Marion, making her rest, and trying to still the +trembling of the delicate frame.</p> + +<p>"You must calm yourself," she said. "I have listened to you, now will +you listen to me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but, madame, you will be good to me—you will not let my husband +leave me? We shall be happy, I am sure, when he knows; we shall forget +all this sorrow and this pain. He will be to me the same as he was +before your beautiful face dazed him. Ah, madame, you will not let him +leave me."</p> + +<p>"I should be a murderess if I did," she said, in a low voice.</p> + +<p>Her face was whiter than the face of the dead. She stood quite silent +for a few minutes. In her heart, like a death-knell, sounded the words:</p> + +<p>"Lance's little child."</p> + +<p>Whiter and colder grew the beautiful face; more mute and silent the +beautiful lips; then suddenly she said:</p> + +<p>"Kiss me, Lady Marion, kiss me with your lips; now place your hands in +mine. I promise you that I will not take your husband from you; that he +shall not go to Berlin, either with me or after me. I promise +you—listen and believe me—that I will never see or speak to your +husband again, and this I do for the sake of Lance's little child."</p> + +<p>"I believe you," said Lady Marion, the light deepening in her sweet eyes +and on her fair face. "I believe you, and from the depth of my heart I +thank you. We shall be happy, I am sure."</p> + +<p>"In the midst of your happiness will you remember me?" asked Leone, +gently.</p> + +<p>"Always, as my best, dearest and truest friend," said Lady Marion; and +they parted that summer morning never to meet again until the water +gives up its dead.</p> + +<p>Lady Marion drove home with a smile on her fair face, such as had not +been seen there before. It would all come right.</p> + +<p>She believed in Madame Vana's simple words as in the pledge of another. +How it would be managed she did not know—did not think; but madame +would keep her word, and her husband would be her own—would never be +cool to her or seek to leave her again; it would be all well.</p> + +<p>All that day there was a light on her face that did one's heart good to +see; and when Lady Lanswell saw her that evening she knew that all was +well.</p> + +<p>"Lance's little child!" The words had been a death-knell to Leone. She +had seen his wife and lived—she had seen him in his home with that same +fair wife by his side, and she had lived; but at the thought of her +rival's children in his arms her whole soul died.</p> + +<p>Died—never to live again. She sat for some time just where Lady Marion +left her, and she said to herself a thousand times over and over again +those words—"Lance's little child." Only God knows the anguish that +came over her, the piercing sorrow, the bitter pain—the memory of those +few months when she had believed herself to be Lance's wife. She fell on +her knees with a great, passionate cry.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Heaven," she cried, "save me from myself!"</p> + +<p>The most beautiful woman in Europe, the most gifted singer on the stage, +the idol of the world of fashion—she lay there helpless, hopeless, +despairing, with that one cry rising from her lips on which a world had +hung:</p> + +<p>"Heaven have mercy on me, and save me from myself!"</p> + +<p>When she woke, the real world seemed to have vanished from her. She +heard the sound of running water; a mill-wheel turning in a deep stream; +she heard the rush and the foaming of water, the song of the birds +overhead, the rustle of the great boughs, the cooing of the blue and +white pigeons. Why, surely, that was a dream of home.</p> + +<p>Home—the old farmhouse where Robert Noel lived, the kind, slow, stolid +farmer. She could hear him calling, "Leone, where are you?" and the +pigeons deafened her as they whirled round her head. She struggled for a +time with her dazed, bewildered senses; but she could not tell which was +the real life, whether she was at home again in the old farmhouse, and +had dreamed a long, troubled dream, or whether she was dreaming now.</p> + +<p>Her brain burned—it was like liquid fire; and she seemed to see always +a golden-haired child.</p> + +<p>"Lance's little child." Yes, there he was holding mother and child both +in his arms, kissing them, while she lay there helpless and despairing.</p> + +<p>"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself—"a mad love."</p> + +<p>Then she heard a sound of music—softest, sweetest music—floating +through the room, and woke to reason with a terrible shudder to find +that she was singing the old, sweet song:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I would the grave would hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there alone is peace."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"I have been mad," she said to herself; "those words drove me mad, +'Lance's little child.'"</p> + +<p>She went to her room and bathed her head in ice-cold water. The pain +grew less, but not the burning heat.</p> + +<p>The idea became fixed in her mind that she must go back to the old +mill-stream; she did not know why, she never asked herself why; that was +her haven of rest, by the sound of rushing waters. Within sight of the +mill-wheel, and the trees, and the water lilies, all would be well, the +cloud would pass from her mind, the fire from her brain, the sword from +her heart.</p> + +<p>She had two letters to write, one to the manager with whom her +engagement expired in two nights, telling him she was ill and had gone +away for her health, and that he would not probably hear of her for some +time; and another to Lord Chandos. It was simple and sad:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"Good-bye. I am going—not to Berlin—but away from Europe, and I +shall never return; but before I leave I shall go to the +mill-stream to look at and listen to the waters for the last time. +Good bye, Lance. In heaven you will know how much I have loved you, +never on earth. In heaven you will know why I have left you. Be +kind, and true, and good to all who are dear to you. Lance, if I +die first, I shall wait inside the golden gates of heaven for you."</p></blockquote> + +<p>She did one thing more, which proved that her reason was still clear. +She paid off all her servants, and to the most trusted one left power to +give up her house in her name, as she was leaving it.</p> + +<p>And far off the mill-wheel turned in the stream, and the water-lilies +stirred faintly us the white foam passed them by.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXII" id="CHAPTER_LXII"></a>CHAPTER LXII.</h2> + +<h3>"THE GRAVE ALONE GIVES PEACE."</h3> + + +<p>The sun was setting—the western sky was all aflame, great crimson +clouds floated away with vapors of rose and orange—crimson clouds that +threw a rosy light on the trees and fields. In the distance stood the +old farmhouse, the light falling on the roof with its moss and lichen, +the great roses and white jasmine that wreathed the windows, the tall +elms that stood on either side of the fertile meadows, the springing +corn, the ricks of sweet-smelling hay. The light from the western sky +fell on them all. From beneath the tall elms with the trailing scarlet +creepers came a tall, graceful woman, whose face was covered with a +thick veil; she stood for some time watching the farmhouse, her +beautiful face white and set as the face of the dead; she threw back her +veil as though she was gasping for breath, and then she stood still and +motionless as a marble statue.</p> + +<p>The blue and white pigeons were cooing loudly, as though they would tell +each other it was time to rest, the birds were singing their vesper +hymn, the cattle had all been driven to rest, the laborers had ceased +their toil, in the garden the white lilies had opened their cups to +catch the dew; it was all so sweet and still, as though a blessing from +Heaven lay on it.</p> + +<p>The silent watcher stirred when she heard the baying of a hound.</p> + +<p>"That is Rover," she said to herself, "and he would know me. What would +Uncle Robert say if he knew his lady lass was so near?"</p> + +<p>She walked on through the green lane, where the hedges were one mass of +wild rose bloom, through the fields where the clover lay so sweet and +fragrant, until she came to the mill-stream. Her heart gave one bound as +she saw it.</p> + +<p>The picturesque old mill, half hidden in foliage, and the great round +wheel, half hidden in the clear stream. There were the water-lilies +lying quite at rest now; there were the green reeds and sedges; the +nests of blue forget-me-nots; the little water-fall where the white rock +rose in the middle of the stream, and the water ran over it; the same +green branches dipped in the water, the same trees shaded it. She sat +down in the same spot where she had last sat with him. She remembered +how the ring had fallen into the little clear pool and he had found it. +The same, and yet how different. And sitting there, with the wreck of +her life round her, she sung in a low voice the words that to her had +been so full of prophecy:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"In sheltered vale a mill-wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still sings its tuneful lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My darling once did dwell there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But now she's far away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A ring in pledge I gave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vows of love we spoke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These vows are all forgotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ring asunder broke."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>How true and how cold the prophecy had been. As she sat there she saw a +light in the mill, and the wheel began slowly to turn.</p> + +<p>Foaming, laughing, singing, the water ran away shining in the red light +of the setting sun, golden in the little wavelets that kissed the banks. +Slowly the falling water set itself to music, and the rhythm was always:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I would the grave could hide me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For there alone is peace."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Shine on, setting sun. Sing on, falling water. There is no peace save in +death and in heaven. Sing on, little birds, throw your sweet shadows, +dewy nights; there is no peace but in death.</p> + +<p>She lay down on the green bank and the water foaming by sung to her—it +was all so sweet, so silent, so still. One by one the little birds +slept, one by one the flowers closed their eyes, the roseate clouds +faded, and the gray, soft mantle of night fell on the earth.</p> + +<p>So sweet and still—the stars came out in the sky, in the wood a +nightingale began to sing; the fire went out in her brain; the pain +ceased; she grew calm as one on whom a dread shadow lies.</p> + +<p>The lovely, laughing water, with the gleam of golden stars in it, +falling with the rhythm of sweetest music. She drew nearer, she laid one +hand on the little wavelets, and the cool, sweet touch refreshed her.</p> + +<p>The night, so sweet and still, with the gray shade of the king of +terrors rising from the mill-stream. The water-lilies seemed to rise and +come near to her, a thousand sweet voices seemed to rise from the water +and call her.</p> + +<p>"There alone is peace," sung the nightingale; "There alone is peace," +sung the lilies; "There alone is peace," sung the chiming waters. She +drew nearer to them. Heaven only knows what ideas were in that +overbalanced brain and distraught mind. Looking in the clear waters she +saw the golden stars shining; perhaps she thought she was reaching to +them. A little low cry fell on the night air. A cry that startled the +ring-doves, but fell on no mortal ear.</p> + +<p>"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself; "a mad love," and the +voice that had gladdened the hearts of thousands was heard on earth no +more.</p> + +<p>A mad love, indeed; she went nearer to the gleaming waters; they seemed +to rise and infold her; the water-lilies seemed to hold her up. It +seemed to her rather that she went up to the stars than down to the +stream. There was no cry, no sound, as the soft waters closed over her, +as the water-lilies floated back entangled in the meshes of a dead +woman's hair.</p> + +<p>In the grave alone was peace. So she lay through the long, sweet, summer +night, and the mill-stream sung her dirge.</p> + +<p>Was it suicide, or was she mad? God who knows all things knew that she +had suffered a heavy wrong, a cruel injustice, a martyrdom of pain. She +had raised herself to one of the highest positions in the world and +there she had met her old love.</p> + +<p>Only Heaven knew what she endured after that, when she saw his wife, +when she saw him in his daily life, yet knowing that he was lost to her +for evermore.</p> + +<p>Then the climax came when his wife spoke of "Lance's little child." If +those words drove her to her death who shall wonder?</p> + +<p>She saw the stars in the water and thought she was going to them; and +perhaps, on the Great Day, that thought, that imagination may plead for +her.</p> + +<p>It was a mad love, a cruel, mad love.</p> + +<p>Some instinct came to Lord Chandos when he read that letter that all was +not well. He started at once for Rashleigh.</p> + +<p>The morning sun was high in the heavens when he reached there. Going at +once to the mill-stream, he had seen the body of the woman he loved +floating there, her long hair tangled in the water-lilies, a smile such +as comes from perfect peace on her face.</p> + +<p>He did the wisest thing he could have done—he brought Farmer Noel to +the spot, and told him the story, while she lay with her face raised to +the morning skies—the story of a mad love.</p> + +<p>Farmer Noel uttered no reproaches.</p> + +<p>"I never thought she would live a happy life or die a happy death," he +said—"it was written so in her face."</p> + +<p>They two kept the secret. In a small place like Rashleigh such an +occurrence is a nine days' wonder; every one believed that the hapless +lady had fallen into the stream as she was passing to the woods. +Although the farmer grieved sorely after her, he never told any one that +she was his niece, and no one recognized her.</p> + +<p>There was a verdict of found drowned, and every one thought the farmer +very generous because he undertook the funeral expenses.</p> + +<p>How Lord Chandos grieved, no words could tell—it was as though the +light of his life had disappeared; he never spoke of his sorrow, but it +made him old in his youth and killed the best part of his life in him.</p> + +<p>No one, even ever so faintly, connected the inquest at Rashleigh with +the disappearance of Madame Vanira. The world went mad at first with +anger and disappointment, then a rumor was spread that madame had gone +to America, and had married a millionaire there.</p> + +<p>The world recovered its good temper and laughed; then another grand +singer appeared on the scene, and Leone was forgotten. The only person +to whom Lord Chandos ever told the truth was the Countess of Lanswell, +and it shocked her so greatly that she gave up all society for a few +days, and then, as the world had done before her, forgot it.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos never forgot; the world was never the same to him. His +wife's words came true; he was kindness itself to her, and she was very +happy. She never even heard of Madame Vanira's untimely end, nor did she +ever know who Madame Vanira was. She always respected her, because she +had kept her word, and had gone out of her husband's way. As time passed +on she, too—forgot.</p> + +<p>Lord Chandos never forgot.</p> + +<p>Fair daughters and stalwart sons grew around him; he was kind, cheerful, +even gay, but in the depths of his heart he mourned over her. To please +him Lady Chandos gave to one of her daughters the name of Leone, and it +was pitiful to hear the pathos with which he used the name.</p> + +<p>Of all his children he loves Leone best. In his dreams he sees the +golden gates of heaven, and the other Leone watching for him there.</p> + +<p>While she sleeps in peace by the mill-stream, and as the water runs by, +it sings:</p> + +<p>"A mad love—a mad love."</p> + +<p>But "the mill will never grind again with the waters that are past."</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mad Love, by Bertha M. 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Clay + +Release Date: March 3, 2010 [EBook #31489] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAD LOVE *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + A MAD LOVE + + BY BERTHA M. CLAY + +Author of "Sunshine and Roses," "Beyond Pardon," "Dora Thomas," "From +Out the Gloom," etc., etc. + +CHICAGO. +DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO., +PUBLISHERS. + + + + +A MAD LOVE + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A DISCONTENTED BEAUTY. + + +"Leone," cried a loud voice, "where are you? Here, there, everywhere, +except just in the place where you should be." + +The speaker was a tall, stout, good-tempered looking man. Farmer Noel +people called him all over the country-side. He stood in the farmyard, +looking all the warmer this warm day for his exertions in finding his +niece. + +"Leone," he cried again and again. + +At last the answer came, "I am here, uncle," and if the first voice +startled one with its loudness, this second was equally startling from +its music, its depth, its pathos. + +"I am here, uncle," she said. "I wish you would not shout so loudly. I +am quite sure that the people at Rashleigh can hear you. What is it that +you want?" + +"Have you made up the packets of wheat I asked you for?" he said. + +"No," she replied, "I have not." + +He looked disappointed. + +"I shall be late for market," he said. "I must do them myself." + +He went back into the house without another word. He never reproached +Leone, let her do what she would. + +On Leone's most beautiful face were evident marks of bad temper, and she +did not care to conceal it. With a gesture of impatience she started +forward, passed over the farmyard and went through the gate out into the +lane, from the lane to the high-road, and she stood there leaning over +the white gate, watching the cattle as they drank from the deep, clear +pool. + +The sun shone full upon her, and the warm, sweet beams never fell on +anything more lovely; the only drawback to the perfection of the picture +was this: she did not look in harmony with the scene--the quiet English +landscape, the golden cornfields, the green meadows, the great spreading +trees whereon the birds sung, the tall spire of the little church, the +quaint little town in the distance, the brook that ran gurgling by. + +She looked out of harmony with them all; she would have been in perfect +keeping had the background been of snow-capped mountains and foaming +cascades. Here she looked out of place; she was on an English farm; she +wore a plain English dress, yet she had the magnificent beauty of the +daughters of sunny Spain. Her beauty was of a peculiar type--dark, +passionate, and picturesque like that of the pomegranate, the damask +rose or the passion-flower. + +There was a world in her face--of passion, of genius, of power; a face +as much out of place over the gates of a farm as a stately gladiolus +would be among daisies and buttercups. An artist looking for a model of +some great queen who had conquered the world, for some great heroine for +whom men had fought madly and died, might have chosen her. But in a +farmyard! there are no words to tell how out of place it was. She stood +by the gate holding the ribbons of her hat in her hand--beautiful, +imperious, defiant--with a power of passion about her that was perhaps +her greatest characteristic. + +She looked round the quiet picture of country life with unutterable +contempt. + +"If I could but fly away," she said; "I would be anything on earth if I +could get away from this--I would not mind what; I would work, teaching, +anything; the dull monotony of this life is killing me." + +Her face was so expressive that every emotion was shown on it, every +thought could be read there; the languid scorn of the dark eyes, and the +proud curves of the daintily arched lips, all told of unconcealed +contempt. + +"A farm," she said to herself; "to think that when the world is full of +beautiful places, my lot must be cast on a farm. If it had been in a +palace, or a gypsy's camp--anywhere where I could have tasted life, but +a farm." + +The beautiful restless face looked contemptuously out on the green and +fertile land. + +"A farm means chickens running under one's feet, pigeons whirling round +one's head, cows lowing, dogs barking, no conversation but crops----" + +She stopped suddenly. Coming up the lane she saw that which had never +gladdened her eyes here before; she saw a gentleman, handsome and young, +walking carelessly down the high-road, and as he drew near, another +gentleman, also handsome, but not quite so young, joined him. + +They came laughing down the high-road together, but neither of them saw +her until they reached the great elm-tree. The sight of that wondrous +young face, with its rich, piquant beauty, startled them. One passed her +by without a word, the other almost stopped, so entirely was he charmed +by the lovely picture. As he passed he raised his hat; her beautiful +face flushed; she neither smiled nor bowed in return, but accepted the +salute as a tribute to her beauty, after the same fashion a queen +acknowledges the salutes and homage of her subjects. + +With one keen glance, she divided him from his companion, the man who +had _not_ bowed to her. She took in that one glance a comprehensive +view. She knew the color of his eyes, of his hair, the shape of his +face, the peculiar cut of his clothes, so different to those worn by the +young farmers; the clustering hair, the clear-cut face, the delicate +profile, the graceful ease of the tall, thin figure, were with her from +that moment through all time. + +The deep low bow gratified her. She knew that she was gifted with a +wondrous dower of beauty. She knew that men were meek when a beautiful +face charmed them. The involuntary homage of this handsome young man +pleased her. She would have more of it. When he rejoined his companion, +she heard him say: + +"What a wonderful face, Euston--the most beautiful I have ever seen in +my life." + +That pleased her still more; she smiled to herself. + +"Perhaps I shall see him again," she thought. + +Then one of the girls from the village passed the gate, and stopped for +a few minutes' conversation. + +"Did you see those gentlemen?" asked the girl; and Leone answered: + +"Yes." + +"They have both come to live at Dr. Hervey's, to 'read,' whatever that +means. The young one, with the fair hair, is a lord, the eldest son of a +great earl; I do not remember the name." + +So it was a great lord who had bowed to her, and thought her more +beautiful than any one he had ever seen. Her heart beat with triumph. + +She bade the girl good-morning, and went back. Her beautiful face was +brilliant with smiles. + +She entered the house and went up to her glass. She wanted to see again, +for herself, the face he had called beautiful. + +Mirrored there, she saw two dark eyes, full of fire, bright, radiant, +and luminous--eyes that could have lured and swayed a nation; a +beautiful, oval face, the features of which were perfect; a white brow, +with dark, straight eyebrows; sweet, red lips, like a cloven rose; the +most beautiful chin, with a rare dimple; an imperial face, suited for a +queen's crown or the diadem of an empress, but out of place on this +simple farm. She saw grand, sloping shoulders, beautiful arms, and a +figure that was perfect in its symmetry and grace. + +She smiled contentedly. She was beautiful, undoubtedly. She was glad +that others saw it. If a young lord admired her, she must be worth +admiring. Her good humor was quite restored. + +How came it that this girl, with the beauty of a young princess, was at +home in the farmhouse? It was a simple story. The farmer, Robert Noel, +had only one brother, who loved romance and travel. + +Stephen Noel, after trying every profession, and every means of +obtaining a livelihood, at last decided on becoming a civil engineer; he +went to Spain to help with a rail-road in the province of Andalusia, and +there fell in love with and married a beautiful Andalusian, Pepita by +name. + +Dark-eyed Pepita died on the same day Leone was born, and the young +father, distracted by his loss, took the child home to England. The old +housekeeper at the Rashleigh farm took the girl, and Robert Noel +consented that she should be brought up as a child of his own. + +The two brothers differed as light and darkness differ. Stephen was all +quickness and intelligence, Robert was stolid and slow. Leone always +said it took him ten minutes to turn around. He had never married, he +had never found time; but he gave the whole love of his heart to the +beautiful dark eyed child who was brought to his house sixteen years +ago. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +"WHAT, MARRY A FARMER!" + + +One can imagine the sensation that a bright, beautiful eagle would +produce in a dove's nest; the presence of that beautiful, imperious +child at the farm was very much the same. People looked at her in +wonder; her beauty dazzled them; her defiance amused them. They asked +each other where all her pride came from. + +Uncle Robert often said in his slow fashion that he retired from +business when Leone was seven. At that early age he gave the management +of everything into her baby hands. From the chickens in the yard to the +blue and white pigeons on the roof. She could manage him, big as he was, +with one stamp of her little foot, one flash of her bright eyes; he was +powerless at once, like a great big giant bound hand and foot. She was a +strange child, full of some wonderful power that she hardly understood +herself--a child quite out of the common groove of life, quite above the +people who surrounded her. They understood her beauty, her defiance, her +pride, but not the dramatic instinct and power that, innate in her, made +every word and action seem strange. + +Honest, stolid Robert Noel was bewildered by her; he did his best in +every way, but he had an uneasy consciousness that his best was but a +poor attempt. He sent her to school, the best in Rashleigh, but she +learned anything and everything except obedience. + +She looked out of place even there, this dark-eyed Spanish girl, among +the pretty pink and white children with fair hair and blue eyes. She +bewildered even the children; they obeyed her, and she had the greatest +influence over them. She taught them recitations and plays, she fired +their imaginations by wonderful stories; she was a new, brilliant, +wonderful element in their lives. Even the school mistress, meek through +the long suffering of years, even she worshiped and feared her--the +brilliant, tiresome girl, who was like a flash of light among the +others. She had a face so grand and a voice so thrilling it was no +unusual thing when she was reading aloud in the school-room for the +others to suspend all work, thrilled to the heart by the sound of her +voice. She soon learned all that the Rashleigh governess could teach +her--she taught herself even more. She had little taste for drawing, +much for music, but her whole heart and soul were in books. + +Young as she was, it was grand to hear her trilling out the pretty love +speeches of Juliet, declaring the wrongs of Constance or Katherine, +moaning out the woes of Desdemona. She had Shakespeare almost by heart, +and she loved the grand old dramatist. + +When she was sixteen her uncle took her from school, and then the +perplexities of his honest life began. He wanted her to take her place +as mistress of the house, to superintend the farm and the dairy, to take +affectionate interest in the poultry and birds, to see that the butter +was of a deep, rich yellow, and the new laid eggs sent to market. From +the moment he intrusted those matters in her hands, his life became a +burden to him, for they were entirely neglected. + +Farmer Noel would go into his dairy and find everything wrong, the cream +spilled, the butter spoiled; but when he looked at the dark-eyed young +princess with the Spanish face he dared not say a word to her. + +He would suggest to her meekly that things might be different. She would +retaliate with some sarcasm that would reduce him to silence for two +days at least. Yet she loved, after a fashion of her own, this great, +stolid man who admired her with all his heart, and loved her with his +whole soul. + +So time passed until she was seventeen, and the quiet farm life was +unendurable to her. + +"Uncle," she would say, "let me go out into the world. I want to see it. +I want something to do. I often think I must have two lives and two +souls, I long so intensely for more than I have to fill them." + +He could not understand her. She had the farm and the dairy. + +"Be content," he would answer, "be content, my lady lass, with the home +God has given you." + +"I want something to do. If I did all the work on this and twenty other +farms it would not touch my heart and soul. They are quite empty. People +say it is a battlefield. If it be one, I am sitting by with folded +hands. Inactivity means death to me." + +"My lady lass, you can find plenty to do," he answered, solemnly. + +"But not of the kind I want." + +She paced up and down the large kitchen, where everything was polished +and bright; the fire-light glowed on the splendid face and figure--the +face with its unutterable beauty, its restless longing, its troubled +desires. + +Some fear for the future of the beautiful, restless, passionate girl +came over the man, who watched her with anxious eyes. It began to dawn +upon him, that if he were to shut a bright-eyed eagle up in a cage, it +would never be happy, and it was very much the same kind of thing to +shut this lovely, gifted girl in a quiet farmhouse. + +"You will be married soon," he said, with a clumsy attempt at comfort, +"and then you will be more content." + +She flashed one look of scorn from those dark, lustrous eyes that should +have annihilated him. She stopped before him, and threw back her head +with the gesture of an injured queen. + +"May I ask," she said, "whom you suppose I will marry?" + +He looked rather frightened, for he began to perceive he had made some +mistake, though he could not tell what; he thought all young girls liked +to be teased about sweethearts and marriage; still he came valiantly to +the front. + +"I mean that you will surely have a sweetheart some day or other," he +said, consolingly, though the fire from those dark eyes startled him, +and her scarlet lips trembled with anger. + +"I shall have a sweetheart, you think, like Jennie Barnes or Lily Coke. +A sweetheart. Pray, whom will it be, do you think?" + +"I know several of the young farmers about here who would each give his +right hand to be a sweetheart of yours." + +She laughed a low, contemptuous laugh that made him wince. + +"What, marry a farmer! Do you think the life of a farmer's wife would +suit me? I shall go unmarried to my grave, unless I can marry as I +choose." + +Then she seemed to repent of the passionate words, and flung her +beautiful arms round his neck and kissed his face. + +"I hate myself," she said, "when I speak in that way to you, who have +been so good to me." + +"I do not mind it," said Robert Noel, honestly. "Never hate yourself for +me, my lady lass." + +She turned one glance from her beautiful eyes on him. + +"When I seem to be ungrateful to you, do remember that I am not, Uncle +Robert; I am always sorry. I cannot help myself, I cannot explain +myself; but I feel always as though my mind and soul were cramped." + +"Cramp is a very bad thing," said the stolid farmer. + +She looked at him, but did not speak; her irritation was too great; he +never understood her; it was not likely he ever would. + +"I will go down to the mill-stream," she said. + +With an impatient gesture she hastened out of the house. + +The mill-stream was certainly the prettiest feature of the farm--a +broad, beautiful stream that ran between great rows of alder-trees and +turned the wheel by the force with which it leaped into the broad, deep +basin; it was the loveliest and most picturesque spot that could be +imagined, and now as the waters rushed and foamed in the moonlight they +were gorgeous to behold. + +Leone loved the spot; the restless, gleaming waters suited her; it +seemed to have something akin to herself--something restless, full of +force and vitality. She sat there for hours; it was her usual refuge +when the world went wrong with her. + +Round and round went the wheel; on sunlight days the sun glinted on the +sullen waters until they resembled a sheet of gold covered with white, +shining foam. Green reeds and flowers that love both land and water +fringed the edges of the clear, dimpling pool; the alder-trees dipped +their branches in it; the great gray stones, covered with green moss, +lay here and there. It was a little poem in itself, and the beautiful +girl who sat in the moonlight read it aright. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +THE MEETING AT THE MILL. + + +In the depths of the water she saw the reflection of the shining stars; +she watched them intently; the pure, pale golden eyes. A voice aroused +her--a voice with tone and accent quite unlike any other voice. + +"I beg your pardon," it said, "could you show me the way to Rashleigh? I +have lost myself in the wood." + +Raising her eyes she saw the gentleman who had raised his hat as he +passed her in the morning. She knew that he recognized her by the light +that suddenly overspread his face. + +"Rashleigh lies over there," she replied. "You have but to cross the +field and pass the church." + +"Even that," said the stranger, with a careless laugh, "even that I am +not inclined to do now. It is strange. I am afraid you will think me +half mad, but it seems to me that I have just stepped into fairy land. +Two minutes since I was on the bare highway, now I see the prettiest +picture earth has to offer." + +"It is pretty," she replied, her eyes looking at the clear, dimpling +pool; "prettier now even than when the sun shines on it and the wheel +turns." + +She had told him the way to Rashleigh, and he should have passed on with +a bow, but this was his excuse. The moon was shining bright as day, the +wind murmured in the alder trees, the light lay on the clear, sweet, +fresh water; the music of the water as it fell was sweet to hear. Away +in the woods some night bird was singing; the odor of the sleeping +flowers filled the air; and there on the green bank, at the water's +edge, sat the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. + +The moonlight fell on her exquisite southern face; it seemed to find its +home in the lustrous depths of her dark eyes; it kissed the dark ripples +of her hair, worn with the simple grace of a Greek goddess; it lay on +the white hands that played with the tufted grass. + +He was young and loved all things beautiful, and therefore did not go +away. His mind was filled with wonder. Who was she--this girl, so like a +young Spanish princess! Why was she sitting here by the mill-stream? He +must know, and to know he must ask. + +"I am inclined," he said, "to lie down here by this pretty stream, and +sleep all night under the stars; I am so tired." + +She looked at him with a quick, warm glow of sympathy. + +"What has tired you?" she asked. + +He sat down on one of the great gray stones that lay half in the water, +half on the land. + +"I have lost myself in the Leigh woods," he said. "I have been there +many hours. I had no idea what Leigh woods were like, or I should not +have gone for the first time alone." + +"They are very large and intricate," she said; "I can never find the +right paths." + +"Some one told me I should see the finest oak-trees in England there," +he said, "and I have a passion for grand old oaks. I would go anywhere +to see them. I went to the woods and had very soon involved myself in +the greatest difficulties. I should never have found the way out had I +not met one of the keepers." + +She liked to listen to him; the clear, refined accent, the musical tone; +as she listened a longing came over her that his voice might go on +speaking to her and of her. + +"Now," he continued, embarrassed by her silence, "I have forgotten your +directions; may I ask you to repeat them?" + +She did so, and looking at her face he saw there was no anger, nothing +but proud, calm content. He said to himself he need not go just yet, he +could stay a few minutes longer. + +"Do you know that beautiful old German ballad," he said, + + "'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel + Still tunes its tuneful lay'?" + +"No; I never heard or read it," she answered. "Say it for me." + + "'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel + Still tunes its tuneful lay. + My darling once did dwell there, + But now she's far away. + A ring in pledge I gave her, + And vows of love we spoke-- + Those vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke.'" + +"Hush," she said, holding up one white hand; "hush, it is too sad. Do +you not see that the moonlight has grown dim, and the sound of the +falling waters is the sound of falling tears?" + +He did not seem to understand her words. + +"That song has haunted me," he said, "ever since I heard it. I must say +the last verse; it must have been of this very mill-wheel it was +written. + + "'But while I hear the mill-wheel + My pains will never cease; + I would the grave could hide me, + For there alone is peace.'" + +"Is it a love story?" she asked, pleased at the pathos and rhythm of the +words. + +"Yes; it is the usual story--the whole love of a man's heart given to +one not worthy of it, the vows forgotten, the ring broken. Then he cries +out for the grave to hide himself and his unhappy love." + +She looked up at him with dark, lustrous, gleaming eyes. + +"Does all love end in sorrow?" she asked, simply. + +He looked musingly at the moonlit waters, musingly at the starlit sky. + +"I cannot tell," he replied, "but it seems to me that it ends more in +sorrow than in joy. I should say," he continued, "that when truth meets +truth, where loyalty meets loyalty, the ending is good; but where a true +heart finds a false one, where loyalty and honor meet lightness and +falsehood, then the end must be bad." + +Leone seemed suddenly to remember that she was talking to a stranger, +and, of all subjects, they had fallen on love. + +"I must go," she said, hurriedly. "You will remember the way." + +"Pray do not go--just this minute," he said. "History may repeat itself; +life never does. There can never be a night half so fair as this again; +the water will never fall with so sweet a ripple; the stars will never +shine with so bright a light; life may pass, and we may never meet +again. You have a face like a poem. Stay a few minutes longer." + +"A face like a poem." Did he really think so? + +The words pleased her. + +"Strange things happen in real life," he said; "things that, told in +novels and stories, make people laugh and cry out that they are +exaggerated, too romantic to be real. How strange that I should have met +you here this evening by the side of the mill-stream--a place always +haunted by poetry and romance. You will think it stranger still when I +tell you your face has haunted me all day." + +She looked at him in surprise. The proud, beautiful face grieved at the +words. + +"How is that?" she asked. + +"I saw you this morning when I was going to Rashleigh with my friend, +Sir Frank Euston. You were standing against a white gate, and I +thought--well, I must not tell you what I thought." + +"Why?" she asked, briefly. + +"Because it might offend you," he replied. + +He began to perceive that there was no coquetry in this beautiful girl. +She was proud, with a calm, serene, half-tragic pride. There would be no +flirtation by the side of the mill-stream. She looked as far above +coquetry as she was above affectation. He liked the proud calm of her +manner. She might have been a duchess holding court rather than a +country girl sitting by a mill-wheel. The idea occurred to him; and then +his wonder increased--who was she? and what was she doing here? + +"Do you live near here?" he asked. + +"Yes," she said, "behind the trees there you can see the chimneys of a +farmhouse; it is called Rashleigh Farm; my uncle, Robert Noel, lives +there; and I am his niece." + +"His niece," repeated the young man, in an incredulous voice. She was a +farmer's niece, then, after all; and yet she looked like a Spanish +princess. + +"You do not look like an English girl," he said, gravely. + +"My father was English and my mother a Spanish lady; and I--well, I fear +I have more of the hot fire of Spain than of the chill of England in my +nature; my face is Spanish, so is my heart." + +"A Spaniard is quick to love, quick to hate; forgives grandly and +revenges mercilessly," he said. + +"That is my character," she said; "you have described it exactly." + +"I do not believe it; neither hate nor revenge could exist with a face +like yours. Then your name is Noel?" + +"Yes, my name is Leone Noel," she replied. + +"Leone," he repeated, "that is a beautiful name. I have never heard it +before; but I like it very much; it is musical and rare--two great +things in a name." + +"It is a German name," she said. "My uncle Robert hates it; he says it +reminds him of Lion; but you know it is pronounced Leon. My mother read +some German story that had the name in it and gave it to me." + +"It suits you," he said, simply; "and I should not think there was +another name in the world that would. I wonder," he added, with a shy +laugh, "if you would like my name? It is Lancelot Chandos. My friends +call me Lance." + +"Yes, I like that. I know all the history of Sir Lancelot. I admire him; +but I think he was a weak man--do not you?" + +"For loving Queen Guinevere? I do not know. Some love is strength, not +weakness," he replied. + +Leone looked up at him again. + +"Are you the son of a great lord?" she asked; "some one told me so." + +"Yes; my father is Earl of Lanswell; and people would call him a great +earl. He is rich and powerful." + +"What has brought you, the son of a great earl, down to Rashleigh?" she +asked. + +"My own idleness, to begin with," he said. "I have been at Oxford more +years than I care to count; and I have idled my time." + +"Then you are studying?" she said. + +"Yes, that is it. I am trying to make up for lost time. I have some +examinations to pass; and my father has sent me down to Dr. Hervey +because he is known everywhere as the cleverest coach in England." + +A cloud came for just one half minute across the face of the moon; the +soft, sweet darkness startled Leone. + +"I must go now," she said; "it is not only getting late, but growing +dark." + +"I shall see you again," he cried, "do promise me." + +"Nay, you have little faith in promises," she replied; and he watched +her as she vanished from among the alder-trees. + +It was an unexpected meeting; and strange and startling consequences +soon followed. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +AN INTERESTING TETE-A-TETE. + + +"Where have you been, Leone?" asks Farmer Noel. + +She had begun a new life. It seemed years since she had left him, while +he sat in the same place, smoking the same pipe, probably thinking the +same thoughts. She came in with the brightness and light of the moon in +her face; dew-drops lay on her dark hair, her beautiful face was flushed +with the wind, so fair, so gracious, so royal, so brilliant. He looked +at her in helpless surprise. + +"Where have you been?" he repeated. + +She looked at him with a sweet, dreamy smile. + +"I have been to the mill-stream." And she added in a lower tone, "I have +been to heaven." + +It had been heaven to her--this one hour spent with one refined by +nature and by habit--a gentleman, a man of taste and education. Her +uncle wondered that evening at the light that came on her face, at the +cheerful sound of her voice, the smile that came over her lips. She was +usually so restless and discontented. + +It was a break in her life. She wanted something to interrupt the +monotony, and now it had come. She had seen and spoken to not only a +very handsome and distinguished man, but a lord, the son of an earl. He +had admired her, said her face was like a poem; and the words brought a +sweet, musing smile to her face. + +When the sun shone in her room the next morning she awoke with a sense +of something new and beautiful in her life; it was a pleasure to hear +the birds sing; a pleasure to bathe in the clear, cold, fresh water; a +pleasure to breathe the sweet, fragrant morning air. There was a half +wonder as to whether she could see him again. + +The poetical, dramatic instinct of the girl was all awake; she tried to +make herself as pretty as she could. She put on a dress of pale pink--a +plain print, it is true, but the beautiful head and face rose from it as +a flower from its leaves. + +She brushed back the rippling hair and placed a crimson rose in its +depths. Then she smiled at herself. Was it likely she should see him? +What should bring the great son of an earl to the little farm at +Rashleigh? But the blue and white pigeons, the little chickens--all +fared well that morning. Leone was content. + +In the afternoon Farmer Noel wanted her to go down to the hay-fields. +The men were busy with the newly mown hay, and he wished her to take +some messages about the stacking of it. She looked like a picture of +summer as she walked through the green, shady lane, a red rose in her +hair and one in her breast, a cluster of woodbine in her hand. She saw +nothing of Lord Chandos, yet she thought of nothing else; every tree, +every field, every lane she passed she expected to see him; but of +course he was not there; and her heart beat fast as she saw him--he was +crossing what people called the Brook Meadow--and she met him face to +face. + +They had met for the first time on a moonlight night; they met for the +second time on a sultry summer afternoon, when the whole world seemed +full of love. The birds were singing of love in the trees, the +butterflies were making love to the flowers, the wind was whispering of +love to the trees, the sun was kissing the earth that lay silent in its +embrace. + +"Leone," he cried; and then he flushed crimson. "I beg your pardon," he +said, "but I ought to say Miss Noel; but I have been thinking of you all +night as Leone. I did not think of it before I spoke." + +She laughed at the long apology. + +"Say it all over again," she said. "Begin at 'Good-afternoon, Miss +Noel.'" + +He repeated it after her, then added: + +"I think my kind and good fortune sent me this way. I was longing for +some one to speak to--and of all happiness to meet you; but perhaps you +are busy." + +"No; I have done all that I had to do. I am never busy," she added, with +regal calm. + +He smiled again. + +"No; I could not fancy you busy," he said, "any more than I could fancy +the goddess Juno in a hurry. To some fair women there belongs by +birthright a calm that is almost divine." + +"My calm covers a storm," she replied. "My life has been brief and dull; +neither my heart nor my soul has really lived; but I feel in myself a +capability of power that sometimes frightens me." + +He did not doubt it as he looked at the beautiful, passionate face; it +was even more lovely in the gleam of the sunlight than in the soft, +sweet light of the moon. + +"You cannot stand in the sunshine," he said. "If you are not busy will +you go with me through Leigh Woods? I shall remember the way this time." + +She hesitated one half minute, and he saw it; he raised his hat and +stood bare-headed, waiting for her answer. + +"Yes, I will go," she said at length. "Why should I not?" + +They went together to Leigh Woods, where the great oak-trees made a +pleasant shade, and the ground was a mass of wild flowers; great streams +of bluebells that stirred so gently in the wind, violets that hid +themselves under their leaves, cowslips like little tips of gold, wild +strawberry blossoms that looked like snow-flakes. + +How fair it was. The sunbeams fell through the great green boughs, +throwing long shadows on the grass. It was a beautiful, silent world, +all perfume and light. The poetry of it touched both of them. + +Lord Chandos was the first to speak; he had been watching the proud, +beautiful face of Leone; and suddenly he said: + +"You look out of place here, Miss Noel; I can hardly tell you why." + +"That is what my uncle says; he is always asking me if I cannot make +myself more like the girls of Rashleigh." + +"I hope you never will," he cried, warmly. + +"I do not know how," she said. "I must always be what God and nature +made me." + +"They made you fair enough," he whispered. + +And then he owned to himself that she was not like other girls. + +She drew back proudly, swiftly; no smile came to her lips, no laughing +light to her eyes. + +"Speak to me as you would to one in your own rank, my lord," she said, +haughtily. "Though fate has made me a farmer's niece, nature made +me----" + +"A queen," he interrupted. + +And she was satisfied with the acknowledgment. They sat down under one +of the great oak-trees, a great carpet of bluebells under their feet. + +Leone looked thoughtful; she gathered some sprays of bluebells and held +them in her hands, her white fingers toying with the little flowers, +then she spoke: + +"I know," she said, "that no lady--for instance, in your own rank of +life--would walk through this wood with you on a summer's afternoon." + +A laugh came over his handsome, happy young face. + +"I do not know. I am inclined to think the opposite." + +"I do not understand what you would call etiquette; but I am quite sure +you would never ask one." + +"I am not sure. If I had met one in what you are pleased to call my rank +of life last night by the mill-stream, looking as you looked, I am quite +sure that I should ask her to walk with me and talk with me at any +time." + +"I should like to see your world," she said. "I know the world of the +poor and the middle class, but I do not know yours." + +"You will know some day," he said, quietly. "Do not be angry with me if +I tell you that in all my world I have never seen one like you. Do not +be angry, I am not flattering you, I am saying just what I think." + +"Why do you think that some day I may see your world?" she asked. + +"Because with your face you are sure to marry well," he replied. + +"I shall marry where I love," said Leone. + +"And you may love where you will," he replied; "no man will ever resist +you." + +"I would rather you did not speak to me in that fashion," she said, +gravely; and Lord Chandos found, that seated by this farmer's niece, in +the wood full of bluebells, he was compelled to be more circumspect than +if he were speaking to some countess-elect in a Mayfair drawing-room. +Leone, when she had set him quite straight in his place, as she called +it; when she had taught him that he was to treat her with as much, if +not more courtesy, than he bestowed on those of his own rank; Leone, +when she had done all this, felt quite at home with him. She had never +had an opportunity for exercising her natural talent for conversation; +her uncle was quite incapable of following or understanding her; the +girls who were her companions lost themselves in trying to follow her +flights of fancy. + +But now there was some one who understood her; talk as she would, he +appreciated it; he knew her quotations; no matter how original her ideas +were he understood and followed them; it was the first time she had ever +had the opportunity of talking to an educated gentleman. + +How she enjoyed it; his wit seemed waiting on hers, and seemed to catch +fire from it; his eyes caught fire from hers. She described her simple +life and its homely surroundings in words that burned. + +It was in her simple, sweet, pathetic description of stolid Uncle Robert +that she excelled herself; she painted his character with the most +graphic touches. + +"Do you know, Miss Noel," said Lord Chandos at last, "that you are a +genius, that you have a talent truly marvelous: that you can describe a +character or a place better than I have heard any one else?" + +"No, I did not know anything about it," she said. "I am so accustomed to +being looked upon as something not to be understood, admired, or +imitated that I can hardly believe that I am clever. Uncle Robert is +really a character; nowadays men and women are very much alike; but he +stands out in bold relief, quite by himself, the slowest, the most +stolid of men, yet with a great heart full of love." + +It was so pleasant to talk to him and see his handsome young face full +of admiration; to startle him by showing her talent, so pleasant that +the whole of the summer afternoon had passed before she thought of the +time; and he was equally confused, for Dr. Hervey's dinner-hour was +over. And yet they both agreed it was the most pleasant hour they had +ever spent. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +THE RECONCILIATION. + + +It was, of course, the old story; there were one or two meetings by the +mill-stream, a morning spent together in some distant hay-field, an +afternoon in the woods, and then the mischief was done--they loved each +other. + + "Alas, how easily things go wrong-- + A sigh too deep or a kiss too long; + Then follows a mist and a weeping rain-- + And life is never the same again." + +It soon became not merely a habit but a necessity for them to meet every +day. Farmer Noel understood perfectly well the art of tilling the +ground, of sowing the crops, of making the earth productive, but he knew +less than a child of the care and watchfulness his young niece required. +He contented himself by asking where she had been; he never seemed to +imagine that she had had a companion. He saw her growing more and more +beautiful, with new loveliness on her face, with new light in her eyes, +with a thousand charms growing on her, but he never thought of love or +danger--in fact, above the hay-making and the wheat, Farmer Noel did not +think at all. + +She had gone into the glowing heart of fairyland--all the old life was +left far behind; she did not even seem to remember that she had been +restless and discontented; that in her soul she had revolted fiercely +against her fate; that she had disliked her life and longed for anything +that would change it; all that was forgotten; the golden glamour of love +had fallen over her, and everything was changed. He was young--this +brave, generous, gallant lover of hers--only twenty, with a heart full +of romance. He fairly worshiped the proud, beautiful girl who carried +herself with the stately grace of a young queen. He had fallen in love +after the fashion of his age--madly, recklessly, blindly--ready to go +mad or to die for his love; after the fashion of his age and sex he +loved her all the more because of her half-cold reserve, her indomitable +pride, her haughty rejection of all flattery. + +Young girls do not always know the secret of their power; a little +reserve goes further than the most loving words. Leone's pride attracted +Lord Chandos quite as much as her beauty. The first little quarrel they +had was an outburst of pride from her; they had been strolling through +the sunniest part of Leigh Woods, and when it was time to part he bent +down to kiss the warm, white hand. She drew it quickly from him. + +"You would not have done that to one of your own class," she cried; "why +do you do it to me?" + +"You are not really angry, Leone?" he cried in wonder. + +She turned her beautiful face, colorless with indignation, to him. + +"I am so far angry," she said, "that I shall not walk through the woods +with you--never again." + +She kept her word. For two whole days Lord Chandos wandered through the +fields and the lanes, through the woods and by the river, yet he saw no +sight of her. It was possible that she punished herself quite as much as +she did him; but he must be taught that, were he twenty times an earl, +he must never venture on even the least liberty with her; he must wait +her permission before he kissed her hand. + +The fourth day--he could bear it no longer--he rode past the farm twenty +times and more; at length he was fortunate enough to see Farmer Noel, +and throwing the reins on his horse's neck he got down and went up to +him. + +"Have you a dog to sell?" he asked. "Some one told me you had very fine +dogs." + +"I have good dogs, but none to sell," replied the farmer. + +"I want a dog, and I would give a good price for a good one," he said. +"Will you let me see yours?" + +"Yes, you can see them, but you cannot buy them," said Robert Noel; and +the next scene was the handsome young lordling going round the farm, +with the stalwart, stolid farmer. + +He won the farmer's heart by his warm praises of the farm, the cattle, +the dogs, and everything else he saw; still there was no Leone. + +"I am very thirsty; should you think me very impertinent if I asked you +for a glass of cider?" he said; and the farmer, flattered by the +request, took him into the little parlor. He looked at his visitor in +simple wonder. + +"They say you are a great lord's son," he said; "but if you are, you +have no pride about you." + +Lord Chandos laughed; and the farmer called Leone. There was a pause, +during which the young lord's heart beat and his face flushed. + +"Leone," cried the farmer again. + +He turned to his visitor. + +"You will wonder what 'Leone' means, it is such a strange name; it is my +niece. Here she comes." + +The loveliest picture in all the world, trying hard to preserve her +usual stately grace, yet with a blushing, dimpling smile that made her +lovely beyond words. + +"Leone," said the farmer, "will you bring a jug of cider?" + +"Pray," cried the lord, "do not trouble yourself, Miss Noel. I cannot +think----" + +She interrupted him by a gesture of her white hand. + +"I will send it, uncle," she said, and disappeared. + +The farmer turned with a smile to the young lord. + +"She is very proud," he said; "but she is a fine girl." + +The cider came; the visitor duly drank his glass and went; his only +reward for all that trouble was the one glance at her face. + +That same evening a little note was given to her, in which he begged her +so humbly to forgive him, and to meet him again, that she relented. + +He had learned his lesson; he wooed her with the deference due to a +young princess; no word or action of his displeased her after that, +while he loved her with a love that was akin to madness. + +So through the long, bright, beautiful summer days, in the early +morning, while the sweet, fragrant air seemed to sweep the earth, and in +the evening when the dew lay upon flower and tree, they met and learned +to love each other. + +One evening, as they sat by their favorite spot--the mill-stream--Lord +Chandos told her how he had learned to love her, how he had ceased to +think of anything in the world but herself. + +"I knew you were my fate, Leone," he said, "when I saw you sitting here +by the mill-stream. I am quite sure that I have loved you ever since. I +do not remember that there has been one moment in which I have not +thought of you. I shall always thank Heaven that I came to Rashleigh--I +found my darling here." + +For once all the pride had died from her face; all the hauteur was gone +from her eyes; a lovely gleam of tenderness took its place; a love-light +in the shy, sweet eyes that dropped from his. + +"My darling Leone," he said, "if I lived a hundred years I could only +say over and over again--'I love you.' Those three words say everything. +Do you love me?" + +She looked up at him. Then she raised her dark eyes to his and a little +quiver passed over her beautiful mouth. + +"Yes, I love you," she said. "Whether it be for weal or for woe, for +good or ill, I know not; but I love you." + +There was unutterable pathos, unutterable music in those three words; +they seemed to rhyme with the chime of the falling waters. She held out +her white hands, he clasped them in his. + +"Why do you say it so sadly, my darling? Love will bring nothing but +happiness for you and for me," he said. + +She laid her white arms on his neck, and looked earnestly in his face. + +"There can be no comparison," she said. "Love to you is only a small +part of your life, to me it is everything--everything. Do you +understand? If you forget me or anything of that kind, I could not bear +it. I could not school myself into patience as model women do. I should +come and throw myself into the mill-stream." + +"But, my darling, I shall never forget you--never; you are life of my +life. I might live without the air and the sunlight; I might live +without sleep or food, but never without you. I must forget my own soul +before I forget you." + +Still the white hands clasped his shoulders and the dark eyes were fixed +on his face. + +"You and your love are more than that to me," she said. "I throw all my +life on this one die; I have nothing else--no other hope. Ah, think +well, Lance, before you pledge your faith to me; it means so much. I +should exact it whole, unbroken and forever." + +"And I would give it so," he replied. + +"Think well of it," she said again, with those dark, earnest eyes fixed +on his face. "Let there be no mistake, Lance. I am not one of the meek +Griselda type; I should not suffer in silence and resignation, let my +heart break, and then in silence sink into an early grave. Ah, no, I am +no patient Griselda. I should look for revenge and many other things. +Think well before you pledge yourself to me. I should never +forgive--never forget. There is time now--think before you seal your +fate and mine." + +"I need not think, Leone," he answered, quietly. "I have thought, and +the result is that I pledge you my faith forever and ever." + +The earnest, eager gaze died from her eyes, and the beautiful face was +hidden on his breast. + +"Forever and ever, sweet," he whispered; "do you hear? in all time and +for all eternity, I pledge you my love and my faith." + +The water seemed to laugh as it rippled on, the wind laughed as it bent +the tall branches, the nightingale singing in the wood stopped suddenly, +and its next burst of song was like ringing laughter; the mountains +quivered over the mill-stream, the stars seemed to tremble as they +shone. + +"Forever and ever," he repeated. The wind seemed to catch up the words +and repeat them, the leaves seemed to murmur them, the fall of the water +to rhyme with them. "Forever and ever, sweet, I pledge you my love and +my faith; our hearts will be one, and our souls one, and you will give +me the same love in return, my sweet?" + +"I give you even more than that," she replied, so earnestly that the +words had a ring of tragedy in them; and then bending forward, he kissed +the sweet lips that were for evermore to be his own. + +"You are mine now forever," he said, "my wife, who is to be." + +She was quite silent for some minutes; then, looking up at him, she +said: + +"I wish you had never sung that pretty ballad of the mill-wheel to me; +do you know what the water always says when I listen? + + "'Those vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broken.'" + +"My darling," he said, clasping her to his heart, "no words that have +any ring of doubt in them will ever apply to us, let the mill-stream say +what it will." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +AN IMPATIENT LOVER'S PLANS. + + +There had been no mistake about the wooing of Lord Chandos. He had not +thought of loving and riding away; the proud, beautiful, gifted girl +whom he loved had been wooed and pursued with the ardor and respect that +he would have shown to a princess. + +There came another day, when something had prevented him from seeing +her; and unable to control his impatience, he had ridden over to the +farm, this time ostensibly to see the farmer, and ask for another glass +of his famous cider; this time, under the farmer's eyes even, he stopped +and spoke to Leone. + +"You will be at the mill-stream this evening?" he whispered, and her +answer was: + +"Yes." + +When he had drunk the cider and ridden away, Farmer Noel turned to his +niece. + +"A fine young man that, Leone; but what did he say to you?" + +"Nothing particular; something about the mill-stream," replied the proud +lips, that disdained a lie. + +"Because," said Robert Noel, slowly, "you have a beautiful face of your +own, my lady lass, and a young man like that would be sure to admire +it." + +"What matter if he did, uncle?" she asked. + +"Harm would come of it," replied the farmer; "what a man admires he +often loves; and no good would come of such a love as that." + +"Why not?" she asked again, with flushed face and flashing eyes. "Why +not?" + +"We reckon in these parts," said the farmer, slowly, "that there is too +great a difference between the aristocracy and the working-people. To +put it in plain words, my lady lass, when a great lord or a rich man +admires a poor lass, as a rule it ends in her disgrace." + +"Not always," she answered, proudly. + +"No, perhaps not always; but mostly, mostly," repeated Robert Noel. "You +have a beautiful face, and, if you are wise, you will keep out of that +young gentleman's way. I should not like to offend you, Leone; you will +excuse me for speaking plainly." + +"It does not offend me," she said, simply; "although I do not think that +you are right. Why should not a lord, great and rich as this one, marry +a girl who has no drawback but poverty? I do not see such a great +difference." + +"I cannot tell you, my lady lass, either the why or the wherefore," he +replied. "I know that rich men do not marry poor and obscure girls; and +if they do, there is sure to be something wrong with the marriage. We +will not talk about it, only if he seems to admire you at all, do you +keep out of that young man's way." + +She made him no answer; his care for her touched her, but then there was +no need. Lord Chandos was unlike other men; besides which he loved her +so well he could not live without her. + +So, when the sun was setting in the western sky, she went down to the +mill-stream, where her lover awaited her. + +The crimson clouds were reflected in the rippling water, the birds were +singing in the trees, the flowers were all falling asleep; the fair, +fragrant world was getting ready for its time of rest. + +"Leone," he cried, seizing her hands and drawing her toward him, "my +darling, I thought to-day would never come. How many hours did yesterday +hold?" + +"Twenty-four," she replied. + +"Only twenty-four? Why, it seemed to me it was a day as long as a year, +and I asked myself one question, sweet." + +"What was it, Lance?" + +"This: that if one day seemed so terribly long, what would become of me +if I had to pass a week without you?" + +"What would become of you?" she said, laughingly. + +"I should die of my own impatience," he said, his handsome young face +flushing. "Fate may try me as it will," he added, "but it must never +separate me from you. It is because I have found this out that I have +asked you to meet me here to-night. I cannot live without you, Leone; +you understand that the hours are long and dark; life seems all ended, I +cannot feel interest or energy; I am longing for you all the time, just +as thirsty flowers are longing for dew. Leone, I should long until the +fever of my own longing killed me--for you." + +He drew the beautiful face to his own, and kissed it with a passion +words could never tell. + +"Why should I not be happy in my own way?" he said. "If I want the one +only thing on earth that could bring me my happiness, why should I not +have it? Of what use is money, wealth, position, rank, anything else on +earth to me, unless I have you. I would rather lose all I have in the +world than lose you." + +"It is sweet to be loved so well," she said, with a sigh. + +"I have had letters from home to-day," he said, "and I--I am half afraid +to tell you lest you should say no. I am to leave Rashleigh in one month +from now, and to go to my father's house--Cawdor, it is called. Leone, I +cannot go alone." + +She looked at him with wondering eyes; the ardent young lover who +believed his love to be so great and so generous, yet who, in reality, +loved himself best, even in his love. + +"Darling, I want you to consent to be my wife before I leave Rashleigh," +he continued. "I know it will be the best and easiest plan if I can but +win your consent." + +Her loving heart seemed almost to stand still; the crimson clouds and +the rippling waters seemed to meet; even in her dreams she had never +imagined herself his wife. + +Lord Chandos continued: + +"I know my parents well; my father is inflexible on some points, but +easily influenced; my mother is, I believe, the proudest woman in the +wide world. I know that she expects something wonderful from me in the +way of marriage; I hardly think that there is a peeress in England that +my mother would deem too good for me, and it would wound her to the +heart should I marry a woman beneath me in rank. Indeed I know she would +never forgive me." + +She uttered a little, low cry. + +"Then why have you loved me?" she asked. + +Her lover laughed. + +"How could I help it, my darling? In you I have found the other half of +my own soul. I could no more help loving you than a bird can help +singing. But listen, Leone; it is as I say, if I were to go home and +pray all day to them it would be useless. I have another plan. Marry me, +and I can take you to them and say, 'This is my wife.' They could not +help receiving you then, because the marriage could not be undone, and +my mother, with her worldly tact, would made the best of it then. If I +ask permission to marry you, they will never grant it; if I marry you, +they will be compelled to forgive it." + +She drew herself half proudly from him. + +"I do not wish any one to be compelled to receive me, nor do I wish to +be the cause of unpleasantness," she said. + +"My darling, all lovers have something to suffer. The course of true +love cannot run smooth. Surely you would not desert me, or forsake me, +or refuse to love me because I cannot change the opinion of my +conservative parents. I know no lady, no peeress in England, who is half +so beautiful, so clever as you--not one. I shall be more proud to take +you home as Lady Chandos than if you were a queen's daughter. You +believe me?" + +"Yes, I believe _you_," she replied. + +"Never mind any one else, Leone. My father admires beautiful women; he +will be sure to love you; my mother will be very disagreeable at first, +but in a short time she will learn to love you, and then all will be +well." + +The little white hand clung to him. + +"You are quite sure, Lance?" she said, with a sob--"quite sure?" + +"Yes, sweet, I am more than sure. You will be Lady Chandos, of Cawdor, +and that is one of the oldest and grandest titles in England." + +"But will your mother forgive you and love you again?" she asked, +anxiously. + +"Yes, believe me. And now, Leone, let me tell you my plans. They are all +rather underhand, but we cannot help that; everything is fair in love +and war. About twenty miles from here there is a sleepy little village +called Oheton. I was there yesterday, and it was there that this plan +came to me. Oh, my darling, turn your sweet face to me and let me be +quite sure that you are listening." + +"I am listening, Lance," she said. + +"No, not with all your heart. See how well I understand you. Your eyes +linger on the water, and the falling of it makes music, and the rhyme of +the music is: + + "'These vows were all forgotten, + The ring asunder broken.' + +When will you trust me more thoroughly, Leone?" + +She glanced at him with something of wonder, but more of fear. + +"How do you know what I am thinking of?" she asked. + +"I can guess from the tragical expression of your face, and the pathos +of your eyes as they linger on the falling water. Now, you shall not +look at the mill-stream, look at me." + +She raised her dark, lustrous eyes to his face, and he went on: + +"Over in this sleepy little village of Oheton, Leone--it is a sleepy +village--the houses are all divided from each other by gardens and +trees. Unlike most villagers, the people do not seem to know each other, +you do not hear any gossip; the people, the houses, the streets, all +seem sleepy together. At one end of the village is a church, one of the +most quaint, an old Norman church, that has stood like a monument while +the storms of the world raged around it; the vicar is the Reverend +Josiah Barnes." + +"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked. + +"You will soon understand," he replied. "The Reverend Mr. Barnes is over +sixty, and he, together with the people, the houses, and the streets, +seems sleepy; nothing would excite him, or interest him, or startle him. + +"Now, Leone, I have taken lodgings for myself for three weeks in this +sleepy village; no one will take any notice of me; I shall go and come +just as I will; then I shall have the bans of our marriage published. +The dear old vicar will read them in his sleepy tones: + +"'I publish the bans of marriage for the first time between Lancelot +Chandos and Leone Noel.' No one will hear the names plainly, and those +who do will not know to whom they belong, and there will be no +impediment; will there, Leone?" + +The water laughed as it hurried over the stones. + +"No impediment," it seemed to say; "no impediment, Leone." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +A FRIEND'S ADVICE. + + +"But," asked Leone, anxiously, "will that be safe, Lance? Supposing that +any one should hear and recognize the names, what then?" + +"There is no fear. Nothing can ever be done without risk; but there is +no risk there--at least, none that I fear to run. I guarantee that not +one person in that church hears those names clearly. Then you will see +that I have arranged every detail. Then, when the three weeks have +expired, we will meet there some fine morning and be married. I have a +friend who will come with me as a witness. After that I propose that we +go to London, and there I shall introduce you to my father first; then +we will go down to Cawdor to my mother. Do you like the plan, Leone?" + +"I should like it much better if they could know of it beforehand," she +replied, gravely. + +His face grew grave as her own. + +"That cannot be," he replied. "You see, Leone, I am not of age; I shall +not be twenty-one until September: and if my parents knew of it, they +have power to forbid the marriage, and we could not be married; but done +without their knowledge, they are of course powerless." + +"I do not like it," she said, with a shudder; "I would rather all was +open and sincere." + +"It cannot be. Why, Leone, where is your reason? If even your uncle +knew, he would interfere to prevent it. In his slow, stolid, honest mind +he would think such a marriage quite wrong, you may be sure; he would +talk about caste, and position, and all kinds of nonsense. We must keep +our secret to ourselves, my darling, if we wish to be married at all. +Surely, Leone, you love me enough to sacrifice your wishes to me on this +point?" + +The beautiful face was raised to his. + +"I love you well enough to die for you, and far too well to bring +trouble on you, Lance." + +"My darling, there is only one thing that can bring trouble on me, and +that would be to lose you; that would kill me. You hear me, Leone, it +would not make me grow thin and pale, after the fashion of rejected +lovers, but it would kill me. Do not ask me to leave you an hour longer +than I need. Ah, my love, yield: do not grieve me with a hundred +obstacles--not even with one. Yield, and say that you will agree to my +plan." + +There was no resisting the pleading of the handsome young face, the +loving eyes, the tender words, the passionate kisses; she could not +resist them; it was so sweet to be loved so well. + +"You must keep our secret from that honest, stolid, good uncle of +yours," said Lord Chandos, "or he will think himself bound to call and +tell Dr. Hervey. You promise me, then, Leone, my love, to do what I ask, +and to be my own beloved wife, when the three weeks are over?" + +"Yes, I promise, Lance," she replied. + +Her voice was grave and sweet, her beautiful face had on it the light of +a beautiful and noble love. + +"Then kiss me, as the children say, of your own accord, and let that +kiss be our betrothal." + +She raised her lips to his for the first time and kissed him. + +"That is our betrothal," he said; "now nothing can part us. Leone, I +waited for your promise to give you this." + +He opened a small jewel-case, and took from it a diamond ring. + +"This is what ladies call an engagement-ring," he said; "let me put it +on your finger." + +She shrank back. + +"Lance," she said, "do you remember the words of the song, + + "'A ring in pledge he gave her, + And vows of love he spoke.' + +How strange that by this stream you should offer me a ring!" + +"You seem to think there is a fatality in the water, Leone," he said, +quietly. + +"I have an idea that I cannot express, but it seems to me that story is +told in the falling water." + +"If the water tells of a golden bright life, all happiness, with the +most devoted and loving of husbands, then it may tell you as much as it +likes. Let me put the ring on your finger, Leone." + +She held out her hand--such a beautiful hand, with a soft, pink palm and +tapering fingers. As he went to place the ring on her finger, it fell +from his hand into the water below, and Leone uttered a low cry. + +"It is not lost," he said; "it has not fallen into the stream, it is +here." + +Looking down, she saw the flash of the diamonds in the little pool that +lay between two stones, Lord Chandos wiped it and dried it. + +"You will prize it all the more because it has been dipped in your +favorite stream," he said. "Give me your hand again, Leone; we shall +have better fortune this time." + +He placed the ring securely on her finger, then kissed the white hand. + +"How angry you were with me the first time I kissed your hand," he said; +"and now I have all your heart. There will be neither broken vows nor a +broken ring for us, Leone, no matter what the water sings or says." + +"I hope not," says the girl, brightly. + +"I shall take possession of my lodgings at Oheton to-morrow," he said. +"I shall have to spend some little time there; but you must promise that +I shall see you every evening, Leone. Will you find your way to the +mill-wheel? When we are married, I shall try to buy the mill, the +stream, and the land all round it; it will be a sacred spot to me. In +three weeks, Leone, you will be my wife." + +"Yes," she replied, "in three weeks." + +The wind fell, the ripple of the green leaves ceased, the birds had sung +themselves to sleep, only the water ran laughingly on. + +"Lance," cried the girl, suddenly, "do you know what the water says--can +you hear it?" + +"No," he replied, with a laugh; "I have not such a vivid fancy as you. +What does it say?" + +"Nothing but sorrow, nothing but sorrow," she chanted. + +"I cannot hear that; if it says anything at all, it is nothing but love, +nothing but love." + +And then, as the shades of night were coming on, he saw her safely home. + +That same evening Lord Chandos and Sir Frank Euston talked long +together. + +"Of course," said Sir Frank, "if you put me on my honor, I cannot speak, +but I beg of you to stop and think." + +Lord Chandos laughed; his handsome face was flushed and eager. + +"The man who hesitates is lost," he said. "All the thinking in the world +cannot alter matters, nor make me love my darling less." + +"There is an old proverb I should like to recommend to you," said Sir +Frank Euston; "it is this--a young man married is a young man marred." + +"I am quite as willing to be marred as to be married," said the young +lord, "and married I will be if all the powers on earth conspire against +me." + +"I know how useless all arguments are," said his friend, "when a man +determines to be foolish; but do think for one moment of the terrible +disappointment to your parents." + +"I do not see it; they have no right to be disappointed; my father +married to please himself, why should I not do the same?" + +"You are outraging all the laws of your class," said Sir Frank. "However +beautiful a farmer's niece may be, we cannot suppose even a miracle +could fit her to take the place of the Countess of Lanswell." + +A hot flush came over the young lord's face; a strange quiet came into +his voice. + +"We will discuss what you like, Frank, but you must not touch the young +lady's name, we will leave that out of the question." + +"You have asked me to be the witness of your marriage," said Sir Frank, +"and that entitles me to speak my mind. I do speak it, frankly, +honestly, plainly, as I should thank God for any friend to speak to a +brother of my own if he felt inclined to make a simpleton of himself." + +"I call myself a sensible man to marry for love, not a simpleton," said +Lord Chandos grandly. + +"My dear Lance," said his friend, "you make just this one mistake; you +are not a man at all, you are a boy." + +He stopped suddenly, for the young lord looked at him with a defiant, +fierce face. + +"You must not say that again, Frank, or we shall be friends no longer." + +"I do not want to offend you, Lance; but you are really too young to +think of marriage. Your tastes are not formed yet; that which pleases +you now you will dislike in six or ten years' time. I assure you that if +you marry this farmer's niece now, in ten years' time you will repent it +in sackcloth and ashes. She is not fit, either by manner, education, or +anything else, to be your mother's daughter, and you know it; you know +that when the glamour of her beauty is over you will wonder at your own +madness and folly. Be warned in time." + +"You may as well reason with a madman as a man in love," said the young +lordling, "and I am in love." + +"And you are mad," said Sir Frank, quietly; "one day you will know how +mad." + +Lord Chandos laughed. + +"There is method in my madness. Come, Frank, we have been such friends I +would do anything you asked me." + +"I should never ask you to do anything so foolish, Lance; I wish that I +had not given my word of honor to keep your secret; I am quite sure that +I ought to send word to the earl and countess at once; I cannot, as I +have promised not to do so, but I regret it." + +"My dear Frank, nothing in the world would stop me; if anything were +done to prevent my marriage now, I would simply await another and more +favorable opportunity; my mind is made up. I love the girl with all my +heart, and she, no other, shall be my wife. If you refuse to act for me, +well and good; I shall find some one else." + +"If you would but be reasonable, Lance," said his friend. + +"I am not reasonable. When did you ever see reason and love go hand in +hand together?" + +"They should do so always, and do, when the love is worth having." + +"Now, Frank, I have listened patiently; I have heard all that you have +had to say; I have weighed every argument, and I remain unconvinced. You +have but to say whether you will do this to oblige me or not." + +"If I do it, remember, it is under protest, Lance." + +"Never mind what it is under, if you only promise." + +"I promise, to save you from greater risk, but I do it against my will, +my reason, my good sense, my conscience, and everything else." + +Lord Chandos laughed aloud. + +"You will forget everything of that kind," he said, "when you see +Leone." + +And the two friends parted, mutually dissatisfied. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE PROPHECY. + + +"A very impatient young man," said the good old vicar. "No man in his +senses would want to be married before ten in the morning. I call it +unchristian." + +Good old Mr. Barnes had been roused from his early slumbers by the +announcement that the young man had come to be married. + +Married, while the early morning sun was shining, and the birds singing +their morning hymn. + +He was almost blind, this good old vicar, who had lived so long at +Oheton. He was very deaf, and could hardly hear, but then he did not +require very keen sight or hearing at Oheton; there was never more than +one marriage in a year, and funerals were very rare; but to be called +before nine in the morning to perform the marriage ceremony was +something unheard of. He had duly announced the bans, and no one had +taken the least notice of them; but to come so early, it was positively +cruel. + +Others had risen early that morning. Leone had not slept well, for this +July morning, which was to bring such mingled joy and sorrow to others, +was a day of deepest emotion to her. + +Her love-dream was to be realized. She was to marry the ardent young +lover who swore that he would not live without her. + +She had thought more of her love than of the worldly advantages it would +bring her. She had not thought much of those until they stood, on the +evening before their wedding-day, once more by the mill-stream. It was +bright moonlight, for the smiling summer day was dead. It was their +farewell to the beautiful spot they both loved. + +"I am so glad," said Lord Chandos, "that we can say good-bye to it by +the light of the moon. I wonder, Leone, when we shall see the +mill-stream again? I have a fancy that the pretty water has helped me in +my wooing." + +As they sat there the wind rose and stirred the branches of the +alder-trees. In some way the great wavy masses of dark hair became +unfastened, and fell like a thick soft veil over Leone's shoulders. Lord +Chandos touched it caressingly with his hand. + +"What beautiful hair, Leone--how thick and soft; how beautiful those +wavy lines are--what makes them?" + +"A turn of Dame Nature's fingers," she replied, laughingly. + +"I should like to see diamonds shining in these coils of hair," he said. +"Leone, one of the first things we must do to-morrow when we reach +London, is to buy a very handsome traveling-dress. I have written to-day +to my father to ask him to meet us at Dunmore House." + +She repeated the words. + +"Where is Dunmore House?" she asked. + +"I forgot," he said, "that all places so familiar to me are strange to +you. One of my father's titles is Baron Dunmore, and his London +residence is called Dunmore House. We shall meet him there to-morrow, +and then you will be my wife." + +For the first time she realized what an immense difference there was in +their positions. She glanced at him in sudden fear. + +"Lance," she said, "shall I seem very much out of place in your home, +and among your friends?" + +"My darling, you would grace any home," he replied; "mine has had no +fairer mistress in all the generations it has stood." + +"I am half frightened," she said, gently. + +"You need not be, sweet. Before this time next year all London will know +and admire the beautiful Lady Chandos." + +"It seems a long leap to take in life," she said, "from being Farmer +Noel's niece to bear the name of Lady Chandos." + +"You will grace the name, Leone," he replied. "I shall be the proudest +man in England--I shall have the most beautiful wife in England. This is +our last separation, our last parting; after this, we need never part." + +He stooped down and caught some of the running water in his hand. + +"A libation," he said, as he poured it back again. "I feel as though I +were losing a friend when I leave the mill-stream." + +Loving and loved, no thought came to them there of how they should see +the mill-stream again. + +"Leone, Lady Chandos." More than once that evening she said those words +to herself. It was after eight when she came in, and the farmer had long +finished his supper; he sat thinking over his pipe. + +"You are late, my lady lass," he said; "sit down and talk to me before I +go to rest." + +Obediently enough, she sat down while he told her the history of his +visits to the different markets. She heard, but did not take in the +sense of one single word he uttered. She was saying to herself over and +over again, that by this time to-morrow she should be Lady Chandos. Her +happiness would have been complete if she could have told her uncle. He +had been so kind to her. They were opposite as light and darkness, they +had not one idea in common, yet he had been good to her and she loved +him. She longed to tell him of her coming happiness and grandeur, but +she did not dare to break her word. + +Robert Noel looked up in wonder. There was his beautiful niece kneeling +at his feet, her eyes dim with tears. + +"Uncle," she was saying, "look at me, listen to me. I want to thank you. +I want you always to remember that on this night I knelt at your feet +and thanked you with a grateful heart for all you have ever done for +me." + +"Why, my lady lass," he replied, "you have always been to me as a child +of my own," he replied. + +"A tiresome child," she said, half laughing, half crying. "See. I take +this dear, brown hand, so hard with work, and I kiss it, uncle, and +thank you from my heart." + +He could not recover himself, so to speak. He looked at her in blank, +wordless amazement. + +"In the years to come," she continued, "when you think of me, you must +say to yourself, that, no matter what I did, I loved you." + +"No matter what you did you loved me," he repeated. "Yes, I shall +remember that." + +She kissed the toil-worn face, leaving him so entirely bewildered that +the only fear was lest he might sit up all night trying to forget it. + +Then she went to her room, but not to sleep--her heart beat, every pulse +thrilled. This was to be the last night in her old home--the last of her +girlish life; to-morrow she would be Lady Chandos--wife of the young +lover whom she loved with all her heart and soul. + +The birds woke her with their song, it was their wedding-day. She would +not see Robert Noel again; he took his breakfast before six and went off +to the fields again. She had but to dress herself and go to the station. +Oheton was some three miles from the station, but on a summer's morning +that was a trifle. + +They were all three there at last--Sir Frank looking decidedly vexed and +cross, Lord Chandos happy as the day was long, and Leone beautiful as a +picture. + +"Look," said the young lordling to his friend, "have I no excuse?" + +Sir Frank looked long and earnestly at the beautiful southern face. + +"Yes," he replied; "so far as beauty and grace can form an excuse, you +have one; but, Lance, if I loved that girl a thousand times better than +my life, I should not marry her." + +"Why?" asked Lord Chandos, with a laugh. + +"Because she has a tragedy in her life. She could not be happy. She will +neither have a happy life nor a happy death." + +"My dear Frank, do not prophesy such evil on our wedding-day." + +"I do not mean to prophesy, I say what I think; it is a beautiful face, +full of poetry and passion, but it is also full of power and unrest." + +"You shall not look at her again if you say such things," cried Lord +Chandos. + +And then the good vicar, still distressed at being aroused so early, +came to the church. Had it been less pitiful and pathetic, it would have +been most comical, the number of times the old vicar dropped his book, +forgot the names, the appalling mistakes he made, the nervous hesitation +of his manner. Sometimes Lord Chandos felt inclined to say hard, hot +words; again, he could not repress a smile. But at length, after +trembling and hesitating, the vicar gave the final benediction, and +pronounced them man and wife. + +In the vestry, when the names were signed, some ray of light seemed to +dawn on the old vicar. + +"Chandos," he said, "that is not a common name about here." + +"Is it not?" said the young lord; "it seems common enough to me." + +"Chandos," repeated the minister, "where have I heard that name!" + +"I have heard it so often that I am tired of it," said the young +husband. + +And then it was all over. + +"Thank God to be out in the sunlight," he cried, as he stood, with his +beautiful wife, in the churchyard. "Thank God it is all over, and I can +call my love my wife. I thought that service would never end. Frank, +have you no good wishes for my wife?" + +Sir Frank went to Leone. + +"I wish you joy," he said; "I wish you all happiness--but----" + +And then he played nervously with the hat he held in his hand. + +"But," she said with a bright smile, "you do not think I shall get it?" + +Sir Frank made no answer; he did not think she would be happy, but she +had chosen her own way; he had said all he could. Perhaps his eyes were +clearer than others, for he could read a tragedy in her face. Then Sir +Frank left them, having performed his part with a very ill grace. + +"Leone, have you said good-bye to your uncle?" asked Lord Chandos. + +"I left a little note to be given him when he returns home this evening. +How he will miss me." + +"And how fortunate I am to have you, my darling; there is no one in the +wide world so happy. We will drive over to Rashleigh Station. I do not +care who sees me now, no one can part us. Dr. Hervey thinks I went home +to London this morning, but I won a wife before starting, did I not, +Leone, my beautiful love? You are Lady Chandos now. What are you +thinking of, my darling?" + +"I was wondering, Lance, if there was anything in our marriage that +could possibly invalidate it and make it illegal?" + +"No," he replied, "I have been too careful of you, Leone, for that. You +are my wife before God and man. Nothing shall take you from me but +death." + +"But death," she repeated slowly. + +And in after years they both remembered the words. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +A MYSTERIOUS TELEGRAM. + + +Cawdor took rank among the most stately homes of England: it had been +originally one of the grand Saxon strongholds, one, too, which the +Normans had found hard to conquer. + +As time wore on the round towers and the keep fell into +ruins--picturesque and beautiful ruins, round which the green ivy hung +in luxuriant profusion; then the ruins were left standing. + +Little by little the new place was built, not by any particular design; +wing after wing, story after story, until it became one of the most +picturesque and most magnificent homes in England. Cawdor it was called; +neither court, hall nor park, simply Cawdor; and there were very few +people in England who did not know Cawdor. There was no book of +engravings that had not a view of Cawdor for its first and greatest +attraction; there was no exhibition of pictures in which one did not see +ruins of Cawdor. It had in itself every attribute of beauty, the +ivy-mantled ruins, the keep, from which one could see into five +different counties, the moat, now overgrown with trees; the +old-fashioned draw-bridge which contrasted so beautifully with the grand +modern entrance, worthy of a Venetian palace; the winding river, the +grand chain of hills, and in the far distance the blue waters of the +Channel. + +There could not have been a more beautiful or picturesque spot on earth +than Cawdor. It had belonged to the Lanswell family for many +generations. The Lanswells were a wealthy race--they owned not only all +the land surrounding the fair domain of Cawdor, but nearly the whole of +the town of Dunmore. The Earl of Lanswell was also Baron of Raleigh, and +Raleigh Hall, in Staffordshire, was a very grand estate. In one part of +it an immense coal mine had been discovered, which made Lord Lanswell +one of the wealthiest men of the day. + +Cawdor, Raleigh Hall, and Dunmore House, three of the finest residences +in England, together with a rent-roll counted by hundreds of thousands, +should have made the earl a happy man. He married a wealthy heiress in +accordance with the old proverb that "Like seeks like." His wife, Lucia, +Countess of Lanswell, was one of the proudest peeresses in England; she +was unimpeachable in every relation of life, and had little pity for +those who were not; she had never known sorrow, temptation, doubt, or +anything else; she had lived in an atmosphere of perfect content and +golden ease; she had the grandest mansion, the finest diamonds, the +finest horses in London; she had the most indulgent husband, the +handsomest son, and the prettiest daughter; she did not know the word +want in any shape, she had not even suffered from the crumpled +rose-leaf. The nearest approach to trouble of any kind that she had +known was that her son, Lord Chandos, had failed in one of his +examinations. He asked that he might go into the country for some months +to read, and permission was most cheerfully given to him. With her +daughter, Lady Imogene Chandos, the countess had never had and never +expected to have any trouble; she was one of the fairest, sweetest, and +most gentle of girls; she was docile and obedient; she had never in her +life given the least trouble to any one. + +Lord Lanswell was walking up and down one of the broad terraces at +Cawdor one fine morning in July, when one of the servants brought to him +a telegram. He opened it hastily, it was from his son, Lord Chandos: + + "DEAREST FATHER,--Will you run up to town, and meet me at Dunmore + House this evening? I have something very important to tell you. + Not one word to mother yet." + +Lord Lanswell stood still to think with the telegram in his hand. + +"What can be the matter now?" he said to himself; "that boy will give me +trouble. He has done something now that he will not let my lady know." + +He had a dull, heavy presentiment that the boy who should have been the +pride and delight of his life would be a drawback and a torment. + +"I must go," said the earl to himself, "I must make some excuse to +satisfy my lady." + +It was typical of Lady Lanswell that her husband seldom spoke of her as +my wife, the children more seldom still as "my mother;" every one alike +called her "my lady." She might have been the only peeress in England, +so entirely did every one agree in giving her that title. "My lady" was +pleased, meant sunshine at Cawdor; "my lady" was angry, meant gloom. She +regulated the moral and mental atmosphere of the house with a smile or a +frown. + +Lord Lanswell knew that he dare not show the telegram to Lady Lanswell; +she would have started off at once for Dunmore House, and there would +have been war. He must deceive her. He carefully destroyed the telegram, +in some queer fashion which he did not own even to himself he had a kind +of sympathy with his son. + +He had been wild in his youth and made allowances for the same in +others. His worst thought now was that his handsome young heir, with the +frank blue eyes and sunny hair, had been gambling or betting. + +"A few thousand pounds would set him straight," he thought, "and after +all, one must not be too hard on the follies of youth." + +No need to tell my lady; she looked on these exploits with a keen, cold +eye. He went to the drawing-room, where my lady sat looking regally +beautiful in black velvet and point lace. + +The countess of Lanswell was considered one of the handsomest women in +England. She had married very young, and her beauty was still so well +preserved that she took her place with the beauties of the day. Husband +and children both felt in awe of the beautiful woman, with her queenly +grace and bearing. + +"Lucia," said the earl, "I thought of running up to town this afternoon. +I shall return to-morrow." + +"Indeed," said my lady, slowly. "Why this sudden resolution, Ross?" + +"There is some little business that no one can attend to but myself," he +said. "I shall not be long absent." + +"Business of what nature?" asked my lady, her fine eyes fixed on his +face. + +"Why, dear, it is surely not needful for me to explain my business to +you? I have none of which you would not approve. I want to call on my +bankers--I want to sell some shares. I have several little reasons for +running up to town." + +"You remember, of course, that the Beauvoirs dine here to-day?" said my +lady. + +"Yes, I have not forgotten, but with your usual tact you can apologize +for me, Lucia." + +The compliment pleased her. + +"Certainly, I can, if your absence is really needful, Ross," said my +lady. + +"It is needful, I assure you. I can tell you all I have done when I +return; just now I must hurry off, or I shall not catch the train." + +As the earl quitted Cawdor, he regretted deeply that his son should have +complicated the situation by enforcing silence as regarded his mother. + +He pondered a great deal on what he should say when he returned--above +all, if the boy's trouble was, as he imagined, the loss of money. + +"I must not let his mother know," thought the earl. "Boys are boys; she +would think he was lost altogether if she knew that he had betting and +gambling debts. Whatever he owes, no matter what it is, I will give him +a check for it, and make him promise me that it shall be the last time." + +He never thought of any other danger; that his son had fallen in love or +wanted to marry never occurred to him. He was glad when he reached +Dunmore House; the old housekeeper met him in the hall. + +"I have dinner ready, my lord," she said. "Lord Chandos told me you were +coming." + +He looked round expectantly. + +"Is not Lord Chandos here?" he asked. + +It occurred to him that the housekeeper looked troubled and distressed. + +"No," she replied, "he is not staying here--they are staying in the +Queen's Hotel, in Piccadilly." + +"They," he cried, "whom do you mean by they? Has Lord Chandos friends +with him?" + +The woman's face grew pale. She shrunk perceptibly from the keen, gray +eyes. + +"I understood his lordship that he was not alone," she replied. "I may +have made a mistake. I understood him also that he should be with you by +eight this evening, when you had finished dinner." + +"Why could he not dine with me?" he thought. "Sends a telegram for me, +and then leaves me to dine alone. It is not like Lance." + +But thinking over it would not solve the mystery; the earl went to his +room and dressed for dinner. He had ordered a bottle of his favorite +Madeira, of which wonderful tales were told. + +Then he sat thinking about his son, and his heart softened toward him. +He thought of the handsome, curly-headed young boy whose grand spirit no +one but my lady could subdue. He laughed aloud as he remembered the +struggles between himself and his heir--they had always ended in his +defeat; but when my lady came on the scene it was quite another thing, +the defeat was on the other side then, and my Lord Chandos was usually +carried off defeated and conquered. + +He thought of the handsome stripling who used to wander about the +grounds at Cawdor, trying to conceal from my lady the fact that he +smoked cigars. He did not fear his father and smoked boldly before him, +but at the first sound of my lady's rustling silk he flew rather than +ran. Lord Lanswell laughed aloud as he thought of it all. + +"He is just as frightened at my lady now," he said to himself. "I cannot +help feeling touched and flattered that he has sent for me in his +trouble. I will help him and my lady shall never know." + +His heart warmed to his son and heir--no one knew how dearly he loved +him, nor how completely his life was wrapped up in him. Then he heard a +cab drive up to the door. Surely that must be Lance. + +He listened in impatient suspense--he heard whispering in the outer +hall, as though some consultation were being held. + +"What in the world is the boy making a mystery over?" he asked himself. + +Then he started from his chair in unutterable amazement. + +Before him stood Lance, Lord Chandos, holding the hands of the most +beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A SHOCKED FATHER. + + +"I am quite sure of one thing," Lord Chandos had said, as they drew near +London, "and that is, Leone--if my father sees you before my mother has +time to interfere, it will be all right. He can resist anything but a +pretty face--that always conquers him." + +"I wish," said Leone, with a sigh, "that I were less proud. Do you know, +Lance, that I cannot endure to hear you speak as though I were to be +received as a great favor. I wonder why I am so proud? I am a farmer's +niece, and you are the son of a powerful earl, yet I--please do not be +offended; I cannot help it--I feel quite as good as you." + +He laughed aloud. There was nothing he enjoyed better than this proud +frankness of hers, which would never yield to or worship rank or title. + +"I am glad to hear it, Leone," he replied. "For my own part, I think you +very much better than myself. I have no fear, if my father sees you +first, and that is why I have telegraphed to him to meet us at Dunmore +House." + +"But," she insisted, "suppose that he does not like me--what shall we do +then?" + +"Why," he replied, "the right and proper thing for me to do then will be +to try to love you, if possible, even better than I do now. Leone, the +first thing we must do is to drive to one of the court milliners; no +matter what follows, your dress must be attended to at once--first +impressions are everything. You look royally beautiful in all that you +wear, but I would much rather that my father saw you in a proper +costume. Suppose we drive to a milliner's first, and choose a handsome +dress, and all things suitable, then we can go to the Queen's Hotel; the +trunks can be sent after us. We can dine there; and when you have +dressed _a la_ Lady Chandos, we will go to Dunmore House, and carry +everything before us." + +He did as he had said. They drove first to Madame Caroline's. Lord +Chandos was accustomed to the princely style of doing things. He sent +for madame, who looked up in wonder at his fair young face. + +"This is my wife," he said, "Lady Chandos. We have been in the country +and she wants everything new, in your best style." + +It seemed to him hours had passed when madame reappeared. Certainly he +hardly knew the superbly beautiful girl with her. Was it possible that +after all the poets had said about "beauty unadorned" that dress made +such a difference? It had changed his beautiful Leone into a beautiful +empress. Madame looked at him for approval. + +"I hope your lordship is satisfied," she said; with the usual quickness +of her nation, she had detected the fact that this had been a runaway +marriage. + +"I am more than satisfied," he replied. + +Before him stood a tall, slender girl, whose superb figure was seen to +advantage in one of Worth's most fashionable dresses--trailing silk and +rich velvet, so skillfully intermixed with the most exquisite taste; a +lace bonnet that seemed to crown the rippling hair; pearl-gray gloves +that might have grown on the white hands. Her dress was simply perfect; +it was at once elegant and ladylike, rich and costly. + +"I shall not be afraid to face my father now," he said, "I have a +talisman." + +Yet his fair young face grew paler as they reached Dunmore House. It was +a terrible risk, and he knew it--a terrible ordeal. He realized what he +had done when the housekeeper told him the earl awaited him in the +dining-room. A decided sensation of nervousness came over him, and he +looked at the fresh, proud, glowing beauty of his young wife to reassure +himself. She was perfect, he felt that, and he was satisfied. + +"Give me your hand, Leone," he said, and the touch of that little hand +gave him new courage. + +He went in leading her, and the earl sprung from his seat in startling +amaze. Lord Chandos went boldly up to him. + +"Father," he said, "allow me to introduce to you my wife, Leone, Lady +Chandos." + +The earl gave a terrified glance at the beautiful southern face, but +made no answer. + +"I have to ask your forgiveness," continued the young lordling, "for +having married without your consent; but I knew, under the +circumstances, it was useless to ask it, so I married without." + +Still the same terrified look and utter silence. + +"Father," cried Lord Chandos, "why do you not welcome my young wife +home?" + +Then Lord Lanswell tried to smile--a dreadful, ghastly smile. + +"My dear boy," he said, "you are jesting; I am quite sure you are +jesting. It cannot be real; you would not be so cruel!" + +"Father," repeated the young lord, in an imperative voice, "will you bid +my wife welcome home?" + +"No," said the earl stoutly, "I will not. The young lady will excuse me +if I decline to bid her welcome to a home that can never be hers." + +"Father," cried the young man, reproachfully, "I did not expect this +from you." + +"I do not understand what else you could expect," cried the earl, +angrily. "Do you mean to tell me that it is true that this person is +your wife?" + +"My dear and honored wife," replied the young man. + +"Do you mean to tell me that you have actually married this lady, +Lance--really married her?" + +"I have, indeed, father, and it is about the best action of my life," +said Lord Chandos. + +"How do you intend to face my lady?" asked the earl, with the voice and +manner of one who proposes a difficulty not to be solved. + +"I thought you would help us, father; at least, speak to my wife." + +The earl looked at the beautiful, distressed face. + +"I am very sorry," he said, "sorry for you, Lance, and the lady, but I +cannot receive her as your wife." + +"She is my wife, whether you receive her or not," said Lord Chandos. +"Leone, how can I apologize to you? I never expected that my father +would receive you in this fashion. Father, look at her; think how young, +how beautiful she is; you cannot be unkind to her." + +"I have no wish to be unkind," said the earl, "but I cannot receive her +as your wife." + +Then, seeing the color fade from her face, he hastened to find her a +chair, and poured out a glass of wine for her; he turned with a stern +face to his son. + +"What have you been doing?" he cried. "While your mother and I thought +you were working hard to make up for lost time, what have you been +doing?" + +"I have been working very hard," he replied, "and my work will bring +forth good fruit; but, father, I have found leisure for love as well." + +"So it seems," said the earl, dryly; "perhaps you will tell me who this +lady is, and why she comes home with you?" + +"My wife; her name was Leone Noel; she is now Lady Chandos." + +For the first time Leone spoke. + +"I am a farmer's niece, my lord," she said, simply. + +Her voice had a ring of music in it so sweet that it struck the earl +with wonder. + +"A farmer's niece," he replied. "You will forgive me for saying that a +farmer's niece can be no fitting wife for my son." + +"I love him, my lord, very dearly, and I will try hard to be all that he +can wish me to be." + +"Bravely spoken; but it is quite in vain; my lady would never hear of +such a thing--I dare not--I cannot sanction it, even by a word, my lady +would never forgive me. Can you tell me when this rash action was +accomplished?" + +"This is our wedding-day, father," cried Lord Chandos. "Only think of +it, our wedding-day, and you receive us like this. How cruel and cold." + +"Nay, I am neither," said the earl; "it is rather you, Lance, who do not +seem to realize what you have done. You seem to think you belong to +yourself; you are mistaken; a man in your position belongs to his +country, his race, to his family, not to himself; that view of the +question, probably, did not strike you." + +"No," replied Lord Chandos, "it certainly did not; but, father, if I +have done wrong, forgive me." + +"I do forgive you, my dear boy, freely; young men will be foolish--I +forgive you; but do not ask me to sanction your marriage or receive your +wife. I cannot do it." + +"Then, of what use is your forgiveness? Oh, father, I did not expect +this from you; you have always been so kind to me. I had fancied +difficulties with my mother, but none with you." + +"My dear Lance, we had better send for my lady; she is really, as you +know, the dominant spirit of our family. She will decide on what is to +be done." + +"I insist on my wife being treated with due respect," raged the young +lord. + +"My dear Lance, you must do as you will; I refuse to recognize this lady +in any way. Will you tell me when and where you were married?" + +"Certainly: this morning, by the Reverend Mr. Barnes, at the Church of +St. Barnabas, in Oheton, a little village twenty miles from Rashleigh. +The marriage was all _en regle_; we had the bans published and witnesses +present." + +"You took great pains to be exact, and the lady, you tell me, is a +farmer's niece." + +"My uncle is Farmer Robert Noel; he has a farm at Rashleigh," said +Leone, "and in his way is an honest, loyal, honorable man." + +The earl could not help feeling the sweet, soft music of that voice; it +touched his heart. + +"I believe you," he said, "but it is a sad thing Farmer Noel did not +take more care of his niece. I am sorry it has happened; I can do +nothing to help you; my lady must manage it all." + +"But, father," pleaded the young man, "it was on you I relied; it was to +your efforts I trusted. Be my friend; if you will receive my wife here +and acknowledge her, no one else can say a word." + +"My dear boy, only yesterday your mother and I were speaking of +something on which the whole desire of her heart was fixed; remembering +that conversation I tell you quite frankly that I dare not do what you +ask me; your mother would never speak to me again." + +"Then, Leone, darling, we will go; Heaven forbid that we should remain +where we are not welcome. Father," he cried, in sudden emotion, "have +you not one kind word, not one blessing for me, on my wedding-day?" + +"I refuse to believe that it is your wedding-day, Lance. When that day +does come, you shall have both kind words and blessings from me." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE LAWYER'S STATEMENT. + + +Lady Lanswell stood in the library at Dunmore House, her handsome face +flushed with irritation and annoyance, her fine eyes flashing fire. She +looked like one born to command; her tall, stately figure bore no signs +of age; her traveling dress of rich silk swept the ground in graceful +folds. She had not removed her mantle of rich lace; it hung from her +shoulders still; she had removed her bonnet and gloves. With one jeweled +hand resting on the table, she stood, the picture of indignation and +anger. + +Lord Lanswell had sent a telegram at once, when his son left him, +begging her to come at once, as Lance had something important to tell +her. + +My lady lost no time; she was far more quick and keen of judgment than +the earl. She never thought of gambling or betting, her thoughts all +went to love. It was something about a girl, she said to herself; but +she should stand no nonsense. Lance must remember what was due to his +family. If he had made any such mistake as that of falling in love with +one beneath him, then he must rectify the mistake as quickly as +possible; there could be no _mesalliance_ in a family like theirs. As +for any promise of marriage, if he had been so foolish as to make one he +must break it. A sum of money would doubtless have to be expended over +the matter, then it would be all right. + +So thought my lady, and as the express drew near London she promised +herself that all would be well. Her spirits rose, her fears abated; no +son of hers would ever make a mistake so utterly absurd. There was +something of scorn in my lady's face as she entered Dunmore House. The +earl met her in the entrance hall. + +"I have lost no time, as you see," she said. "What is all this nonsense, +Ross?" + +He did not answer until they stood together in the library, with the +door closed, and then she repeated the words. Something in her husband's +face dismayed her. + +"Speak, Ross; I dislike suspense. Tell me at once; what has the boy +done?" + +"He is married," said the earl, solemnly. + +"Great Heaven!" cried my lady. "Married! You cannot mean it. +Married--how--whom--when?" + +"You will be dreadfully distressed," he began, slowly. + +My lady stamped her foot. + +"I can bear distress better than suspense. Tell me quickly, Ross, has he +disgraced himself?" + +"I am afraid so," was the brief reply. + +"And I loved him so--I trusted him so; it is impossible; tell me, Ross." + +"He has married a farmer's niece. The girl is beautiful. I have seen no +one so beautiful; she seems to be well educated and refined. Her uncle +has a farm at Rashleigh." + +"A farmer's niece," cried my lady; "you cannot possibly mean it. There +must be some mistake--the boy has been playing a practical joke on you." + +"It is no joke; I only wish it were. Lance gave me the details. He was +married yesterday morning by the Reverend Mr. Barnes, at the Church of +St. Barnabas, at Oheton, a village somewhere near Rashleigh." + +"Married--really and actually married," cried my lady. "I will not +believe it." + +"Unhappily, it is true. He expected, I think, to make his home here; he +had no idea of leaving Dunmore House; but I told him that I could not +receive him or her." + +"Her! You do not mean to say that he had the audacity to bring her here, +Ross?" + +"Yes, they came together last night; but I would not receive her. I told +them plainly that you must settle the matter, as I could not." + +"I should think not," said my lady, with emphasis. + +"I must own, though," continued the earl, "that I was rather sorry for +Lance; he had trusted entirely to my good offices and seemed to think it +very cruel of me to refuse to plead for him." + +"And the girl," said my lady, "what of her?" + +"You will think I am weak and foolish, without doubt," he said, "but the +girl distressed me even more than Lance. She is beautiful enough to +arouse the admiration of the world; and she spoke so well for him." + +"A farmer's niece--an underbred, forward, designing, vulgar country +girl--to be Countess of Lanswell," cried my lady, in horror. + +"Nay," said the earl, "she is a farmer's niece, it is true, but she is +not vulgar." + +"It is not possible that she can be presentable," said my lady. "We must +move heaven and earth to set the marriage aside." + +"I had not thought of that," said the earl, simply. + +Then my lady took the lace mantilla from her shoulders, and sat down at +the writing-table. + +"I will send for Mr. Sewell," she said. "If any one can give us good +advice, he can." + +Mr. Sewell was known as one of the finest, keenest, and cleverest +lawyers in England; he had been for more than twenty years agent for the +Lanswells of Cawdor. He knew every detail of their history, every event +that happened; and the proud countess liked him, because he was +thoroughly conservative in all his opinions. She sent for him now as a +last resource; the carriage was sent to his office, so that he might +lose no time. In less than an hour the brisk, energetic lawyer stood +before the distressed parents, listening gravely to the story of the +young heir's marriage. + +"Have you seen the girl?" he asked. + +"Yes, I have seen her," said the earl. + +"Is she presentable?" he inquired. "Would any degree of training enable +her to take her rank----" + +Lady Lanswell interrupted him. + +"The question need never be asked," she said, proudly. "I refuse ever to +see her, or acknowledge her. I insist on the marriage being set aside." + +"One has to be careful, my lady," said Mr. Sewell. + +"I see no need for any great care," she retorted. "My son has not +studied us; we shall not study him. I would rather the entail were +destroyed, and the property go to one of Charles Seyton's sons, than my +son share it with a low-born wife." + +My lady's face was inflexible. The earl and the lawyer saw that she was +resolved--that she would never give in, never yield, no matter what +appeal was made to her. + +They both knew that more words were useless. My lady's mind was made up, +and they might as well fight the winds and the waves. Lord Lanswell was +more inclined to pity and to temporize. He was sorry for his son, and +the beautiful face had made some impression on him; but my lady was +inflexible. + +"The marriage must be set aside," she repeated. + +The earl looked at her gravely. + +"Who can set aside a thoroughly legal marriage?" he asked. + +"You will find out the way," said my lady, turning to Mr. Sewell. + +"I can easily do that, Lady Lanswell; of course it is for you to decide; +but there is no doubt but that the marriage can easily be disputed--you +must decide. If you think the girl could be trained and taught to behave +herself--perhaps the most simple and honorable plan would be to let the +matter stand as it is, and do your best for her." + +"Never!" cried my lady, proudly. "I would rather that Cawdor were burned +to the ground than to have such a person rule over it. It is useless to +waste time and words, the marriage must be set aside." + +The lawyer looked from one to the other. + +"There can be no difficulty whatever in setting the marriage aside," +said Mr. Sewell. "In point of fact, I must tell you what I imagined you +would have known perfectly well." + +My lady looked at him with redoubled interest. + +"What is that?" she asked, quickly. + +The earl listened with the greatest attention. + +"It is simply this, Lady Lanswell, that the marriage is no marriage; +Lord Chandos is under age--he cannot marry without your consent; any +marriage that he contracts without your consent is illegal and +invalid--no marriage at all--the law does not recognize it." + +"Is that the English law?" asked Lady Lanswell. + +"Yes, the marriage of a minor, like your son, without the consent of his +parents, is no marriage; the law utterly ignores it. The remedy lies, +therefore, in your own hands." + +Husband and wife looked at each other; it was a desperate chance, a +desperate remedy. For one moment each thought of the sanctity of the +marriage tie, and all that was involved in the breaking of it. Each +thought how terribly their only son must suffer if this law was +enforced. + +Then my lady's face hardened and the earl knew what was to follow. + +"It remains for us, then, Mr. Sewell," she said, "to take the needful +steps." + +"Yes, you must make an appeal to the High Court, and the marriage will +be at once set aside," said Mr. Sewell. "It is a terrible thing for the +young wife, though." + +"She should have had more sense than to have married my son," cried my +lady. "I have pity for my son--none for her." + +"I think it would be more fair to tell Lord Chandos what you intend +doing," said Mr. Sewell. "Not that he could make either resistance or +defense--the law is absolute." + +"What will the end be?" asked my lady. + +"The marriage will be declared null and void; they will be compelled to +separate now; but again he has the remedy in his own hand. If he chooses +to remain true and constant to her, the very next day after he becomes +of age he can remarry her, and then she becomes his lawful wife; if he +forgets her the only remedy for her would be money compensation." + +"It shall be the business of my life to see that he does forget her," +said my lady. + +"You can commence proceedings at once," said Mr. Sewell. "You can file +your petition to-morrow." + +"It will make the whole matter public," hesitated my lady. + +"Yes, that is the one drawback. After all it does not matter," said Mr. +Sewell, "many young men make simpletons of themselves in the same way. +People do not pay much attention." + +Lord Lanswell looked at his wife's handsome, inflexible face. + +"It is a desperate thing to do, Lucia," he said, "for Lance loves her +very dearly." + +"It was a desperate action on his part to marry without consulting us," +said my lady. + +"He will be of age next June," said the earl, "do you think that he will +be true to her?" + +"No," said the countess, proudly. "I can safely pledge you my word that +he will not." + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +"THEY WILL NOT FORGIVE ME." + + +"Thank Heaven," said the countess, "that the matter can be set straight. +If there had been no remedy I should have lost my reason over it. The +boy must have been mad or blinded, or very probably drawn into it in +some disgraceful fashion or other." + +My lady was triumphant, her handsome face lighted with satisfaction, but +the earl looked grave. The lawyer had taken his leave, and they still +remained to discuss matters. Lord Lanswell did not seem so well pleased; +he went up to my lady where she was standing. + +"Lucia," he began, "do you think that if we succeed in parting these two +we shall do quite right?" + +"Right," cried my lady. "I shall think it one of the most virtuous +actions of my life." + +"Well," said the earl, "I am sorry that I cannot quite agree with you. +No doubt this marriage is vexatious enough, but whether it is well to +obliterate all traces of it, or rather to do away with it altogether, is +quite another thing." + +"I am the best judge of what is right in this case," said my lady, +haughtily; "I will have no interference. The business part of it must be +attended to at once." + +"At least you will write to Lance and tell him what you intend doing?" + +"Yes, I have no objection to that," she replied; "it can make no +possible difference to him." + +"He may try to make some compromise," said Lord Lanswell, whose heart +smote him as he thought of the passionate, beautiful face. + +"There can be no compromise; he must give her up at once, and marry some +one in his own rank," said the countess. "I will write the letter at +once, and I must ask you, Ross, not to be weak. A weak man is the most +contemptible object in creation." + +"I will try not to be weak, my dear," said the earl, submissively; "but +I am concerned for Lance." + +"Lance must take his chance," said my lady, too angry to be conscious of +the rhyme; "he has done wrong, and he must suffer for it. He will thank +Heaven in a year's time from now that I have saved him." + +Still Lord Lanswell looked at his wife with a grave expression of doubt. + +"You think, then, Lucia, that in a year's time he will have forgotten +that poor young wife?" + +"I am quite sure of it. Long before I had heard of this foolish affair I +had decided in my own mind whom he should marry, and I see no reason for +changing my plans." + +Lord Lanswell thought with regret and sympathy of the young wife. Could +it be possible, he thought, that his son would be so disloyal, so +unfaithful as to forget in twelve short months the wife he had risked so +much to win? He looked at the countess. + +"The matter then lies in a nutshell and depends entirely upon whether +Lance continues true to his love or not. If he remains true, your scheme +for parting them will have but little effect; if he prove false, why +then all will be well, according to your way of thinking." + +"We will finish with the subject," she said. "You may make your mind +quite easy about it. I guarantee all my knowledge of the world that he +will not only have forgotten her in twelve months' time, but that he +will be ashamed of having ever fancied himself in love with her." + +Lord Lanswell went, in obedience to his wife's command, to assist in the +commencement of the proceedings, and as soon as my lady was left alone, +she sat down to write to her son. She told him, in the plainest possible +words, that his marriage was not only unlawful, but invalid, as he, +being minor, could not contract a legal marriage without the consent of +his parents. My lady had faith enough in herself to add openly: + +"You can, of course, please yourself, as soon as you are of age; you can +then remarry the young person without our consent if you will; but my +opinion is you will not." + +The time which had passed so unpleasantly for the earl and countess was +bright and light for the young bride and bridegroom. Leone had shed some +bitter tears when they left Dunmore House, but Lord Chandos laughed; he +was angry and irritated, but it seemed to him that such a state of +things could not last. His father and mother had indulged him in +everything--surely they would let him have his way in marriage. He +kissed the tears from his young wife's face, and laughed away her fears. + +"It will be all right in the end," he said. "My father may hold out for +a few days, but he will give way; in the meantime, we must be happy, +Leone. We will stay at the Queen's Hotel until they invite us to Cawdor. +It will not be long; my mother and father cannot get on without me. We +will go to the opera to-night, that will distract your thoughts." + +The opera had been but hitherto an empty word to Leone. She had a vague +idea that it consisted of singing. After all there was some compensation +to be found; her young husband was devoted to her, she was magnificently +dressed, and was going in a beautiful closed carriage to the opera. + +She uttered no word of surprise, but her whole soul was filled with +wonder. The highest festivity and the greatest gayety she had ever +witnessed was a choir tea-party. She had a most beautiful voice; in +fact, neither herself nor any of those around her knew the value of her +voice or appreciated it. + +On great occasions the choir were entertained by the rector--once during +the summer when they made merry out in the green woods, and once in the +winter when they were entertained in the school-room. Leone had thought +these parties the acme of grandeur and perfection; now she sat in that +brilliant circle and wondered into what world she had fallen. + +Before the curtain was raised she was engrossed in that brilliant +circle. She had never seen such dresses, such diamonds, such jewels, +faces so beautiful, toilets so exquisite; it was all quite new to her. +The beautiful and poetic side of it appealed to her. Her beautiful face +flushed with delight, her dark eyes were lustrous and radiant. + +Lord Chandos, looking round the opera-house, where some of the +handsomest women in England were, said to himself that among all these +fair and noble faces there was not one so beautiful as Leone's. + +She herself was quite unconscious of the admiration she excited; she did +not see how the opera-glasses were turned to her face; she could not +hear people asking: "Who is that with Lord Chandos? What a beautiful +face, what a lovely girl! Who is she?" Lord Chandos saw it, and was not +only proud, but flattered by it. + +"My mother will yield at once when she sees her," he thought; "she will +be pleased that the most beautiful woman in England is my wife." + +He made no introductions, though many of his friends bowed to him, with +a secret hope that he would ask them into his box. But he had arranged +his own plans. His mother--the proud, exclusive, haughty Countess of +Lanswell--should be the one to introduce his beautiful wife to the +world; that of itself would be a passport for her. So that he was +careful not to ask any one into his box, or even to exchange a word with +any of the people he knew. + +From the time the curtain was drawn up until the opera ended, Leone was +in a trance. Quite suddenly she had entered this new and beautiful world +of music and art--a world so bright and dazzling that it bewildered her. + +Lord Chandos watched her with keen delight--her lustrous eyes, the +intense face, the parted lips. + +The opera was one of the most beautiful--"Norma"--and the part of Norma +was taken by the greatest _prima donna_ of her time. Leone's eyes filled +with tears as those passionate reproaches were sung; she knew nothing of +the language, but the music was full of eloquence for her. She turned +suddenly to her husband; her whole soul seemed awake and thrilling with +dramatic instinct. + +"Lance," she said in a low voice, "I could do that; I do not mean that I +could sing so well, but I could feel the jealousy she feels. I could +utter those reproaches. Something seems to have awoke in my soul that +never lived before; it is all new to me, yet I understand it all; my +heart is on fire as I listen." + +"And you have enjoyed it?" he said, when the curtain fell on the last +grand scene. + +She answered him with a low sigh of perfect content. + +So it was that to her her wedding-day became the most marked day of her +life, for on it she awoke to the knowledge of the world of art and +music. + +There was nothing for it but to remain at the hotel. + +Lord Chandos merely laughed at the notion of his parents holding out +against him. He was wonderfully sanguine. + +"We shall hear the carriage stop some fine morning," he said, "and they +will be here to seek a reconciliation." + +He laughed when the waiter gave him my lady's letter; he turned +triumphantly to his wife. + +"This is from my mother," he said; "I knew she would relent, it is +probably to ask us to Cawdor." + +But as he read it his face changed; the smile and the triumph died from +it. He said no word to Leone, but tore the letter into shreds. She +looked on with a wistful face. + +"Is it from your mother, Lance?" she asked. + +He took her in his arms and kissed her. + +"My darling, do not trouble about them; you are all the world to me. +They will not forgive me; but it does not matter. I am proud of what I +have done. I am quite independent. I shall take a pretty little villa at +Richmond, and we shall live there until they come to their senses." + +"That will be giving up all the world for me," she said. + +"The world will be well lost, Leone. We will go to-morrow and find a +pretty little house where we shall be quite happy. Remember one thing +always--that my mother will love you when she sees you." + +"Then let her see me now, Lance, at once," she cried, eagerly, "if you +think so. Why wait? I should be more happy than any one else in the +world if you would do that." + +"It is too soon yet," he replied; "all will be right in time." + +She wished that he had offered to show her his mother's letter; but she +did not like to ask what the contents were. + +Lord Chandos dare not tell her, besides which he laughed in scorn at the +idea. They might threaten as they would; but he felt quite certain there +was no power on earth which could set aside his marriage, therefore he +should not trouble himself about it. He would go to Richmond and look +out for a house there. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +A PERFECTLY HAPPY WOMAN. + + +"They would never dare do it," Lord Chandos repeated to himself with a +laugh of contempt. Set his marriage aside. They were mad to think of +such a thing. + +From time to time strange-looking documents came to him; he thrust them +aside without even looking at them. He only laughed at the notion. Part +him from Leone. It was not in the power of any one on earth to do it. He +never mentioned the matter to Leone at all; it was not worth while to +disturb her. + +They had been to Richmond, and had found there a villa so beautiful it +seemed to have been built for them--a quaint, picturesque, old English +house, full of pretty nooks and corners, with large latticed windows, +over which roses and jasmine hung in abundance; a smooth, green lawn on +which stood a superb cedar-tree; beautiful grounds that reached down to +the river. The views from the windows were superb. It was worth anything +to stand on that green lawn and watch the sunset on the Thames. + +Leone was delighted with it; she had never dreamed of a home so +beautiful. Lord Chandos furnished it with the utmost luxury, and there +the first few happy months of their life was spent. Lord Chandos did not +wish exactly that his marriage should be kept secret, but he did not +want it known to the world in general until his mother was willing to +introduce and receive his wife. + +To Leone that life that opened to her was like a heaven on earth; her +husband surrounded her with "kind observances;" he purchased for her a +wardrobe that was a marvel of beauty and elegance; he found a French +lady's-maid, who understood all the duties of the toilet. What was more, +he had the best masters in London to instruct her. Her voice was one of +the finest ever heard, her taste for music so great that she was soon +proficient. + +He taught her himself to ride. There was one thing singular, every +master who attended her was aware of a great hidden power within her, +they said among each other that she was something wonderful--that the +world would hear of her some day. There was an innate sense of power, a +grand dramatic instinct, a keen sense of everything beautiful, noble and +great. There were times when an electric flash of genius made them +marvel. + +"It is a thousand pities," said the music-master to himself, "that she +has married a nobleman. If she had been dependent on her own exertions, +I could have made her one of the finest singers in the world." + +Again, the drawing-master said: + +"If I had the training of Lady Chandos I would make her the finest +artist in England." + +None of them had discovered the real secret of her genius, or what was +the true fire that every now and then seemed to brighten them all as it +flashed over them. + +A few weeks completely changed her; she had that keen, quick insight +into everything, that wondrous tact and intelligence which make some +women seem as though they were magicians. + +When she went first to River View, she had some traces of her rustic +training. Before six weeks had passed over it had all disappeared. Lord +Chandos himself had taught her; her intonation and accent were clear and +refined, her words well chosen, her expressions always poetical and full +of grace; no one meeting her then could have told that she had spent her +life in the rural shades of Rashleigh. + +New beauty came to her with this development of mind; new, spiritual, +poetical loveliness; and Lord Chandos, looking at his peerless young +wife, felt always quite confident that when his mother saw her all would +be well--she would be proud of her. + +While Leone seemed to have gone straight to heaven, she could not +realize that this was the same life she rebelled against with such +fierce rebellion. Now the days were not long enough to hold in them all +the happiness that fell to her share. The birds woke her with their +singing; the sun with its shining; another beautiful day had dawned for +her--a day that was full of beauty and love. They passed like a dream. + +She took breakfast always with her husband; perhaps the happiest hour of +the day was that. The windows of the pretty breakfast-room looked over a +wilderness of flowers; the windows were always open. The soft, sweet +summer air came in, parting the long, white curtains, bringing with it +the breath of roses and the odor of a hundred flowers. + +She looked as fresh and fair as the morning itself. Lord Chandos +wondered more and more at her radiant loveliness. Her soul was awake +now, and looked out of her dark eyes into the world she found so +beautiful. + +Then Lord Chandos went up to town for a few hours, while Leone took her +different lessons and studied. They met again at lunch, and they spent +the afternoon out-of-doors. An ideal life--an idyl in itself. Leone, +while she lived, retained a vivid remembrance of those afternoons, of +the shade of the deep woods, of the ripple of the river through the +green banks, of the valleys where flowers and ferns grew, of the long +alleys where the pleasant shade made a perfect paradise. She remembered +them--the golden glow, the fragrance, the music of them, remained with +her until she died. All the most pleasant times of our lives are dreams. + +Then they dined together; and in the evening Lord Chandos took his +beautiful young wife to the opera or the play, to concert or lecture. + +"As soon as I am of age," he would say, "I shall take you on the +Continent; there is no education we get like that we get by traveling +one year on the Continent; and you will be at home on every subject, +Leone," he would say; and Leone longed for the time to come. + +"When I am of age," was his universal cry. + +When Leone expressed any anxiety or sorrow over his separation from his +parents, he would laugh and answer: + +"Never mind, my darling, it will be all right when I am of age. Never +mind, darling, you will have my mother asking for the pleasure of +knowing you then--the tables will be turned; let the great world once +see you, and you will be worshiped for your beauty, your grace, and your +talent." + +She looked wistfully at him. + +"Do they love beauty so much in your world, Lance?" she asked. + +"Yes, as a rule, a beautiful face has a wonderful influence. I have +known women without a tithe of your beauty, Leone, rise from quite +third-rate society to find a place among the most exclusive and noblest +people in the land. Your face would win for you, darling, an entrance +anywhere." + +"The only thing I want my face to do," she said, "is to please your +mother." + +"And that, when she sees it, it is quite sure to do," replied the +lover-husband. + +"Lance," said Lady Chandos, "what shall we do if your parents will +neither forgive us nor see us?" + +"It will be very uncomfortable," said Lord Chandos; "but we shall have +to bear it. It will not much matter so far as worldly matters are +concerned; when I am of age I shall have a separate and very handsome +fortune of my own. My mother will soon want to know you when you become +the fashion--as you will, Leone." + +So she dismissed the future from her mind. She would not think of it. +She had blind reliance, blind confidence in her husband; he seemed so +carelessly happy and indifferent she could not think there was anything +vitally wrong. She was so unutterably happy, so wonderfully, thoroughly +happy. Her life was a poem, the sweetest love-story ever written or +sung. + +"Why am I so happy?" she would ask herself at times; "why has Heaven +given me so much? all I ever asked for--love and happiness?" + +She did not know how to be grateful enough. + +One morning in autumn, a warm, beautiful morning, when the sun shone on +the rich red and brown foliage--they were out together on the fair +river--the tide was rising and the boat floated lazily on the stream. +Lady Chandos wore a beautiful dress of amber and black that suited her +dark, brilliant beauty to perfection. She lay back among the velvet +cushions, smiling as her eyes lingered on the sky, the trees, the +stream. + +"You look very happy, Leone," said Lord Chandos. + +"I am very happy," she replied. "I wrote to my uncle yesterday, Lance. I +should like to send him a box filled with everything he likes best." + +"You shall, if it pleases you, my darling," he answered. + +She leaned over the side of the boat watching the water, drawing her +hand through the clear stream. + +"Happy," she repeated, rather to herself than to him; "I can safely say +this, that I have had so much happiness since I have been here that if I +were wretched all my life afterward I should still have had far more +happiness than falls to the lot of many people." + +She remembered those words in after years; and she owned to herself that +they had been most perfectly true. + +The few months passed at River View had been most perfectly happy--no +shade of care had come over her, no doubt, no fear--nothing that chilled +the warmth of her love, nothing that marred its perfect trust. In some +lives there comes a pause of silent, intense bliss just before the +storm, even as the wind rests before the hurricane. + +"You make me very proud, Leone," said Lord Chandos, "when you tell me of +your happiness; I can only say may it be like the light of heaven, +eternal." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +"TRUE UNTIL DEATH." + + +For some long months that case stood on the records. Every paper in +England had some mention of it; as a rule people laughed when they read +anything about it. They said it was a case of Corydon and Phyllis, a +dairy-maid's love, a farce, a piece of romantic nonsense on the part of +a young nobleman who ought to know better. It created no sensation; the +papers did not make much of it; they simply reported a petition on the +part of the Right Honorable the Earl of Lanswell and Lucia, his wife, +that the so-called marriage contracted by their son, Lancelot, Lord +Chandos, should be set aside as illegal, on account of his being a +minor, and having married without their consent. + +There was a long hearing, a long consideration, a long lawsuit; and it +was, as every one had foreseen it would be, in favor of the earl against +his son. The marriage was declared null and void--the contract illegal; +there could be no legal marriage on Lord Chandos' side without the full +and perfect consent of his parents. + +When that decision was given, Lady Lanswell smiled. Mr. Sewell +congratulated her on it. My lady smiled again. + +"I may thank the law," she said, "which frees my son from the +consequences of his own folly." + +"Remember," said the lawyer, "that he can marry her, my lady, when he +comes of age." + +"I know perfectly well that he will not," replied the countess; but Mr. +Sewell did not feel so sure. + +The earl, the countess, and the solicitor sat together at Dunmore House, +in solemn consultation; they were quite uncertain what should be the +next step taken. Due legal notice had been given Lord Chandos; he had +simply torn the paper into shreds and laughed at it--laughed at the idea +that any law, human or divine, could separate him from his young wife; +he took no notice of it; he never appeared in answer to any inquiry or +summons; he answered no questions; the lawyer into whose hands he had +half laughingly placed the whole matter had everything to do for him, +and wondered at the recklessness with which the young lord treated the +whole affair. + +It was all over now; and the decree which had parted them, which severed +the tie between them, had gone forth--the marriage was void and worth +nothing. + +The matrons of Belgravia who read it said it was perfectly right; there +was no doubt that he had been inveigled into it; and if such a thing +were allowed to go unpunished there would be no more safety for their +curled darlings; they would be at the mercy of any designing, underbred +girl who chose to angle for them. + +Men of the world smiled as they read it, and thought Lord Chandos well +out of what might have been a very serious trouble. Young people thought +little about it; the Belgravian belles merely said one to another that +Lord Chandos had been in some kind of trouble, but that his parents had +extricated him. And then all comment ended; even the second day after +the judgment was given it had been forgotten. + +When the Countess of Lanswell held in her hands the letter which told +her the desire of her heart was granted, and her son free, for a few +moments she was startled; her handsome face paled, her hands trembled; +it had been a desperate step, but she had won. She had the greatest +faith in her own resources; she felt a certain conviction that in the +end she would win; but for one moment she was half startled at her own +success. + +"Let us send for Lance here to Cawdor," she said to the earl, "while Mr. +Sewell sees the girl and arranges with her. He must have _carte blanche_ +over money matters; whatever he thinks fit to mention I shall agree to. +If a thousand a year contents her, I am willing." + +"Yes, yes--it is no question of money," said the earl. "It will be a +great trouble to her naturally, and we are bound to make what +compensation we can. If you wish me to send for Lance I will do so at +once. I will send a telegram from the station at Dunmore; he will be +here soon after noon." + +There had been little or no communication between the young heir and his +parents since the lawsuit began. Once or twice Lord Chandos and the earl +had met; but the earl always refused to discuss matters with him. + +"You must talk to my lady, my dear boy," he would reply; "you know that +she manages everything;" and Lord Chandos, fearing no evil, laughed at +what he considered an amiable weakness on his father's part. + +"I love my wife," he said to himself, "but no woman should ever be so +completely mistress of me. I shall always keep my independence, even +though I love my wife perhaps better than any man living; but I will +never give up my independence." + +He was somewhat startled that morning in September to find a telegram +waiting him at River View, from Cawdor, stating that Lord Lanswell +wished him to take the first train, as he had news of the utmost +importance to him. Lady Lanswell, who was a most complete woman of the +world, had warily contrived that a piece of real good fortune should at +the same time fall to his lot. She had great influence at court, and she +had used it to some purpose. There was a royal wedding on the Continent, +and he was one of the two English noblemen chosen as the representatives +of English royalty. There could be no refusal of such an honor, Lady +Lanswell knew that; and she, knowing that Lord Chandos would be +delighted over it, had used all her influence, hoping that it would +distract his attention from the decision given and from his wife. She +had arranged a little programme in her mind--how it should all be +managed; she would send a telegram summoning him to Cawdor; she would +first show him the letter of appointment, induce him to answer by +accepting it, then when the letter accepting the appointment had gone, +and he was committed beyond recall, she would tell him the judicial +decision over his marriage. + +The telegram reached River View one morning when Lord Chandos and Leone +sat at a late breakfast-table, Leone looking like a radiant spring +morning, her beautiful face, with its exquisite coloring, and her dainty +dress of amber and white. + +"A telegram," she said. "Oh, Lance, how I dread the sight of those +yellow envelopes; they always fill me with horror; they always seem to +be the harbinger of bad news." + +He kissed the beautiful face before he opened the telegram. + +"There is no very bad news here," he said. "I must go to Cawdor at once; +my father has some very important news for me." + +Some instinct seemed to warn her of coming danger; she rose from her +seat and went over to him; she laid her tender arms round his neck; she +laid her beautiful face on his. + +"It means harm to us, Lance," she said; "I am sure of it." + +"Nonsense, my darling," he cried; "how can it be about us? Most likely +there is a general election, or some business of that kind coming on, +and he wants to see me about it." + +Still the beautiful face grew paler, and the shadows deepened in the +dark eyes. + +"Shall you go at once?" she asked. + +Lord Chandos looked at his watch. + +"The train starts at twelve," he said. "I must go in half an hour's +time, Leone." + +"Half an hour," she said, and the tender hands clasped him more tightly, +"only half an hour, Lance?" + +Some prophetic instinct seemed to come over her; the passionate love on +her beautiful face deepened into tragedy; yet he had never breathed one +word to her of what had taken place. She knew nothing of the lawsuit; +and Lord Chandos never intended her to know anything about it; but with +the chill of that autumn morning came a chill of doubt and fear such as +she had never known before. + +"How long shall you be away?" she asked. + +"Not one moment longer than I am compelled to stay," he replied. "If my +father really wants to see me on election affairs I may be absent two +days; trust me, Leone; the first moment I am free I shall return;" and +drawing her beautiful face down to his own the young husband kissed it +with passionate devotion, little dreaming of what lay before him. + +"Only half an hour," said Leone. "Oh, Lance, let me spend it with you. I +will order your portmanteau to be packed; my dear, do not let me leave +you for one moment." + +She drew a little stool and sat down at his feet. + +Lord Chandos laughed. + +"One would think we were lovers still." + +She looked at him with that wonderful expression of face, so earnest, so +intent, so lofty. + +"So we are," she said; "we will be lovers until we die; shall we not, +Lance?" + +"I hope so; but we shall be unlike most married people, Leone, if we do +that," he replied. + +"I will not believe you," she answered. "You laugh, sometimes, Lance, at +love; but I am sure if I were your wife for fifty years you would never +tire of me or love me less." + +"I never wish to do so," he replied. + +"You never will," said Leone, "my faith is as strong as my love, and you +have it all. I could rather believe now that the heavens would fall over +my head than you could ever for one moment forget me." + +"I shall never forget you, sweet," he said; "this is the first time we +have ever been parted since we have been married; you must not be sad +and lonely, Leone." + +"I shall spend all my time in thinking of your return," she said. +"Lance, it will comfort me all the time you are away; you will say some +of those beautiful words I love to hear." + +He took both her white hands in his. + +"My darling," he said, "I love you with all my heart, and I will be true +to you until death." + +The sweetness of the words seemed to content her for a time; she laid +her face on his hands for some minutes in wistful silence. + +"Leone," said the rich, cheerful voice of the young earl, "I have an +idea that I will bring you good news from home. My father would not have +sent for me unless he wanted me, and I shall make a bargain with him. If +he wants me to do anything, I shall consent only on condition that I +take you to Cawdor." + +They talked of it for some minutes; then Leone rose and busied herself +for some time in helping him--her face was pale and her hands trembled. +When the moment came for him to say good-bye he held her in his arms. + +"Once again," she whispered. + +And he answered: + +"My darling wife, I love you, and will be true to you until death." + +And those were the last words that for some time she heard him speak. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AN EXCITING INTERVIEW. + + +Lady Lanswell looked somewhat startled when her son entered the room. +During those few months of his married life he had altered much; he +looked taller and stronger; the handsome face was covered with a golden +beard and mustache; he looked quite three years older than before his +marriage. + +He was a handsome stripling when his mother kissed him and sent him, +with many injunctions as to study, to Dr. Hervey's, a handsome +stripling, with golden down on his lip, and the hue of a ripe peach on +his face; now he was a man of the world, assured, confident, easy in his +carriage and bearing. + +He looked at his mother with half-defiance, half-amusement in his eyes. + +The strong, handsome woman, whose brave nature had never known fear, +trembled for one moment when she remembered what she had to tell her +son. + +He bent down to kiss her, and for one moment her heart relented to her +son. She steeled herself with the recollection that what she had done +was for his benefit. + +"I have good news for you, Lance," she said, with her stately grace; +"very excellent news." + +"I am glad to hear it, mother," replied Lord Chandos, thinking to +himself how much more this interview resembled that of a queen and a +crown prince than of mother and son. + +"You have traveled quickly and would probably like some refreshment--you +would like a glass of Madeira?" + +The truth was that her ladyship herself, with all her courage, felt that +she required some artificial stimulant--the courage and pride of the +proudest woman in England ebbed; she feared what she had to say. + +"An honor has been bestowed on you," she said, "one which would make any +peer in England proud." + +His face brightened--he was keenly susceptible to the flattery implied +in his mother's words. + +"You have been asked, together with Lord Dunferline, to represent our +gracious sovereign at the marriage of the Princess Caroline at +Hempsburg. Such an invitation, I need not tell you, is equivalent to a +royal command." + +"I know it, mother, and I am delighted," he said, wondering in his own +mind if he should be able to take Leone with him. + +"The notice is rather short," continued the countess; "but that is owing +to some delay on the part of Lord Dunferline. I hear that you are the +envy of every man at the club. You will have to leave England for +Germany in three days; to-morrow you must be at the palace. I +congratulate you, Lance; it is very seldom that a man so young as you +receives so signal a favor." + +He knew it, and was proud accordingly; yet he said to himself that Leone +must go with him; he could not live without Leone. + +Lady Lanswell continued: + +"Your father is delighted over it; I cannot tell you how pleased he is." + +Then Lord Chandos looked wonderingly around. + +"Where is my father?" he said. "I have not seen him yet." + +Lady Lanswell knew that he would not see him. The earl had fled +ignominiously; he had declined to be present at the grand fracas between +his wife and his son; he had left it all in my lady's hands. + +"Your father had some business that took him away this morning; he knew +that I could say for him all that he had to say." + +Lord Chandos smiled, and the smile was not, perhaps, the most respectful +in the world. My lady did not observe it. + +"I am quite sure," he said, "that you can interpret all my father's +ideas." + +It was then, with her son's handsome face smiling down on her, that the +countess grew pale and laid her hand, with instinctive fear, on the +papers spread before her. She nerved herself for the struggle; it would +never do to give way. + +"I have other news for you, Lance," she said, and he looked with clear, +bright, defiant eyes in her face. + +She drew herself to her full height, as though the very attitude gave +the greatest strength; there was no bend, no yielding in her. Stern, +erect, proud, she looked full in her son's face; it was as though they +were measuring their strength one against the other. + +"I have never said to you, Lance, what I thought of this wretched +mistake you call your marriage," she began; "my contempt and indignation +were too great that you should dare to give the grand old name you bear +to a dairy-maid." + +Leone's beautiful Spanish face flashed before him, and he laughed at the +word dairy-maid; she was peerless as a queen. + +"Dare is not the word to use to a man, mother," he retorted. + +"Nor should I use it to a man," said my lady, with a satirical smile. "I +am not speaking to a man, but to a hot-headed boy; a man has +self-control, self-denial, self-restraint, you have none; a man weighs +the honor of his name or his race in his hands; a man hesitates before +he degrades a name that kings have delighted to honor, before he ruins +hopelessly the prestige of a grand old race for the sake of a +dairy-maid. You, a hot-headed, foolish boy, have done all this; +therefore, I repeat that I am not speaking to a man." + +"You use strong language, mother," he said. + +"I feel strongly; my contempt is strong," she said. "I know not why so +great a humiliation should have fallen on me as that my son--the son of +whom I was proud--should be the first to bring shame on his name." + +"I have brought no shame on it, mother," he said, angrily. + +"No shame!" said the countess, bitterly. "I can read, fancy, the short +annals of the Lanswells--'Hubert, Earl Lanswell, died while fighting +loyally for his king and his country; Ross, Earl Lanswell, was famed for +political services; Lancelot, Earl Lanswell, married a dairy-maid.' I +would rather," she cried, with flashing eyes, "that you had died in your +childhood, than lived to bring such bitter shame on a loyal race." + +His face grew pale with anger, as the bitter words were hurled at him. + +"Will you understand, once for all, mother, that I have _not_ married a +dairy-maid?" he cried. "My wife is a wonder of beauty; she is dainty and +lovely as a princess. Only see her, you would change your opinion at +once." + +"I hope never to do that. As for seeing her, I shall never so far lose +my own self-respect as to allow such a person to speak to me." + +Lord Chandos shook his head with a rueful smile. + +"If you had ever seen Leone, mother, you would laugh at the idea of +calling her a person," he said. + +Lady Lanswell moved her hand with a gesture of superb pride. + +"Nay, do not continue the subject. If the girl was not actually a +dairy-maid, in all probability she was not far removed from it. I have +no wish to discuss the question. You have stained the hitherto stainless +name of your family by the wretched mistake you call a marriage." + +"I do not _call_ it a marriage; it _is_ one," he said. + +And then my lady's face grew even paler. + +"It is not one. I thank Heaven that the law of the land is just and +good; that it very properly refuses to recognize the so-called marriage +of a hot-headed boy. You have ignored our letters on the subject, you +have laughed at all threats, treated with disdain all advice; now you +will find your level. The judicial decree has been pronounced; the +marriage you have talked of with such bravado is no marriage; the woman +you have insulted me by mentioning is not your wife." + +She neither trembled nor faltered when he turned to her with a white, +set face. + +"Pardon me; I must speak plainly; that which you have said is a lie!" + +"You forget yourself, Lord Chandos," she said, with cold dignity. + +"You force me to use words I do not like, mother," he cried "Why do you +irritate me--why say those things?" + +"They are perfectly true; here on the table lie the papers relative to +the suit; the judicial opinion has been pronounced; our petition is +granted, and your marriage, as you choose to call it, is set aside, is +pronounced illegal, null, void!" + +The fierce, white anger of his face startled her. + +"It shall not be!" he cried. + +"It must be," she repeated; "you cannot prevent it. You must have been +singularly devoid of penetration and knowledge not to know from the +first that it must be decided against you; that no minor can marry +without the consent of his parents. A wise law it is, too; there would +soon be an end of the aristocracy of England if every hot-headed, +foolish boy of nineteen could marry without the consent of his parents +or guardian." + +If his antagonist had been a man, there would have been hot, angry +words, perhaps blows; as it was, to a lady, and that lady his mother, he +could say nothing. He sunk back with a white face and clinched hands; +his mother resolutely stifled all pity, and went on, in her clear voice: + +"The law has decided for us against you; you know now the truth. If you +have any respect for that unfortunate girl, you will not see her again; +she is not your wife, she is not married to you. I need not speak more +plainly; you know what relationship she will hold to you if you do not +leave her at once." + +The handsome face had in these five minutes grown quite haggard and +worn. + +"My God!" he cried; "I refuse to believe it, I refuse to believe one +word of it!" + +With her clear, pitiless voice, she went on telling him what would +happen. + +"You have one resource," she said, "and I tell you quite honestly about +it; when you are of age you can remarry this person if you wish." + +He sprung from his seat with a cry of wounded pain and love. + +"Mother, is it really true?" he asked. "I married that young girl before +Heaven, and you tell me that if I persist in returning to her she loses +her fair name! If it be so, you have done a very cruel thing." + +"It is so," said my lady, coldly. "I grant that it seems cruel, but +better that than tarnish the name of a whole race." + +"I shall remarry Leone, mother, the day after I am twenty-one," he said. + +The countess raised her eyebrows. + +"The same man does not often make a simpleton of himself in the same +fashion, but if you will do it, you will. For the present, if you have +any regard for the person who is not your wife, you will let her go home +again. I will return and talk over your journey with you." + +So saying, the Countess of Lanswell quitted the room, leaving her son +overwhelmed with a sense of defeat. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +LEONE'S DETERMINATION. + + +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, stood alone in the superb drawing-room at +Cawdor. It was evening, one of the warmest and brightest in September. +Nearly three months had passed since the fatal marriage which had +grieved and distressed her, and now she fondly hoped all her distress +was ended. The decree had gone forth that the marriage was null and +void; was, in fact, no marriage, Lord Chandos being under age when it +was contracted. She said to herself all was null now. True, her son was +in a most furious rage, and he had gone to consult half the lawyers in +London, but she did not care for that; he was sure to rage and rave; he +was a spoiled child, who never in his life had been contradicted or +thwarted. The more angry he was the better; she knew by experience the +hotter the fire the more quickly it burns away. Had he been cool, calm, +collected and silent she would have dreaded the after consequences. + +"He will exhaust himself with furious words," she said to herself with a +slow smile. "When he has done that, all danger will be over." + +She had smiled when she heard of his rapid journeys, his fierce +denunciations, his violent invectives, his repeated oaths that no power +on earth should take him from his young wife. + +She had smiled when the earl, whose conscience was more tender than her +own, had said over and over again that it was a terrible thing to set +aside a marriage, to call a religious ceremony null and void. He would +not have done it himself, but my lady had firm nerves, and a will of +iron; nothing daunted her. She laughed at his persuasions and arguments. +She told him the day would come on which he would thank Heaven that the +honor of his name and race had been saved from destruction. My lady was +triumphant. Knowing her son was spending his whole time in these +journeys, she had requested Mr. Sewell himself to go to the pretty +little villa at Richmond, to see the young wife himself, and tell her +the truth about the marriage; to speak what she was pleased to call +plain English to her; to tell her that in the eyes of the law and of all +honest, honorable men she was not his wife; that every hour she called +herself by his name, or lived under his roof, added to her disgrace and +increased her shame. + +"You can tell her," said my lady, with ill-concealed contempt, "that +next June he will be twenty-one, and then he can please himself; he can +remarry her if he will; no one then will have the least control over +him; he will be his own master and can do as he likes. In all +probability," she continued, "the girl will please herself with fanciful +ideas about his being true to her; do not contradict her if she believes +it--she will part from him more easily; but, believe me, my son will +never return to her--never!" + +Mr. Sewell had tried in vain to escape the interview; he was neither +particularly tender of heart nor given to sentiment, but he shrunk from +seeing the young girl who called herself Lady Chandos; he shrunk from +telling her the truth; but my lady was inexorable; he must do it, and no +one else. + +He did it, but until the day of his death he never forgot it; he could +not bear to think of it, and he never mentioned it. Until the day of his +death he was haunted by a beautiful, passionate face, white with +terrible despair. + +He was compelled to speak in what my lady called plain English, or she +would never have understood him. She could not understand in the least +why the fact of Lord Chandos being under twenty-one should make her +marriage null and void; illegal, because contracted without his parents' +consent. She had turned to him with flashing eyes. + +"Are the laws of England all framed for the convenience of the rich?" +she asked. + +And, proud as he was of his legal knowledge, the lawyer had hesitated +before the fire of her question. + +She understood at last--she saw what Mr. Sewell called the justice of +the case--the reasons why such a law was needful, and she knew that she +was not the lawful wife of Lancelot, Lord Chandos. She looked into the +stern face of her companion with eyes filled with awful despair. + +"He did not know it," she said; "only tell me that, and I shall be +happier. He did not know it?" + +"No," said Mr. Sewell; "I am quite sure that Lord Chandos was ignorant +of the fact--it never occurred to him; if it had done so, he would have +deferred his marriage until he came of age." + +"I shall take some comfort in that," she said, slowly. "If he has erred, +it has been done in ignorance and innocence. You say that the wrong can +be righted next June; that he can marry me then without the consent of +either of his parents." + +"Certainly he can," replied the lawyer. + +Something of the shock of despair passed from her face as he uttered +these words. She folded her arms over her breast with the repressed +passion of a tragedy queen. + +"Then I have no fear," she said. "Were the time twice as long, the +cruelty twice as great, the law twice as strong, he would return to me +true and faithful, as he loves me. You can tell his mother that." + +"I will," said Mr. Sewell, relieved to see some of the horror fall from +her face. + +She would not discuss her future arrangements with him. Lady Lanswell +was anxious that she should take a large sum of money and return home. +She looked at him with the dignity of an outraged queen. + +"Before Heaven, and in my own eyes, Lord Chandos is my husband," she +said, with calm dignity; "and with him only will I discuss my future. +You can tell his mother that also. No other creature living shall +interfere with my fate or destiny." + +She tried hard--and she was a woman of wonderful resource--she tried +hard to keep her dignity, not to fail or falter before him, the cold +emissary of that cruel mother; but unutterable woe looked out of her +eyes at him, her white face had on it the passion of despair, her voice +the ring of anguish, the small white hands on which the wedding-ring +shone, trembled like leaves stirred in the summer wind; the very +repression of her passionate despair made it seem more terrible. He +clearly explained to her her position at last, she must consent to an +immediate separation from Lord Chandos; she must give up his name, leave +the shelter of his roof, or men and women, too, would brand her with the +scarlet letter--would look on her as one lost and dead to all sense of +honor. + +"You will see for yourself," added the lawyer, "that the wisest and best +plan is for you to go away at once--this very day even--then you will +stand a better chance when next June comes. Even one more day spent +under this roof would be fatal to your character and reputation. You +must go at once." + +Once more she raised her despairing eyes to him. Her voice trembled as +though it were all tears. + +"Tell me," she said, gently, "has this been done by Lady Lanswell's +desire more than by the earl's?" + +"Yes, I believe it is so," he said. + +Leone continued: + +"If the countess relented now, and gave her consent, could we be legally +married at once?" + +"If the earl and countess consent you could be remarried to-day. Nothing +is wanted but their permission." + +"Thank you," she said, gently. Then with pathos and dignity that touched +him greatly she held out her hand to him. "I do not blame you for the +message you have brought," she said; "the fault lies with Lady Lanswell +and the English law, not with you. You have fulfilled your mission as +kindly as you could. I forgive you what you have done and what you have +said." + +The white lips closed firmly, no other sound came from them, but Mr. +Sewell looked back as he closed the door, and she lay then with her face +on the floor. He did not go to her; he thought it was better to leave +her alone. He said to himself, as he quitted the house, that not for all +the wealth of the Lanswells would he pass through another such scene. + +The hour came in which she raised her face once again to the sunlight, +and tried to realize what had happened. She had risen that morning the +happiest girl in all England, her only anxiety being to make herself +more beautiful than ever in her husband's eyes. The morning itself was +not more fresh and fair; everything had been _couleur de rose_. + +Her husband, as she believed him, thought so little of the quarrel with +his parents that she had imbibed his careless, happy ideas about it. +There was no cloud in her sky, no doubt in her heart; now her heart was +full of despair. She looked at the blue September sky, and asked herself +if it were possible to realize what had happened. She was dazed, +stunned, as though some one had struck her a violent blow. She went out +of the pretty drawing-room where she had heard what seemed to her her +death-warrant. She opened her white lips to breathe the pure, fresh air +of heaven. + +As she stood there panting for breath, one of the servants came to her, +holding a letter in her hand. Leone opened it. The few hastily-written +lines were from her husband. They said, simply: + + "MY DARLING,--I shall not be able to return home to-day. I have + some disagreeable business in town, of which I will tell you more + anon. I shall be at home for luncheon to-morrow. Believe me, always + your loving husband, + + "LANCE." + +She looked at the word "husband" until the letters seemed to burn like +fire. He had signed himself her husband. Ah, then, it was quite plain +that he neither believed, or, perhaps, had not even heard, of what had +been done. As she stood there with the fading boughs of a spreading tree +over her head, the words came to her again and again: + + "Those vows were all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +She seemed once more to hear the falling of the waters. Would the vows +made to her ever be broken? Ah, no! a thousand times no! + +She would go to his mother and appeal to her. A woman must, of course, +be merciful to a woman. She would go herself and appeal to Lucia, +Countess of Lanswell. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +"I WOULD RATHER SEE MY SON DEAD." + + +The countess stood alone in the drawing-room. The sun was setting over +the trees in the park, and a warm glow filled the beautiful room with +rosy light--a light that fell on costly pictures, on marble statues, on +buhl and jasper, on silver and gold, on mirrors and flowers, whose +fragrance was delicious even to breathe, but it fell on my lady's proud +face and figure as though it liked best to linger there. + +The dressing-bell had not rung, and she, waiting for it, had fallen into +a reverie. She was sure she had done right, yet, without doubt, the girl +would feel it keenly. What matter? "Women must weep," it was part of +their lives. Whoever paused or cared for a woman's tears? Women had wept +before and would weep again. She looked round on the superb home where +she reigned mistress, and laughed with scorn as she tried to picture the +farmer's niece queen of these ancient walls. + +Right? Most certainly she had done right; let weak minds and weak hearts +think as they would. The golden sunset, the rosy clouds, the soft, sweet +song of the birds, the fragrance of the thousand blooming flowers, the +faint whisper of the odorous wind appealed to her in vain. What was a +bleeding heart and weeping eyes to her? + +Yet she was but a woman; and these sweet voices of nature could not +leave her quite unsoftened. She wondered where Lance was. She remembered +him a fair-haired, laughing, defiant boy, playing there under the trees +when the red light fell. She started suddenly when one of her +well-trained footmen opened the door, and said a lady wished to see her. +The countess looked at him in haughty vexation. + +"Why do you bring a message so vague? I see no lady who gives neither +card nor name." + +"I beg pardon, my lady," said the man, humbly. "I did not forget. The +lady herself said you did not know her, but that her business was most +important." + +"You must say that I decline to see any one who gives neither name nor +card," said the countess. Then, seeing the man look both anxious and +undecided, she added, sharply: "Is it a lady?" + +He looked greatly relieved. + +"It is, my lady. She is young and beautiful," he would have added, if he +had dared. + +"You would surely be able to discriminate between a lady and--a person +of any other description?" said the countess. + +The man bowed. + +"The lady wishes me to add that her business was of great importance, +and that she had traveled some distance to see you." + +"Show her in here," said the countess. + +The red light of the setting sun had moved then, and fell over her in +great gleams on her dark velvet dress, on her exquisite point lace, and +fine, costly gems. She looked regally proud, haughty, and unbending--the +type of an English aristocratic matron, true to her class, true to her +order, intolerant of any other. As she stood in the heart of the rosy +light the door opened, and this time the countess of Lanswell was +startled out of her calm. There entered the most beautiful girl she had +ever beheld--tall, slender, graceful, exquisitely dressed, moving with +the most perfect grace and harmony; her face like some grand, passionate +poem--a girl lovely as a houri, who walked up to her with serene and +queenly calm, saying: + +"Lady Lanswell, I am your son's wife." + +The countess, taken so entirely by surprise, looked long and keenly into +that beautiful face--looked at the clear, bright eyes, so full of fire +and passion--at the lovely, imperial mouth, and the whole face so full +of tragedy and beauty; then in a clear, distinct voice, she answered: + +"My son has no wife." + +Leone drew the glove from her left hand, holding it before my lady's +eyes. + +"Will you look at my wedding-ring?" she asked. + +A scornful smile played round my lady's lips. + +"I see a ring," she said, "but not a wedding-ring. There can be no +wedding-ring where there is no marriage." + +"Do you believe that marriages are known in Heaven?" Leone asked. "Do +you believe that if a marriage had been contracted in the presence of +Heaven, witnessed by the angels, do you suppose that a mere legal +quibble can set it aside?" + +"You choose your arguments badly," said the countess. "If you appeal to +Heaven, so can I. One of the greatest commandments given from there +says, 'Children, obey your parents.' My son is commanded by a divine +voice to obey me, and I forbid him to marry until he is of age." + +"You have not the power!" cried Leone. + +"You are mistaken; not only the power is mine, but I have used it. The +foolish ceremony you choose to call your marriage is already set aside." + +Leone drew one step nearer to her with flashing eyes. + +"You know that in your heart you cannot believe it. You cannot think +it," she cried. "You know that I am your son's wife. You have brought +the great strong arm of the law upon me. You have taken from me my +husband's name. Yet neither you, nor any human power can make me less +his wife. He married me," she continued, her eyes flashing, her face +flushing, "he married me before God, and I say that you cannot undo that +marriage. I defy you." + +"True, I could not undo it, but the law both can and has done so. +Half-educated young ladies, who wish to make such grand marriages, +should have common sense first. No youth under age, like my son, can +legally marry without the consent of his parents." + +The flush faded from the beautiful face, and gave place to a white +horror. Leone looked at the countess. + +"You do not surely think that I married your son for any other reason +except that I loved him?" she cried. + +"Pray, believe that I have never troubled myself in the least to think +of your motive," said my lady. + +"I loved him, Lady Lanswell, you could never know how much. You are +proud and haughty; you love a hundred things. I loved but him. I love +him with my whole heart and soul. If he had been a peasant, instead of +an earl, being what he is, I should have loved him just the same." + +Lady Lanswell's face darkened with scorn. + +"I am willing to listen to anything you may wish to say, but I beg of +you leave all such nonsense as love out of the discussion. You have +probably come to see me because you want money. Let us come to the point +at once." + +The pride that flushed the beautiful face of the girl startled the +haughty patrician who stood before her. + +"Money," cried Leone, "I have never thought of money. I do not +understand. Why should I want money from you?" + +To do her justice, the countess shrunk from the words. + +"I should suppose," she said, "that you will require some provision made +for you, now that you are leaving my son?" + +It was with difficulty that Leone controlled herself. Her whole frame +trembled with indignation. Then the color receded from her face and left +her white, silent, and motionless. + +"I have been too hard," thought the countess, "no one can suffer beyond +her strength." + +She motioned the girl to take a chair, sitting down herself for the +first time since the interview began. There was no feeling of pity in +her heart, but she felt there were certain things to be said, and the +best way would be to say them and have it all over. + +Leone did not obey. She stood silent for a few minutes. Then she said, +simply: + +"I would never take money from you, Lady Lanswell, not even if I were +dying of hunger. You do not like me; you are cruel to me." + +Lady Lanswell interrupted her with a superb gesture of scorn. + +"I could not possibly like or dislike you," she said; "you are less than +nothing to me. It was natural that I should think you came to me for +money. If that be not your object, may I ask what it is?" + +"Yes; I will tell you. I thought, as you were a woman, I might appeal to +you." + +My lady smiled haughtily. + +"You are the first that has ever ventured to address me as a woman. What +appeal do you want to make to me?" + +The passion of despair seemed to die away from her. A great calm came +over her. She went up to Lady Lanswell, and knelt at her feet. The +countess would have given much for the power of moving away, but there +was that in the beautiful, colorless face raised to hers which compelled +her to listen. + +"I humble myself to you," pleaded the sweet voice. "I pray of you, who +are so great, so powerful, so mighty, to have pity upon your son and +upon me. One word from you will go so far; you can undo all that has +been done. If you will give your consent all will be well." + +Lady Lanswell looked at her in silent wonder. Leone went on: + +"I plead to you. I pray to you, because I love him so. In my heart I am +as proud as you, may be prouder; but I lay my pride under my feet, I +humble myself. I pray of you to take pity upon your son, and on myself. +I love him so well, he loves me too. Life would hold nothing for either +of us if we are parted. For the sake of all the love you have ever felt +for husband, father, brother, son--for God's sake, I pray you to take +pity on us, and do not separate us." + +The passionate torrent of words stopped for one minute; tears streamed +down the beautiful upraised face; then she went on: + +"I would do all that you wished me; I would try hard to improve myself; +I would work so hard and work so well that no one would even guess, ever +so faintly, that I belonged to a different class. I would be the most +devoted of daughters to you; I would live only to please you, I----" + +The countess held up her hand with a warning gesture. + +"Hush!" she said; "you are talking the most arrant nonsense." + +But Leone this time would not be controlled. All the passion and love +within her seemed to find vent in the next few words. They might have +burned the lips which uttered them, but they fell unheeded on the ears +of the proudest woman in England. + +"Hush," she said again. "Neither pleading nor prayers will avail with +me. I speak the simple truth when I say that I would rather see my son +dead than see you his wife." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A WRONGED WOMAN'S THREAT. + + +For some five minutes there was silence, and the two who were to be +mortal enemies looked at each other. Leone knew then that all prayers, +all pleadings were in vain; that they were worse than useless; but in +the heart of the foe there was no relenting, no pity, nothing but scorn +and hate. She had poured out the whole of her soul in that supplication +for pity, and now she knew that she had humbled herself in vain; the +mother's cruel words smote her with a pain like that of a sharp sword. +She was silent until the first smart of that pain was over, then she +said, gently: + +"Why do you say anything so cruel?--why do you hate me?" + +"Hate you?" replied my lady, "how can you be so mistaken? It is not you +I hate, but your class--the class to which you belong--although the word +hate is much too strong. I simply hold them in sovereign contempt." + +"I cannot help my class," she said, briefly. + +"Certainly not; but it is my place to see that my son takes no wife from +it. To you, yourself, I can have no dislike; personally I rather like +you; you have a pleasant face, and I should take you to be clever. But +you have not even one of the qualifications needful--absolutely +necessary for the lady whom my son calls wife." + +"Yet he chose me," she said, simply. + +"You have a nice face, and my son has fancied it," said the countess +contemptuously. "You ought to be grateful to me for separating you from +my son now. I am doing for him the kindest thing that any one could do. +I know Lord Chandos better than any one else, and I know that he tires +of everything in a short time. He would have wearied of you by +Christmas, and would have loathed the chains he had forged for himself. +When he was a child he tired of a new toy in half an hour--his +disposition has not changed." + +"I cannot believe it," cried Leone. "I will not believe it, great lady +as you are. You are wicked to malign your own son." + +"I do not malign him," said the countess, indifferently. "Many gentlemen +think it quite complimentary to be called changeable. My son has always +been known as one of the most variable of men; nothing pleases him long; +it is seldom that anything pleases him twice. You think he will always +love you; let me ask you why? You have a pretty face, granted; but there +is nothing under the sun of which a man tires sooner. You have nothing +else; you have no education, no accomplishments, no good birth; I should +say no good breeding, no position, rank, or influence. If I may speak my +mind plainly, I should say that it was a most impertinent presumption +for you, a farmer's niece, even to dream of being Lady Chandos--a +presumption that should be punished, and must be checked. You would, +without doubt, make an excellent dairy-maid, even a tolerable +housekeeper, but a countess never. The bare idea is intolerable." + +She grew more angry as she spoke; for the girl's grace and beauty, the +wonderful sweetness of her voice, the passion, the power, the loveliness +of her face, began to tell upon her; she could not help owning to +herself that she had seen nothing so marvelous as this wonderful girl. + +"Then," said Leone, calmly, "I have appealed to you in vain?" + +"Quite in vain," replied my lady. "Remember that against you personally +I have nothing to say, neither have I any dislike; but if you have +common sense, you will see that it is utterly impossible for my son to +take the future Countess of Lanswell from a farmhouse. Now try and act +rationally--go away at once, leave my son, and I will see that you have +plenty to live upon." + +"Whatever may be said of the class from which I spring," cried Leone, "I +believe in the sanctity of marriage, and I would scorn to barter my love +for anything on earth." + +"Yes, that is all very pretty and very high-flown," said the countess, +with a contemptuous laugh; "but you will find a few thousand pounds a +very comfortable matter in a few years' time." + +"You said you would rather see your son dead than married to me, Lady +Lanswell; I repeat that I would rather die of hunger than touch money of +yours. I did not know or believe that on the face of God's earth there +was ever a creature so utterly hard, cold and cruel as you." + +The light of the setting sun had somewhat faded then, and it moved from +the proud figure of the countess to the lovely young face of Leone, but +even as the light warmed it, new pride, new energy, new passion seemed +to fill it. The prayer and the pleading died--the softened light, the +sweet tenderness left it; it was no longer the face of a loving, +tender-hearted girl, pleading with hot tears that she might not be taken +from her husband--it was the face of a tragedy queen, full of fire and +passion. She stood, with one hand upraised, like a sibyl inspired. + +"I have done, Lady Lanswell," she said; "you tell me that Lord Chandos +is free to marry as he will when he is twenty-one." + +"If you can find any comfort in that statement, I can verify it," she +replied; "but surely you are not mad enough to think that, when my son +is of age, he will return to you." + +"I am sure of it," said Leone. "I believe in my husband's love, and my +husband's constancy, as I believe in Heaven." + +"I hope your faith in Heaven will be more useful to you," sneered the +countess. "I have womanly pity enough to warn you not to let your hopes +rest on this. I prophesy that Lord Chandos will have utterly forgotten +you by next June, and that he does not see you again." + +"I will not believe it, Lady Lanswell. You are my superior by birth and +fortune, but I would neither exchange mind nor heart with you. You have +sordid and mean ideas. My husband will be true, and seek me when the +time comes." + +My lady laughed. + +"You are very happy to have such faith in him; I have not half so much +in any creature living. You hold that one card in your hand--you seem to +think it a winning one; it may or may not be. I tell you one thing +frankly: that I have already settled in my own mind who shall be my +son's wife, and I seldom fail in a purpose." + +"You are a wicked woman," cried Leone. "I have no fear of you. You may +try all that you will. I do not believe that you will take my husband +from me. You are a wicked woman, and God will punish you, Lady Lanswell. +You have parted husband and wife who loved each other." + +"I am not very frightened," laughed my lady. "I consider that I have +been a kind of providence to my son. I have saved him from the effect of +his own folly. Will you allow me to say now that, having exhausted a +very disagreeable subject, this interview must be considered closed! If +you would like any refreshments my housekeeper will be pleased to----" + +But the girl drew back with an imperial gesture of scorn. + +"I want nothing," she said. "I have a few words to say to you in +parting. I repeat that you are a wicked woman, Lady Lanswell, and that +God will punish you for the wicked deed you have done. I say more, +whether Heaven punishes you or not, _I will_. You have trampled me under +your feet; you have insulted, outraged, tortured me. Listen to the +word--you have tortured me; you have received me with scorn and +contumely; you have laughed at my tears; enjoyed my prayers and +humiliation. I swear that I will be revenged, even should I lose all on +earth to win that revenge. I swear that you shall come and plead to me +on your knees, and I will laugh at you. You shall plead to me with +tears, and I will remind you how I have pleaded in vain. You have wrung +my heart, I will wring yours. My revenge shall be greater than your +cruelty; think, then, how great it will be." + +"I repeat that I am not frightened," said the countess, but she shrunk +from the fire of those splendid eyes. + +"I was mad to think I should find a woman's heart in you. When the hour +of my revenge comes, my great grief will be that I have a heart of +marble to deal with!" cried Leone. + +"You cannot have such great affection for your husband, if you speak to +his mother in this fashion," said the countess, mockingly. + +The girl stretched out her white arms with a despairing cry. + +"Give me back my husband, and I recall my threats." + +Then, seeing that mocking smile on that proud face, her arms fell with a +low sigh. + +"I am mad," she said, in a low voice, "to plead to you--quite mad!" + +"Most decidedly," said the countess. "It appears to me there is more +truth in that one observation than in any other you have made this +evening. As I am not particularly inclined to the society of mad men or +mad women, you will excuse me if I withdraw." + +Without another word, my lady touched the bell. To the servant who +entered she said: + +"Will you show this person out as far as the park gates, please?" + +And, without another look at Leone, she quitted the room. + +Leone followed in silence. She did not even look around the sumptuous +home one day she believed to be hers; she went to the great gates which +the man-servant held open as she passed through. The sun had set, and +the gray, sweet gloaming lay over the land. There was a sound of falling +water, and Leone made her way to it. It was a cascade that fell from a +small, but steep rock. The sound of the rippling water was to her like +the voice of an old friend, the sight of it like the face of some one +whom she loved. She sat down by it, and it sung to her the same sweet +old song: + + "A ring in pledge he gave her, + And vows of love we spoke; + Those vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +It would not be so with her, ah no! If ever the needle was true to the +pole, the flowers to the sun, the tides to the moon, the stars to the +heavens, Lord Chandos would be true to her. + +So she believed, and, despite her sorrow, her heart found rest in the +belief. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +LEONE'S PROPHECY. + + +No words could do justice to the state of mind in which Lord Chandos +found himself after that interview at Cawdor. He rushed back to London. +Of the three previous days remaining he spent one in hunting after the +shrewdest lawyers in town. Each and all laughed at him--there was the +law, plain enough, so plain that a child could read and understand it. +They smiled at his words, and said, half-contemptuously, they could not +have imagined any one so ignorant of the law. They sympathized with him +when he spoke of his young wife, but as for help, there was none. + +The only bright side to it was this, he could remarry her on the day he +came of age. Of that there was and could be no doubt, he said, but he +was bent on finding some loop-hole, and marrying her at once, if it were +really needful for the ceremony to be performed again. It could not be, +and there was nothing for it but to resign himself to the inevitable. He +did not know that Leone had heard the terrible sentence, and he dreaded +having to tell her. He was worn out with sorrow and emotion. In what +words was he to tell her that she was not his wife in the eyes of the +law, and that if they wished to preserve her character unspotted and +unstained she must leave him at once? + +He understood his mother's character too well to dare any delay. He was +sure that if Leone remained even one day under his roof, when the time +came that he should introduce her to the world as his wife, his mother +would bring the fact against her, and so prevent her from even knowing +people. + +There was no help for it--he must tell her. He wrote a letter telling +her he would be at River View for luncheon on the following day; he knew +that he must leave that same evening for the Continent. + +He would have given the world to have been able to renounce the royal +favor, of which he had felt so proud, but he could not. To have done so +would have been to have deprived him not only of all position, but to +have incurred disgrace. To have refused a favor so royally bestowed +would have been an act of ingratitude which would have deprived him of +court favor for life. + +He must go; and when the first pain was over, he said to himself it was, +perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. He could not have +borne to know that Leone was near him, yet not see or speak to her. + +It was all for the best, painful as it was. If for these long months +they must be parted, it was better for him to be abroad--he dare not +have trusted himself at home. He loved Leone so well that he knew his +love would have broken down the barriers which the law had placed +between them. He would go to River View, and, let it pain him as it +would, he would tell her all, he would leave her as happy as was +possible under the circumstances. He would stay away until the time was +over; then, the very day he came of age, he would return and remarry +her. He laughed to scorn his mother's prophecy. He prove untrue to his +darling! The heavens must fall first. Not for him the mill-wheel +story--not for him the broken ring. + +How happy they would be, then, when the time had passed, and he could +introduce Leone as his beloved wife to the whole world. He would try and +think of that time without dwelling more than he could help on the +wretched present. He went home to River View, but the first glance at +Leone's face told him that she knew all. + +It was not so much that the beauty had gone from it, that the beautiful +eyes were dim with long, passionate weeping, or that the lips trembled +as she tried to smile. Her whole face had changed so completely; its +tragic intensity, the power of its despair, overmastered him. + +Lord Chandos clasped her in his arms, and covered the sad young face +with kisses and tears. + +"My darling," he said, "you know all; I can see you know all." + +The ring of happy music had quite died from her voice--he hardly +recognized it. + +"Yes," she answered him, "I know all." + +"My darling," he cried, "it is not my fault. You will think I ought to +have known it; but I swear to Heaven that I never even thought or +suspected it. I would rather have been dead than have put you in a false +position, Leone--you know that." + +She laid her fair arms on his neck, and hid her white face on his +breast. + +"I am sure of it," she said, gently; "I have never thought of that: I +know that you intended to make me your wife." + +"So you are my wife, let who will say to the contrary--you are my +beloved, revered, honored wife, Leone. Why, my darling, all the strength +has left you! Look up, Leone. They have done the worst they can do, and +what is it? They have parted us for a few months. When the parting is +ended we shall be together for life." + +She tightened the clasp of her fair arms around his neck. + +"I know; I have faith in you, but it is so hard to bear, Lance. We were +so happy, and you were all the world to me. How shall I live through the +long months to come? Lance, perhaps you will be angry with me--I have +done something that perhaps you will not like." + +"That would not be possible, Leone. I must always like everything you +do. Why, my darling, how you tremble! Sit down, there is nothing in all +the world to fear." + +"No; let me tell you what I have to say with my head here on your +breast. You must not be angry with me, Lance. When I had seen Mr. +Sewell, I felt that I could not bear it. I went down to Cawdor and saw +Lady Lanswell." + +He started with surprise. She raised her face to his, longing to see if +he were angry, yet half afraid. + +"You went to Cawdor to see my mother," he repeated. "My darling, it was +a strong measure. What did she say or do?" + +"You are not angry with me for it, Lance?" she asked, gently. + +"I angry, my darling? No, a thousand times no. I could not be angry with +you. Why did you go--for what purpose?" + +"I went to ask her to have pity on us; not to enforce this cruel +sentence; to be pitiful to me, because I love you so dearly." + +"And her answer?" asked Lord Chandos, eagerly. + +"Her answer was everything that was cruel and wicked. Ah, forgive me, +Lance, she is your mother, I know, but she has taken in her cruel hands +a divine power. She has parted us and I prayed her to be merciful. I +told her how dearly we loved each other, but she had no pity--no +mercy--no woman's kindness, no sympathy. She was cold, cruel, proud, +haughty. She insulted, humiliated and outraged me. She refused to hear +one word, and when I left her, I swore to be revenged on her." + +The slender form trembled with passion. He drew her even more closely to +his breast. + +"My darling, you need not think of vengeance," he said. "I am grieved +that my mother was unkind to you. Had you consulted me, I should most +certainly have said do not go. Mind, I am not angry or annoyed, only so +far as this, that I would not have you irritated for the world. I must +say that I had always felt that if my mother could see you our cause was +won. I did not believe that any creature living could resist that face." + +She looked up at him with unutterable love. + +"Do you really care so much for it, Lance? Have you never seen a face +you like as well?" + +"No, and never shall see one, my darling; when we are parted it will +live in my heart bright and fair until we meet again." + +Then the tender arms clung more tightly to him. + +"Must we be parted, Lance?" she whispered. "We were married in the sight +of Heaven--must we leave each other? Oh, Lance, it cannot be true; no +one can say that I am not your wife." + +Quietly and calmly trying to command himself, he told her then how +inevitable it was that they must submit to the voice of the law during +the next few months, so as to insure their future happiness and fair +name. And then he told her of the favor conferred upon him, and how he +was compelled to accept it or never to hope for court favor again. + +She listened with a face that seemed turned to stone. Slowly the tender +arms unwound themselves and fell by her side; slowly the beautiful eyes +left his and filled with despair. He tried to console her. + +"You see, my darling," he said, "that in any case we must have parted. +Though this appointment is a mark of royal regard, still it is quite +imperative. I could not have refused it without ruin to my future +career, and I could not have taken you with me, so that for a time we +must have parted." + +"I see," she said, gently, but her hands fell, and a shudder that she +could not control passed over her. + +"Leone," said Lord Chandos, "we have not long to be together, and we +have much to arrange. Tell me, first, what you thought of my mother?" + +"She is very beautiful, very proud, very haughty, cold and cruel--if not +wicked," said the young girl, slowly. + +"That is not very flattering," said Lord Chandos. + +"I could have loved and worshiped her if she had been kind to me," said +Leone; "but she was cruel, and some time or other I shall have my +revenge." + +He looked gravely at her. + +"I do not like to hear that, my darling. How can you be revenged?" + +A light came over her face. + +"I do not know. I have a prophetic insight at times into the future. As +I stand here, I know that a time will come when your mother will weep to +me as bitterly as I wept to her, and just as much in vain." + +"I hope not," he answered. "All will be well for us, Leone. But revenge, +my darling, is a horrible word, and does not suit those sweet lips at +all. Let me kiss away the sound of it." + +He bent his handsome head and kissed her lips with love that seemed +stronger than death and true as eternity. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +THE PARTING. + + +They had been talking for more than an hour. He had given her the whole +history of the royal wedding, of what his embassy consisted of, of the +length of time he would be absent, how he should think of her +continually, how he implored her to write to him every day, and she had +given him every detail of her interview with Mr. Sewell and Lady +Lanswell. Then he said to himself that it was time they made some +arrangement over the future. + +"So we are to live apart until next June, Leone," he said, gently. "It +is a terrible sentence; but the time will soon pass. Tell me, my +darling, where you would like to live until June comes?" + +She looked at him with startled eyes. + +"Need I leave home, Lance? Let me live here; I could not fancy any other +place was home. I feel as though if I once left here I should never see +you again." + +"My darling, that is all fancy--nothing but fancy. No matter where you +are, my birthday comes on the thirtieth day of June, and on that day I +shall return to you to make you what I have always believed you to +be--my wife." + +"I am your wife, Lance; let others say what they will, you will not deny +it." + +"Not I, Leone. You are my wife; and the very first day the law permits +you shall bear my name, just as you now share my heart and life." + +"On the thirtieth day of June," she sighed. "I shall count every hour, +every minute until then. I wish, Lance, I could sleep a long sleep from +the hour of parting until the hour of meeting--if I could but turn my +face from the light of day and not open my eyes until they rest on you +again. I shall have to live through every hour and every minute, and +they will be torture." + +"The time will soon pass, Leone, my darling; it will be full of hope, +not despair. When the green leaves spring and the sunshine warms the +land, you will say to yourself, 'June is coming, and June brings back my +love;' when the lark sings and the wood-pigeons make their nests, when +the hawthorn blooms on the hedges and the lilac rears its tall plumes, +you will say 'June is near.' When the roses laugh and the lilies bloom, +when the brook sings in the wood, when the corn grows ripe in the +meadows, you will say 'June is come, and it brings my love.'" + +"My love--oh, my love," sighed the girl, and her voice had the +passionate sweetness of a siren. + +"I shall come back to you, Leone, with everything bright, smiling, and +beautiful; every rose that blooms, every bird that sings, every green +leaf that springs will be a message from me to you to say that I am +coming; when the wind whispers, and the trees murmur, it will be the +same story, that I am coming back to my darling. Let us picture the +thirtieth of June, and your mind shall rest on that picture. It will be +a bright day, I know, the sky all blue and clear, not a cloud in it; but +with the half-golden light one sees in June skies. You can see that +picture, Leone?" + +"Yes," she replied, drawing nearer him, and resting her head again on +his breast. + +"The sun will be low on the hills, and every living thing will be +laughing in its light. The great trees will have grown strong in it, the +flowers will have brightened, and the river there, Leone, will be +running so deep and clear, kissing the green banks and the osier beds, +carrying with it the leaves and flowers that will fall on its bosom, and +the garden will be filled with the flowers we love the best. You see +that picture, too, my love?" + +"Yes, I see it," she whispers. + +"Wherever I may be," he continued, "I shall so arrange my journey that I +may be with you on the morning of my birthday. You see the pretty white +gate yonder where the tall white roses climb in summer? My darling, rise +early on the thirtieth of June and watch that gate. Even should such an +impossible thing be as that you should never have one word of or from +me, get up and watch that gate on the thirtieth of June. You will see me +enter. I will part the clustering roses; I shall gather the sweetest, +together with the fairest lily that blooms, and bring them to you as +emblems of your own dearest self. You will see me walk down the broad +path there, and you will meet me at the door." + +"Oh, my love, my love!" sighed the girl, "would that it were June now." + +He bent down to kiss the loving lips. + +"It will come," he said; "let me finish the picture. I shall have a +special license with me so that we can be remarried that day; and then +the world shall know who is Lady Chandos. Then my lady mother shall seek +you who have sought her; then she shall ask to know you, my darling, and +this hideous past shall be to us a dream and nothing more. Leone, when +sad thoughts come to you promise me that you will dwell on this side of +the picture and forget the other." + +"I promise, Lance," she said, gently. + +"You see, my love--whom I shall so soon call again by the beautiful name +of wife--you see that your life does not lie in ruins round you; the +only difference is that I shall be away." + +"And that makes the difference of the whole world to me," said Leone. + +"And to me," said Lord Chandos; "but it will soon be over, Leone. You +can go on living here--it is no unusual thing for a lady to live alone +while her husband is abroad. You can keep the same servants; you need +not make the least alteration in your life in any way. Only remain here +in silence and patience until I return. Now do you see, my darling, it +is not so dreadful?" + +"It is hard enough," she replied; "but you have taken away the sting. +Oh, my darling, you will be true to me? I am only a simple village girl, +with nothing, your mother says, to recommend me; but I love you--I love +you. You will be true to me?" + +"My dearest Leone, you may as well ask if the stars will be true to +heaven, or heaven to itself, as ask me if I will be true to you. You are +my life--a man is not false to his own life. You are soul of my soul--no +man betrays his soul! It would be easier for me to die than be false to +you, my love." + +The passionate words reassured her--something of hope came over the +beautiful face. + +"Lance," she said, "do you remember the mill-wheel and how the water +used to sing the words of the song?" + +"Yes, I remember it; but those will never come true over us, Leone, +never. I shall never break my vows or you yours." + +"No; yet how the water sung it over and over again: + + "'Those vows were all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke.' + +I can hear it now, Lance. It seems to me the wind is repeating it." + +"It is only your fancy, my darling," he said. + +But she went on: + + "'I would the grave would hide me, + For there alone is peace.' + +Ah, Lance, my love--Lance, will it happen to either of us to find peace +in the grave?" + +"No, we shall find peace in life first," he said. + +She laid her hand on his arm. + +"Lance," she said, "I had a terrible dream last night. I could not sleep +for many hours. When at last my eyes closed I found myself by the old +mill stream. I thought that I had been driven there by some pain too +great for words, and I flung myself into the stream. Oh, Lance, my +love--Lance, I felt myself drowning. I felt my body floating, then +sinking. My hair caught in the bending branches of a tree. The water +filled my eyes and my ears. I died. In my sleep I went through all the +pain of death. My last thought was of you. 'Lance,' I cried, in death as +in life, 'Lance, come back to me in death!' It was a horrible dream, was +it not? Do you think it will ever come true?" + +"No," he replied; but his handsome face had grown paler, and the shadows +of deep trouble lay in his eyes. + +She raised her face to his again. + +"Lance," she asked gently, "do you think that any creature--any one has +ever loved another as well as I love you? I often wonder about it. I see +wives happy and contented, and I wonder if their husbands' smiles make +heaven to them as yours do to me." + +"I do not think there are many people capable of loving as you do, +Leone," he replied, "and now, my darling, I must leave you. Leone, spend +all your time in study. A few months more of work as hard as the last +three months, and my beautiful wife will be as accomplished as she is +graceful. Study will help you to pass away the time." + +"I will do anything you tell me, Lance. You will let me write to you +every day, and you must write often to me." + +"I will, sweet; but you will not be uneasy if my letters are not so +frequent as yours; the foreign post is not so regular as ours; and if we +travel in Germany I may not always be able to write." + +"I will trust you," said the loving voice. "I am sure you will never +fail me." + +She was proud as an empress, she had the high spirit of a queen; but now +that the moments of parting had come, both failed her. She clung to him, +weeping passionate tears--it was so cruelly hard, for she loved him so +well. Her tears rained on his face, her trembling lips could utter no +words for the bitter sobs. Never was sorrow so great, or despair so +pitiful. She kissed his face with all the passion of her love. + +"Good-bye, my love," she sighed. "Oh, Lance, be true to me--my life lies +in yours." + +"If ever I prove untrue to you, my darling, let Heaven be false to me," +he said. "Leone, give me one smile; I cannot go until I have seen one." + +She tried. He kissed the white lips and the weeping eyes. + +"Good-bye, my beloved," he said. "Think of the thirteenth of June, and +the roses I shall bring back with me." + +And then he was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +WAITING FOR THE DAY. + + +How the days of that dreary summer passed Leone never knew; the keenest +smart of the pain came afterward. At first she was too utterly stunned +and bewildered by the suddenness of the blow to realize all that +happened. It was impossible to believe that her marriage had been set +aside, and that her husband, as she called him, had gone away; but, as +the days rolled on, she slowly but surely realized it. There was no +break in the terrible monotony. The voice that made such music in her +ears was silent, the footsteps that had made her heart beat and her +pulse thrill were heard no more; the handsome face, always brightened +with such tender love for her, no longer brought sunshine and warmth; it +was as though the very light had gone out of her life, and left it all +bleak, dark and cold. + +For some days the proud heart, the proud, unyielding spirit gave way, +and she longed for death; life without Lance seemed so utterly +unbearable. Then youth and a naturally strong constitution triumphed. +She began to think how much she could learn so as to surprise him on his +return. Her soul was fired with ambition; in a few months she would +achieve wonders. She set herself so much; she would become proficient on +the piano and the harp; she would improve her singing; she would +practice drawing; she would take lessons in French and Italian. + +"I can learn if I will," she said to herself; "I feel power without +limit in myself. If I fix my own will on attaining a certain object I +shall not fail. Lance shall find an accomplished wife when he returns." + +She resolved to give her whole time and attention to it. Thanks to the +old books in Farmer Noel's house, she was better read than the +generality of ladies. No toil, no trouble daunted her. She rose in the +morning long hours before the rest of the household were awake, and she +read for hours after they were asleep. The masters who attended her, not +knowing her motive, wondered at her marvelous industry. They wondered, +too, at the great gifts nature had bestowed upon her--at the grand +voice, capable of such magnificent cultivation; at the superb dramatic +instinct which raised her so completely above the commonplace; at the +natural grace, the beauty of face and attitude, the love of the +beautiful and picturesque. They wondered why so many great gifts, such +remarkable beauty and talent should have been lavished on one creature. +They strove with her--the more she learned the more they tried to teach +her; the harder she worked the harder they worked with her. + +As the weeks passed on her progress was wonderful. She was often amazed +at herself. It was so sweet to study for his sake, to rise in the early +morning and work for him. + +She watched with the keenness of love the last leaves fall from the +trees--she watched with the keen avidity of love for the white snow and +the wail of wintery winds, for the long, dark nights and gray, cold +dawn. Each one brought her nearer and nearer; every day was a pain past +and a nearer joy. Welcome to the nipping frost and the northern winds; +welcome the hail, the rain, the sleet--it brought him nearer. How she +prayed for him with the loving simplicity of a child. If Heaven would +but spare him, would save him from all dangers, would send him sunny +skies and favorable winds, would work miracles in his behalf, would +avert all accident by rail and road, would bring him back to her +longing, loving arms--ah, if the kind, dear Heaven would do this. When +she went out for her daily walks she met the poor, the wretched--she +would give liberal alms; and when they said: + +"God bless your bonny face, my lady," she would say: + +"No, not mine; ask him to bless some one else; some one whom I love and +who is far away." + +It seemed to her like the turning point of a life-time when Christmas +Day was passed. Now for the glad New Year which was to bring him back to +her. + +The first days of the year were months to her. This year was to bring +her love, her husband, her marriage--all--blessed new year. When the +bells chimed on the first day she went to church, and kneeling with +those true of heart and simple of faith as herself she prayed the new +year might bring him home. + +It was pitiful to see how the one precious hour of the day was the hour +in which she wrote to him those long, loving letters that were poems in +themselves. He wrote, but not so often; and she saw from the newspaper +reports of all that he did and where he went. + +She will never forget the day on which she saw the first snow-drop. It +was like a message from a lovely modest flower, raising its white head +as though it would say to her, "No more tears; he is coming." + +She went into a very ecstasy of delight then. Golden primroses and pale +cowslips came; the sweet violets bloomed, the green leaves budded, the +birds began to sing; it was spring, delicate, beautiful spring, and in +June he would come. + +She was almost ready for him. It was April now, and she had worked +without intermission. She loved to think of his pleasure when he found +her so improved. She delighted in picturing what he would say, and how +he would reward her with kisses and caresses; how he would praise her +for her efforts; how proud even he would be of her. + +"I want you to tell me the exact truth," she said to one of the masters. + +"I will tell you any truth you wish to hear," he said. + +"I want you to tell me this. If you met me anywhere, and did not know +that in my youth I had received no training, should you, from anything +in my manner, find it out?" + +"No," he replied, frankly. "I would defy any one to know that you have +not been born the daughter of a duke. Permit me to say, and believe me I +am sincere, your manner and conversation are perfection." + +She was happy after that; people would not be able to laugh at him and +say he had married a low-born wife. She would be equal to any lady in +the land when she was Lady Chandos. + +The spring was giving place to the laughing, golden-hued summer. He had +gone to Italy; his parents were there; they had been spending the spring +in Rome and he had joined them. + +Nothing, Leone thought, could be more natural. His letters from Rome +were not so frequent or so long; but that was no matter; he had less +time, perhaps; and being with his parents not so much opportunity. + +Her faith in him never lessened, never faltered, never wavered. + +True, she wondered at times why he had gone to his parents, why he had +joined them after the cruel way in which they had behaved. She could not +quite understand. + +It seemed to her at times almost disrespect to her that he should +associate with them until they had apologized to her, and made amends +for the wrong done; but then, she said to herself, he knew best; all he +did was well done, and there was nothing to fear. + +Then May came--so short the time was growing. Everything he had spoken +of was here--the green leaves, the singing birds, the soaring lark, the +cooing wood-pigeon. Only a few more weeks now, and the girl grew more +beautiful every day as her hope grew nearer its fulfillment. + +She was much struck by a conversation she had one day with Signor Corli, +her singing-master. She had sung, to his intense delight and +satisfaction, one of the most difficult and beautiful cavatinas from +"Der Freischutz," and he marveled at her wonderful voice and execution. + +"It is ten thousand pities," he said, "that you have a position which +forbids you to think of the stage." + +She laughed at the time. + +"The stage?" she repeated. "Why, signor?" + +"Because you have the genius which would make you the finest dramatic +singer in the world," he replied; "you would be the very queen of song. +I repeat it--it is ten thousand pities you have been placed in such a +position the stage could never attract you." + +"No, it certainly will not," she said. "But do you think I have really +talent for it, signor?" + +"No, not talent," he replied, "but genius. Once in every hundred years +such a one is given to the world. If you went on the stage I venture to +prophesy you would drive the world mad." + +She laughed. + +"It is just as well, then, that the world is saved from madness," she +said. + +"It is not well for the world of art," said Signor Corli. + +She smiled after he was gone, half flattered by his words, yet half +amazed. Could what he said be true? Was this dramatic power, as he +called it, the power she had felt within herself which made her +different to others? Then she laughed again. What did it matter to +her--her life would be spent under the shelter of her husband's +love--the husband who was to claim her in June. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +THE RECONCILIATION. + + +Those few months had been filled with excitement for Lord Chandos. The +pain he had felt at leaving his wife had been great and hard to bear, +but life differs so greatly for men and women. Women must sit at home +and weep. For them comes no great field of action, no stir of battle, no +rush of fight; their sorrow weighs them down because they have nothing +to shake it off. With men it is so different; they rush into action and +forget it. + +Leone was for some days prostrate with the pains of her sorrow. Lord +Chandos suffered acutely for a couple of hours; then came the excitement +of his journey, the whirl of travel and adventure, the thousand sources +of interest and pleasure. + +He was compelled to take his thoughts from Leone. He had a hundred other +interests; not that he loved or cared for her less, but that he was +compelled to give his attention to the duties intrusted to him. He was +compelled to set his sorrow aside. + +"I must work now," he said to himself, "I shall have time to think +afterward." + +He would have time to look his sorrow in the face--now it must stand +aside. + +When he really brought himself face to face with the world, it was +impossible to help feeling flattered by the position he held. Every one +congratulated him. + +"You start to-morrow," one would say. "Glad to hear you have been +chosen," said another. One prophesied continual court favor. Another +that he would receive great honors. Every one seemed to consider him +quite a favorite of fortune. No one even ever so faintly alluded to his +marriage, to the lawsuit, or to the decision. + +He was divided between gratitude for the relief and irritation that what +had been of such moment to him had been nothing to others. Yet it was a +relief to find his darling's name held sacred. He had dreaded to hear +about it--to have the matter discussed in any word or shape; but it +seemed as though the world had formed one grand conspiracy not to +mention it. + +Then came the excitement of traveling. His companion, Lord Dunferline, +one of the most famous statesmen and noblest peers of England, was many +years older than himself. He was a keen, shrewd, clever man, full of +practical knowledge and common sense; he was the best friend who could +have been chosen for the young lord; and Lady Lanswell congratulated +herself on that as a magnificent piece of business. Lord Dunferline had +not an iota of sentiment in his whole composition; his idea was that +people came into this world to make the very best use they can of it--to +increase in wealth, prosperity, and fortune; he believed in buying well, +selling well, doing everything well, making the best use of life while +it is ours to enjoy; he believed in always being comfortable, bright, +cheery; he knew nothing of trouble; sickness, poverty, loss of friends, +were all unknown evils to him; he had a prosperous, busy, happy life. + +He was one on whom no honor was ever wasted, lost, or thrown away. He +made the most of everything; he was rigid in the observation of +etiquette, and exacted the utmost deference in his turn. He talked so +long and so grandly of the honor conferred on them both that at last +Lord Chandos began to find the importance of it too. + +The marriage was to take place at Berlin; and they were received with +something like royal honors. Society opened its arms to them; the +_elite_ of Berlin vied with each other in giving _fetes_ of all kinds to +the English noblemen who represented the English queen. + +Still Lord Chandos made time for his letters; he would rather have gone +without food than have missed that daily letter from Leone. He wrote to +her as often as possible; and his letters would have satisfied even the +most loving and sensitive heart. He told her how he loved her, how he +missed her, how empty the world seemed, in spite of all its grandeur, +because she was not near him--words that comforted her when she read +them. Were they true or false? Who shall tell? + +Then when the wedding festivities were held, it was not possible for him +to write often, his time was so fully occupied. He wrote one sentence +that consoled her and it was this--that, although he was surrounded by +some of the loveliest women in Europe, there was not a face or a figure +that could compare with hers. How she kissed the words as she read them, +as women do the written words of the men they love! + +It was such a different world, this he lived in now. It was all a blaze +of color and brightness, a blaze of jewels, a scene of festivity and +mirth, a scene of regal splendor and ever-changing gayety. There was no +time for thought or reflection. Lord Chandos was always either being +feted or feting others. + +The few hasty words dashed off home said but little--it was a different +world. If ever at night he found himself under the light of the stars, +if he heard the ripple of water, if he stood for a moment watching the +swaying of green boughs, his thoughts at once flew to her--the happy, +simple home-life at Richmond was like some quiet, beautiful dream, the +very memory of which gives rest. He found himself at times wondering how +he liked it so well, it was such a contrast to the feted courtier's life +he led now. He thought of its calm as he thought of a far-off summer +lake. + +There had been no flash of jewels, no sheen of cloth of gold there, no +grand uniforms, no thrones there, no crowns, no kings or queens--Leone +and himself; yet how happy they had been. How he loved her; and his +young heart warmed with his love. + +What would the world say when she came forth in her imperial loveliness? +He liked to think about it. There were many handsome women and beautiful +girls, but none to compare to her--not one. + +He had intended to love her always with the same warmth and truth; he +meant to be constant to her as the needle to the pole. He believed +himself to be so; but insensibly the new life changed him--the gay, +bright, glistening world influenced him. + +After a time--even though he loved her just the same--after a time his +thoughts ceased to dwell with such fervent interest on the pretty, +simple home. After a time he began to feel his old keen sense of +pleasure in all that the world had of the beautiful and bright; he began +to feel an interest in its honors and titles. + +"I have been lotus-eating," he said to himself; "there is nothing for it +but to rouse myself." + +In a short time he became very popular in Berlin. The young English +noble, Lord Chandos, was as popular as any young sovereign, and there +was little need to hurry home. + +He went one evening to a very select ball given by the wife of the +English embassador, Lady Baden. She smiled when she saw him. + +"I have a surprise for you," she said, warmly. "I have what I know to be +a most charming surprise. Will you go to the little _salon_, the third +on the left? The door is closed, open it, and you will see what you will +see." + +Lord Chandos bowed and went in the direction she indicated. He did not +expect to see anything particular, but he respected the caprices of _les +grandes dames_. He opened the door carelessly enough and started back in +amaze. There stood his father and mother, his mother's handsome face +pale with anxiety, her jeweled arms outstretched, her fine eyes full of +love. + +"Lance," she said, "my dear son, how good it is to see you again!" + +With the cautious avoidance of anything like a scene that distinguishes +Englishmen, Lord Chandos turned first and carefully closed the door. +Then the earl spoke: + +"My dear boy," he said, "I am so pleased to see you!" + +But there was no response for either on the face of their son. He bowed +coldly, and his mother's jeweled arms fell by her side. + +"This is a surprise, indeed," he said. "I should have considered some +little notice more agreeable." + +"Lance, you may say what you will to me," said the earl, "but remember, +not one word to your mother." + +"My mother was very cruel to me," he said, coldly, turning from her. + +But my lady had recovered herself. She held out her hands with charming +grace; she looked at her son with a charming smile. + +"My dearest Lance," she said, "children call the physician who cuts off +a diseased limb cruel, yet he is most merciful. I am even more merciful +than he. I did what I did in the spirit of truest kindness to you, my +son." + +"Let there be no mention of the word kindness between us," he said. "You +nearly broke the heart, and certainly ruined the life of the girl whom I +loved. Mother, if that be what you call kindness, then I do not +understand the English tongue." + +"I did it for your sake, my dearest Lance," said my lady, caressingly. + +"One would have thought that, loving the girl with my whole heart, for +my sake you would have loved her also." + +"Love plays but a poor part in life, Lance," said the Countess of +Lanswell. "You have too much sense to mar one of the brightest futures a +man has before him for the sake of sentimental nonsense called love." + +"Mother," said the young lord, "I shall marry her on my twenty-first +birthday. I shall not delay one hour. You understand that clearly?" + +The Countess of Lanswell shrugged her graceful shoulders. + +"You will certainly be able to do as you like then," she said; "but we +need not quarrel over it in prospective; we can wait until the event +happens; then it will be quite time enough to discuss what we shall do." + +"I am quite resolved," said Lord Chandos. "No persuasion, no argument +shall induce me to change." + +"I have no arguments to use," said my lady, with a proud laugh. "When +you are of age you shall do as you like, marry whom you will--no +interference of mine will avail; but let us wait until the time comes. +My object in coming here is to seek a reconciliation with you. You are +our only son, and though you think me proud and cold, I still love and +do not care to be at variance with you. Let us be friends, Lance, at +least until you are of age." + +She held out her hands again with a smile he could not resist. + +"I tell you frankly," continued my lady, "that the young person has been +to see me. We had quite a melodramatic interview. I do not wish to vex +you, Lance, but she would make a capital fifth-rate actress for a +tragedy in a barn." + +"Come, my lady, that is too bad," said the earl. + +The countess laughed. + +"It was really sensational," she said. "The conclusion of the interview +was a very solemn threat on her part that she would be revenged upon me, +so that I must be prepared for war. But, Lance, let it be as it may, we +must be friends. You will not refuse your mother when she asks a favor, +and it is the first favor, mind." + +"I cannot refuse," he replied. "I will be friends, as you phrase it, +mother, but you must change your opinion about Leone." + +"Another time," said my lady, with a wave of the hand. "Kiss me now, +Lance, and be friends. Shake hands with your father. We are staying at +the Hotel France. When the ball is over, join us at supper." + +And in that way the solemn reconciliation was effected. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +A SHREWD SCHEME. + + +There had been nothing very sentimental in the reconciliation scene +between parents and son. The earl and Lord Chandos walked home through +the quiet streets of Berlin, while my lady drove. They smoked the cigar +of peace, while Lord Chandos reported his social triumphs to his father. +No more passed between them on the most important of all subjects--his +love, his marriage, and the lawsuit; they spoke of anything and +everything else. The only words which went from the heart of the father +to the heart of the son, were these: + +"I am glad you have made friends with my lady, Lance. She has pined +after you, and she is so proud. She says nothing, but I know that she +has felt the separation from you most keenly. I am glad it is all right; +you must not vex her again, Lance." + +"I will not, if I can help it," replied the young lord; and so the +conversation ended. + +Lord Chandos was a clever man, but he was in the hands of a far more +clever woman. When a woman has the gift of strategy, she excels in it, +and the countess added this to her other accomplishments. She was a +magnificent strategist. Her maneuvers were of the finest; quite beyond +the power of one less gifted to detect. A man in her skillful hands was +a toy, to be played with as she would. The strongest, the wisest, the +most honest, the best, were but wax in her hands. She did just as she +would with them, and it was so cleverly done, so skillfully managed, +that they never had the faintest idea my lady was twining them around +her little fingers. She had two modes of strategy. One was by grand +moves, one alone of which was enough to carry a nation. The other means +was by a series of finest possible details of intrigue. + +She said to herself that her son's marriage with this person should be +set aside in some fashion or other, and in the end she prevailed. That +was by one grand move. + +She was equally resolved that her son should marry Lady Marion Erskine, +the beauty, the belle, the wealthiest heiress of the season, and by a +series of fine, well-directed maneuvers, she was determined to +accomplish that. + +The fates were propitious to her. Lady Marion Erskine was the niece and +ward of Lady Cambrey, and Lady Cambrey, though guardian of one of the +wealthiest heiresses in Europe, was herself poor and almost needy. She +was a distant relative of Lady Marion's mother, who had asked her to +undertake the charge of her child, and Lady Cambrey had been only too +pleased to undertake it. It was arranged that she should remain with +Lady Marion Erskine until her marriage, and Lady Cambrey was wise enough +to know that she must find her future fortune from the marriage. She +must use all her influence in favor of the lover who offered the +greatest advantages, and Lady Lanswell was the only woman in England who +had the wit to find it out. + +That was the darling wish of her life, that her son should marry Lady +Marion Erskine, the belle, beauty and heiress; and she saw the beginning +of her tactics from this fact, that Lady Cambrey's influence would go +with the most munificent lover. + +They had one interview in London. The countess had invited Lady Cambrey +to a five-o'clock tea. + +"We have hardly met this year," said the countess. "We are staying in +London for a week or two, though it is quite out of season, and I am so +pleased to see you. Is Lady Erskine in town?" + +"No; I merely came up to give orders for the redecoration of Erskine +House; Lady Marion is tired of it as it is." + +"I call it a special providence that you should be in town just now," +said Lady Lanswell; "I was quite delighted when I heard it. There is +nothing I enjoy more than a cup of tea and a chat with a congenial +friend." + +This from the countess, to whom champagne and politics were baby play, +was refreshing. Lady Cambrey was delighted, and before long the two +ladies had opened their hearts to each other. The countess, in the most +ingenuous manner possible, told her friend the sad history of her dear +boy's entanglement and infatuation; how, in his simplicity, he had +positively married the girl, and how, fortunately, the law had freed +him. + +"You know, my dear Lady Cambrey," she said, "it might have been his +ruin, but now, thank Heaven," she added, piously, "it is all over, and +my boy is free. I have looked all round England to find a suitable wife +for him, and there is no one I should like him to marry half so well as +Lady Marion Erskine. You see that I show you the cards in my hands very +freely." + +"It would be a very good match," said Lady Cambrey, thoughtfully. + +"If you use your influence, you will not find me ungrateful," continued +the countess; "indeed, I should consider myself bound to assist you in +every way--my home, carriages, purse, would always be at your services." + +"You are very kind," said Lady Cambrey, and in those few words they +perfectly understood each other. + +The mother knew that she had virtually sold the honor and loyalty of her +son, as Lady Cambrey had sold the free will of her niece. + +Then they enjoyed a cup of tea, after which my lady became more +confidential. + +"Promise," she said, "to persuade Lady Marion to spend the winter in +Rome and I shall be quite content." + +"She will do it if I advise it," said Lady Cambrey. "She is very +docile." + +"We can decide on our plans of action when we meet there," said the +countess. "The chief thing is to keep all idea of 'our ideas' from my +son. Instead of drawing his attention to Lady Marion, we must seem to +avoid bringing them together. I understand men. The first result of that +will be an intense anxiety on his part to see her. Do you understand?" + +"Quite," said Lady Cambrey. "It is really a pleasure to meet some one +who understands human nature as you do, Lady Lanswell." + +The countess smiled graciously at the compliment, feeling as though it +were well deserved. + +So it was arranged, and Lady Cambrey's part of the plot was very easy. +She had but to suggest to her niece that she should spend the winter in +Rome and she would at once fall in with her wish. + +Lady Lanswell had settled in her own mind the plan of the whole +campaign. She intended to go to Berlin, there to seek a reconciliation +with her son, and persuade him to go to Rome with them. She managed it +all so well, saying nothing at first of their intended journey, but +making herself very agreeable to her son. She brought to him all the +flattering things said of them. She studied every little whim, wish, or +caprice. She put him on a pedestal and made an idol of him. She was all +that was gay, amiable, pleasant and kind. She made herself not only his +friend and companion, but everything else in the world to him. She was +gay, amiable, gracious, witty. With her still beautiful face and fine +figure, she made herself so attractive and charming that Lord Chandos +was soon entirely under her influence. + +How many mothers might have taken a hint for the management of their +sons from her. She found no fault with cigars or latch-keys. She was the +essence of all that was kind, yet, at the same time, she was so +animated, so bright, so witty, that the time spent with her passed +quickly as a dream. Lord Chandos did not even like to think of parting +from her; and then, when she was most kind and most attentive to him, +she mentioned Rome. + +"We are going to Rome, Lance, for the winter," said the countess to her +son. + +He looked up from the paper he was reading in blank amazement. + +"To Rome, mother? Why, what is taking you there?" + +"I find there will be some very nice English people there," she said; "I +am tired of Paris; it is one eternal glare; I long for the mysterious +quiet and dreamy silence of Rome. It will be a pleasant change. I really +like a nice circle of English people out of England." + +That was the beginning. She was too wise and diplomatic to ask him to go +with them. She contented herself by speaking before him of the gayeties +they expected, the pleasures they anticipated; then, one day, as they +were discussing their plans, she turned to him and said: + +"Lance, what do you intend doing this winter? Are you going back to +England to think over the fogs?" + +"I am not quite sure," he said; and then he wondered why she said +nothing about going to Rome with them. At last, when she saw the time +had come, she said, carelessly: + +"Lance, if you do not care about returning to England, come with us to +Rome." + +"I shall be delighted." + +He looked up with an air of relief. After all, he could not see Leone +until summer: why return to England and melancholy? He might just as +well enjoy himself in Rome. He knew what select and brilliant circles +his mother drew around her. Better for him to be the center of one of +those than alone and solitary in England. + +"Of course," said the countess, diplomatically, "I will not urge you, I +leave it entirely to you. If you think what the fashion of the day calls +your duties demand that you should return, do not let me detain you, +even for one day." + +"I have no particular duties," he said, half gloomily. + +He would have liked his mother to have insisted on his going, to have +been more imperative, but as she left it entirely to him, he thought her +indifferent over the matter. + +He was a true man. If she had pressed him to go, urged him, tried to +persuade him, he would have gone back to England, and the tragedy of +after years would never have happened. As it occurred to him that his +mother simply gave the invitation out of politeness, and did not care +whether he accepted or not, he decided on going. So when the festivities +of Berlin were all ended, he wrote to Leone, saying that he was going to +spend the winter with his parents in Rome; that if he could not spend it +with her, it mattered little enough to him where is was; but that he was +longing with all his heart for the thirtieth of June. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +IN THE HANDS OF A CLEVER WOMAN. + + +"In Rome," said Lady Marion Erskine, to her cousin; "how strange it +seems to be really here! Do you know that when I was a little girl and +learned Roman history I always thought it a grand fable. I never +believed such a place really existed. Rome is a link between the old +world and the new." + +"Yes," replied Lady Cambrey, "it is quite true, my dear." + +She had no notion, even ever so vague, of what her beautiful young +kinswoman meant. + +Lady Cambrey was not given to the cultivation of ideas, but she was +always most amiably disposed to please Lady Marion. It was something +very delightful to be the chaperon of a beautiful young heiress like +Lady Erskine, and she was always delighted to agree with Lady Marion's +words, opinions, and ideas. + +Lady Marion was submissive and gentle by nature. She was one of the +class of women born to be ruled and not to rule. She could never govern, +but she could obey. She could not command, but she could carry out the +wishes of others to the last letter. + +Lady Cambrey, from motives of her own, wanted her to go to Rome. She had +managed it without the least trouble. + +"Marion," she said, "have you decided where to spend the winter?" + +"No," was the quiet reply, "I have not thought much about it, Aunt Jane; +have you?" + +The words were so sweetly and placidly spoken. + +"Yes, I have thought a great deal about it. I hear that a great many +very nice English people have gone to Rome. They say that there will be +one of the nicest circles in Europe there." + +"In Rome," said Lady Marion, musingly. "Do I know many of those who are +going?" + +"Yes, some of our own set. One of the great Roman princes, Dorio, has +just married a beautiful English girl, so that for this year at least +the English will be all the rage in Rome. I should like to go there. I +knew some of the Dorio family, but not the one just married." + +"Then, if you would like it, we will go there," said Lady Marion; "I +shall be pleased if you are." + +So without any more difficulty the first part of the programme was +carried out, and Lady Marion Erskine, with her chaperon, Lady Jane +Cambrey, settled in Rome for the winter. They took a beautifully +furnished villa, called the Villa Borgazi, near to some famous gardens. +Lady Cambrey took care that, while she reveled in Italian luxuries, no +English comfort should be wanting--the Villa Borgazi soon had in it all +the comforts of an English home. + +She came home one morning, after many hours of shopping, with a look of +some importance on her face. + +"Marion," she said, "I have heard that the Lanswells are here. I am very +pleased. I thought of calling this afternoon; if you are tired, I will +go alone." + +And from the tone of her voice, rather than her words, Lady Marion +fancied that she would prefer to pay her visit alone. + +"You remember the Countess of Lanswell; she was la grande dame par +excellence in London last summer. She admired you very much, if you +recollect." + +"I remember her," said Lady Marion; then, with some interest, she added, +"It was her son, Lord Chandos, who got himself into such difficulties, +was it not?" + +Lady Cambrey was slightly taken by surprise; her ward had always shown +such a decided distaste for gossip of all kinds that she trusted she had +never even heard of this little escapade. However, Lady Marion's +question must be answered. + +She shook her head gravely. + +"It was not his fault, poor boy!" she said; "his mother has told me all +about it. I am very sorry for him." + +"Why does he deserve so much pity?" she asked. + +And Lady Cambrey answered: + +"He was but a boy at the time, and she, this person, a dairy-maid, I +believe, took advantage of his generosity, and either persuaded him to +marry her, or wrung from him some promise of marriage when he should be +of age." + +"I thought," said straightforward Lady Marion, "that he was married, and +his parents had petitioned that the marriage be considered null and void +as he was under age." + +"I think, my dear," said the diplomatic aunt, "that it would be as well +not to mention this. Two things are certain, if Lord Chandos had been +properly married, his marriage could never have been set aside; the +other is, that the countess can never endure the mention of her son's +misfortune." + +"Do you know Lord Chandos?" asked Lady Marion, after a time. + +"Yes, I know him, and I consider him one of the most charming men I have +ever met, a perfect cavalier and chivalrous gentleman." + +"That is high praise," said Lady Marion, thoughtfully. + +"I know of none higher," said her aunt, and then with her usual tact +changed the subject; but more than once that day Lady Marion thought of +the man who was a cavalier and a gentleman. + +Meanwhile the time passed pleasantly for the countess and her son. They +were staying at the grand palace of the Falconis--once the home of +princes, but now let by the year to the highest bidder. Lady Lanswell +took good care that her son should be well amused; every morning a +delicious little sketch of the day's amusement was placed before him; +the countess laid herself out to please him as man had never been +pleased before. + +The countess saw that he received letters from England continually. She +was above all vulgar intrigue, or she might have destroyed more than +one-half which came, without his seeing them. She would not do that; the +war she carried into the enemy's camp was of the most refined and +thorough-going kind. She would set aside a marriage on a mere quibble, +but she would not destroy a letter. She had said, openly and defiantly +to her son's face, that she felt sure he would not remarry Leone in +June, but she would stoop to no vulgar way to prevent it. + +It often happened that the countess herself opened the letter-bag. When +she did so, and there was a letter from Leone, she always gave it to her +son with a smile, in which there was just a shade of contempt. + +"Another letter," she would say; "my dear Lance, you contribute quite +your share to the inland revenue." + +She never alluded to Leone, but she did permit herself, at rare +intervals, to relate some ludicrous anecdotes of people who had suffered +from a severe attack of love. + +Lord Chandos found the time pass very pleasantly; he said to himself he +might as well remain in Rome and enjoy himself, as go back to England +and be miserable. Wherever he went, he could not see Leone. He would not +trust himself; he loved her too much, if he were in the same land, not +to be near her. + +Being in Rome, he did as the Romans did; he amused himself to the very +utmost of his power; he seized every golden hour that passed, and though +he loved Leone as much as ever, he ceased to feel the keen pain which +their separation had caused him at first. One morning, from the Countess +of Lanswell to Lady Jane Cambrey, there passed a little note. It said, +simply: + + "Shall we take the first step to-night? Bring Lady Marion to the + Princess Galza's concert, and leave the rest to me." + +Lady Cambrey lost no time. She sought her ward and said so much to her +about the concert, for which they both had invitations, that Lady Marion +was eager to go. + +"I must superintend your toilet, Marion; as it is your first appearance +in Roman society, you must make a favorable impression." + +She selected one of the loveliest toilets that could have been chosen--a +white brocade, embroidered with flowers of the palest blue. + +"You must wear pearls and pale-blue flowers," she said, "and you will +find that to-morrow every one will be talking of the new beauty that has +risen over Rome." + +Lady Marion looked perfectly beautiful; she was perfect in her style, +the very queen of blondes, with her soft, shining hair, and eyes blue as +the summer skies. Her face was the purest mixture of rose and white, +with the dainty, delicate color described in that one line: + + "Crimson shell, with white sea foam." + +She had a beautiful, fresh mouth, a dimpled chin, a neck and shoulders +white as ivory, arms so rounded and white it was a treat to see them. +She was of the queenly type--tall, with the promise of a grand +womanhood; her white throat was firm, her arms rounded and strong; she +was the ideal of an English gentlewoman; her pure, proud face, clear +eyes, and sweet lips were beautiful beyond words. When she was dressed +that evening for the princess' concert she looked most charming. Lady +Cambrey had said truly that among the dark-eyed daughters of Italy she +would shine white and fair as a white dove among colored ones. + +Her dress was the perfection of taste--it was trimmed with pale-blue +forget-me-nots and white heath; a string of pearls was twisted in her +fair hair, and another round her white throat. + +"If he does not fall in love with her," said Lady Cambrey to herself, +"it will be because he has no admiration left in him for any one except +his dairy-maid." + +Lady Lanswell had been very successful in her diplomacy. She had spoken +of the concert before her son, who had received an invitation, but said +nothing about his going. He listened in silence, wondering if she would +ask him to go with her, saying to himself that he should decline, for he +did not like concert-going. Then, as she did not ask him, he began to +feel piqued over it and wonder why. + +After a short time he volunteered to go, and my lady took it very +coolly, reminding him of how often he had grown tired of a hot +concert-room. Then he resolved to go and made arrangements accordingly, +his mother smiling sweetly all the time. When all was settled, and he +had quitted the room, my lady laughed quietly. It was wonderful with +what bland sweetness and fine tact she managed men. She could lead her +son as though he were deaf, blind, and dumb, yet of all men he believed +himself most firm and secure in his opinion. + +Heaven help the man who falls helplessly into the hands of a clever +woman! + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE INTRODUCTION. + + +If Lady Lanswell had purposely designed the meeting between her son and +the beautiful blonde to have taken place in the most picturesque spot in +Europe, she could not have chosen better. The great _salon_ of the +Palazzo Golza had, in former days, been used as a royal audience-room; +the noblest princes in Rome had met there, and had given audience to the +grandest nobles. It was a superb apartment; there was a background of +purple tapestry from which the blonde loveliness of the English girl +shone resplendent as a snow-drop on a black ground. There were many +beautiful women present; the Princess Ainla, whose dark beauty was the +wonder of all who saw it; the famous American belle, Miss Sedmon, whose +auburn hair resembled that given by the old masters to the Madonna; but +there was not one in that vast assembly who could vie with Lady Marion. + +The Countess of Lanswell, with her son, was one of the last to enter the +_salon_; with one keen, comprehensive glance the countess took in, as it +were, the whole situation; she saw the pure, proud face of Lady Erskine, +saw that she was seated in the very place where her beauty was seen to +the best advantage, then she took her seat, never even looking in that +direction, and saying nothing to her son. + +It was just like laying a trap for a bird--he fell into it with the same +helplessness. + +Lady Lanswell neither looked at Lady Erskine nor her son, yet she knew +exactly the moment when his eyes first fell on her. She saw him start; +then she sat quite still, waiting for the question she knew must follow. + +It came at last. + +"Mother," he said, "who is that beautiful girl?" + +My lady looked at him with languid eyes. + +"What beautiful girl, Lance? There are so many." + +"An English girl, I am sure. She has a string of pearls in her hair. Who +can she be?" + +Still Lady Lanswell feigned ignorance. She looked on the wrong side of +the room, and she affected not to understand where he meant, and when +she could affect no longer, she said: + +"Do you mean Lady Marion Erskine, the young lady near Princess Golza?" + +"Yes, it must be Lady Erskine," he replied. "How beautiful she is, +mother. She shines like a fair pearl with that background of dark +tapestry. I heard some one say yesterday that she was in Rome. What a +perfect face." + +My lady looked at it coldly. + +"Do you think so, Lance?" she said. "I thought that you gave the +preference to dark beauties." + +His heart went back for one moment to the beautiful, passionate face he +had seen by the mill stream. The gorgeous _salon_, the beautiful women, +the peerless face of Lady Marion, the exquisite music, all floated away +from him, and he was once more by the mill-stream, with Leone's face +before him. So strong, so vivid was the memory, that it was with +difficulty he refrained from calling the name aloud. + +My lady guessed by the sudden expression of pain on his face where his +thoughts had gone. She recalled them. + +"Tastes differ so greatly," she said. "Do you really consider Lady +Marion beautiful, Lance?" + +"Yes, I have seen no one more lovely," he answered. + +Then the countess dismissed the subject--too much must not be said at +once. She did not mention Lady Marion's name again that evening, but she +saw that her son looked often at her, and she smiled to think the bait +had taken. + +Again they were walking through the vast gardens of one of the Roman +palaces, when the whole party met. Lady Cambrey was with her niece; Lord +Chandos was near the countess, but not close by her side. The ladies +met, exchanged a few words, then parted, the countess not having made +the least effort to introduce her son; he spoke of it afterward. + +"Mother," he said, "you did not introduce me to Lady Erskine." + +Lady Lanswell smiled calmly. + +"It was out of pure consideration for her; they tell me she has so many +admirers in Rome. From what I know of her, you would not be quite in her +style." + +The words piqued him. + +"Why not?" he asked. + +His mother laughed again. + +"She is very proud, Lance, and very exclusive. I need say no more." + +My lady always knew exactly when to leave off. She turned away now, +leaving her son with the impression that Lady Erskine would not care to +know him, on account of his unfortunate love affair. + +They were destined to meet again that evening. A ball was given by an +English lady, Mrs. Chester, who had one of the best houses in Rome. Lady +Erskine looked very beautiful; her dress was of pale blue velvet, +superbly trimmed with white lace; she wore diamonds in her hair, and +carried a bouquet of white lilies in her hand. She was the belle of the +ball, and it was Mrs. Chester who introduced Lord Chandos to her. She +was quite innocent of any intrigue, but had she been the chosen +confidante of Lady Lanswell, she could not have done more to further her +views. She had been dancing with Lord Chandos herself, and began to +speak to him of the beautiful blonde. + +"Lady Marion Erskine realizes my idea of a fair woman," said Mrs. +Chester. "I have read the words in prose and poetry, now I understand +them." + +"I do not know Lady Erskine," said the young earl. + +"Not know her. Why, I should have thought that all the Englishmen in +Rome knew their beautiful country-woman." + +"I have never been introduced to her," said Lord Chandos. + +"Then this is the last hour in which you shall lay any such complaint +against fate," said Mrs. Chester. "Come with me, my lord." + +Like all other English ladies in Rome, Mrs. Chester had a great +admiration for the heir of the Lanswells. It was impossible to withhold +it. He was so handsome, so brave and gallant, with the bearing of a +prince, the chivalry of a knight, and in his temper the sweet, sunny +grace of a woman. They all liked him; he seemed to have the geniality, +the generosity, the true nobility of an Englishman, without the +accompanying reserve and gloom. At that time there was no one more +popular in Rome than the young lord, about whom so many romantic stories +were told. He followed Mrs. Chester to where Lady Marion stood, the +brilliant center of a brilliant group. It pleased him to see what +deference was paid to him--how Italian princes and French dukes made way +when Mrs. Chester presented him to the beautiful heiress. + +The first moment the proud clear eyes smiled in his face he liked her. +She was most charming in her manner; she had not the fire and passion of +Leone; she was not brilliant, original or sparkling, but she was sweet, +candid, amiable, and gentle. + +One found rest in her--rest in the blue eyes, in the sweet, smiling +lips, in the soft, low voice, in the graceful, gentle movements--rest +and content. + +She never irritated, never roused any one to any great animation; she +received rather than gave ideas; she was one of those quiet, gentle, +amiable women whose life resembles the rippling of a brook rather than +the rush of a stream. She looked with a smile into the handsome face of +the young lord, and she, too, liked him. + +They stood together for a few minutes while Lord Chandos begged for a +dance, and even during the brief time more than one present thought what +a handsome pair they were. Lord Chandos was much pleased with her--the +low voice, the exquisitely-refined accent, the gentle grace, all +delighted him. + +She lacked passion, power, fire, originality, the chief things which +went for the making up of Leone's character; no two people could be more +dissimilar, more unlike; yet both had a charm for Lord Chandos; with the +one he found the stimulant of wit and genius, with the other sweetest +rest. + +They had several dances together; in her quiet, gentle way Lady Marion +confided to him that she preferred Englishmen to Italians, whom she +thought wanting in frankness and ease. + +"Why did you come to Rome?" asked Lord Chandos; and the beautiful blonde +was almost at a loss how to answer the question. The only answer that +she could give was that Lady Cambrey had first mentioned it. + +"It was not from any great wish, then, to see the antiquities or the art +treasures of Rome?" asked Lord Chandos, thinking as he spoke with what +rapture Leone would have thought of a visit to Italy. + +"No, it was not that, although I would not have missed seeing Rome on +any account. What brought you here, Lord Chandos?" + +He also hesitated for a moment, then he answered: + +"I really do not know. I came, so far as I know my own mind, because my +mother came," and then their eyes met with a curious, half-laughing +gaze. + +It was strange that they should have both come there without having any +clear or distinct notion why. + +"It seems to me," said Lord Chandos, "that we are both under guidance." + +"I am glad, for my own part," said Lady Erskine. "It is much easier to +be guided than to guide. I find it easier to obey than to command." + +"Do you?" he asked, laughingly. "You will find it very easy then some +day 'to love, honor and obey.'" + +"I do not doubt it," said the beautiful heiress, calmly. "I should not +care to go through life alone; I want a stronger soul than my own to +lean on." + +And again Lord Chandos went back in thought to the noble, self-reliant +girl who would hold her own against the world if need should be. + +And yet he liked Lady Marion; her graceful, languid helplessness had a +great charm for him. When he bade her good-evening, it was with the hope +that they would soon meet again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +MAN'S FICKLENESS. + + +They did meet again and again, always with pleasure on his part, and +very soon with something else on hers. Wherever she was she looked out +above the dark Italian heads for the tall, erect figure and brave +English face of Lord Chandos. She did not talk much to him, but there +was a light in her eyes and a smile on her face most pleasant to see +when he was near. She never sought him, she never, either directly or +indirectly, gave him any idea of where she was going. She never +contrived to meet him, but there were very few days during which they +did not spend some hours together. + +Lady Lanswell paid not the least attention when Lady Erskine joined +their party. She was kind and cordial, but she never made the least +effort either to entertain her or to induce her to stay. If ever by +chance Lord Chandos named her, his mother received the remark in total +silence--in fact, she completely ignored her--in which she showed her +tact. Had she ever made the least attempt to bring them together, he +would have seen through the little plot, and would have taken fright; as +it was, the net was so skillfully woven, that he was caught in it before +he knew there was a net at all. If the countess arranged a party for any +place, she never included the young heiress among her guests. + +So that their frequent interviews were so completely accidental, neither +of them thought anything of it; they drifted unawares into an intimacy +at which every one smiled but themselves. It flattered Lord Chandos to +see dukes and princes drawback when he came near the beautiful heiress, +as though it were quite understood that he had the right to claim her +attention--to see a proud Roman prince, with a long pedigree, make way +with a bow--to see a courtly French duke resign the seat he had waited +half the night for--to see the eyes of envy that followed him--it +flattered him, and he never asked where it would end. + +Lady Lanswell saw it all with well-pleased eyes, but said nothing; she +was biding her time. + +One evening they met at Mrs. Chester's. There was neither ball nor +party, but a quiet at home; and their friendship made greater strides +than it hitherto had done. + +Some one asked Lady Erskine to sing. Lord Chandos looked at her. + +"Do you sing?" he asked. + +And she answered with a quiet smile: + +"Yes, it is one of the few things I do well enough to content myself. I +have a good voice and I sing well." + +"Are you what people call fond of music?" he asked. + +And she answered: + +"Yes, I often put my own thoughts to music, and if I meet any words that +seem to me very good or very sweet I never rest until I have found a +melody that fits them. I came across some the other day. Shall I sing +them to you?" + +There was a slight commotion in the room when people saw the beautiful +English girl led to the piano. She turned with a smile to Lord Chandos. + +"My song is English," she said, "and will not be understood by every +one." + +"I shall understand it," he said; "you must sing it to me." + +When he heard the words he understood the blush that covered her face. + +"I should change my song," she said, "if another came into my mind. +These words are by a poetess I read and admire much. It is called +'Somewhere or Other.'" + +She sung in a sweet, pure voice; there was neither fire, power, nor +passion in it; but the words were clear and distinct. + + "'Somewhere or other there must surely be + The face not seen, the voice not heard, + The heart that never yet--never yet--ah, me, + Made answer to my word. + + "'Somewhere or other, may be near or far, + Past land and sea, clear out of sight, + Beyond the wandering moon, the star, + That tracks her night by night. + + "'Somewhere or other, may be far or near, + With just a wall, a hedge between, + With just the last leaves of the dying year + Fallen on a turf so green.'" + +He stood by her side while she sung, his eyes fixed on her face, +thinking how pure and fair she was. When the sweet strain of music +ended, he said: + +"Somewhere or other--you will find it soon, Lady Marion." + +"Find what?" she asked. + +"'The heart that has never yet answered a word,'" he replied, quoting +the words of her song. "People do often meet their fate without knowing +it." + +When he saw the fair face grow crimson he knew at once that she thought +she was speaking of himself and her. After that there seemed to be a +kind of understanding between them. When others were speaking he would +quote the words: "Somewhere or other," and then Lady Marion would blush +until her face burned. So a kind of secret understanding grew between +them without either of them quite understanding how it was. + +Lady Lanswell was quite happy; the bait was taking; there was no need +for her to interfere, all was going well. + +"Mother," said Lord Chandos, "I cannot understand it; you invite all the +old dowagers and spinsters in Rome to your afternoon teas and _soirees_, +but you never invite any young ladies, and there are some very pretty +ones." + +"My dear Lance, I know it, and deeply regret it; but you see I have no +one to entertain young ladies." + +He raised his head with an injured air. + +"You have me," he replied. + +The countess laughed. + +"True, I have you, but I mean some one free and eligible." + +"Am I not free and eligible?" he asked, quickly; and then his brave +young face grew fiery red under his mother's slow, sneering smile. "I do +not mean that; of course I am not free or eligible in that sense of the +word, yet I think I am quite as well able to entertain young and pretty +girls as old dowagers." + +Lady Lanswell looked keenly at him. + +"My dear Lance, I will do anything to please you," she said, "but if you +persist in considering yourself an engaged man, you must forego the +society of charming girls. I have no desire for another visit from that +tempestuous young person." + +Lance, Lord Chandos, shuddered at the words--"a tempestuous young +person"--this was the heroine of his romance, his beautiful Leone, whose +voice always came to him with the whisper of the wind, and the sweet +ripple of falling water. "A tempestuous young person," his beautiful +Leone, whose passionate kisses were still warm on his lips, whose bitter +tears seemed wet on his face--Leone, who was a queen by right divine. He +turned angrily away, and Lady Lanswell, seeing that she had gone far +enough, affected not to see his anger, but spoke next in a laughing tone +of voice. + +"You see, Lance, in my eyes you are very eligible, indeed, and it seems +to me almost cruel to bring you into a circle of young girls, one of +whom might admire you, while I know that you can never admire them. Is +it not so?" + +"I am not free, mother, you know as well as all the world knows; still, +I repeat it that it is no reason why you should fill the house with +dowagers and never bring the bloom of a young face near it." + +"I will do as you wish, Lance," said my lady, and her son smiled. + +"Though I consider myself, and am, in all solemn truth, engaged, still +that does not make me a slave, mother. I am free to do as I like." + +"Certainly," said my lady, and for some minutes there was silence +between them. + +Lord Chandos broke in. + +"Why do you never ask Lady Erskine to visit you, mother? She is a +charming girl, and you like her." + +The countess looked at him straight in the face. + +"I think it more prudent not to do so," she said. "Lady Marion is one of +the most perfect women I know; I know, too, that she admires you, and as +you are not free to admire her, you are better apart." + +He flung himself down on the carpet, and laid his handsome head on his +mother's knee, looking up to her with coaxing eyes, as he had done when +he was a boy. + +"Does she really admire me, mother? This beautiful girl, who has all the +grandees in Rome at her feet--does she really admire me?" + +"I have said it," laughed my lady. + +"Who told you, mother? How do you know?" + +"I shall not tell you, Lance; sufficient for you to know that it is +quite true, and that I consider I am simply acting as prudence dictates. +I should admire you, Lance, if I were a young girl myself." + +"I am very much flattered," he said, slowly. "Even if it be true, +mother, I do not quite see why you should think so much prudence +needful. I admire Lady Marion; why should we not be friends?" + +"Would the tempestuous young person like it, Lance?" asked my lady. + +And it is very painful to state that an exceedingly strong and highly +improper word came from between Lord Chandos' closed lips. + +"Do not tease me, mother. I see no harm in it; if I did, be quite sure I +would not do it. Lady Marion and I can always be friends. I like her and +admire her; there is a certain kind of repose about her that I enjoy. +Why should we not be friends?" + +"Be friends if you like," said Lady Lanswell; "but if, in the course of +a few weeks, you find that mutual admiration does not answer, do not +blame me." + +From that day Lady Lanswell laid aside all pretense at scruple, and +allowed matters to go as they would; she visited the young heiress +constantly, and smiled when she saw that her son was becoming, day by +day, more attracted to her. She noticed another thing, too, with keen +pleasure, and it was that, although the same number of letters came from +England, not half so many went there. + +"A step in the right, direction," thought my lady; "I shall succeed +after all." + +To do Lord Chandos justice, he was quite blind to the danger that +surrounded him. He intended to be true to Leone--he had no other desire, +no other wish--he had never contemplated for one moment the act of +deserting her; he would have denounced any one who even hinted at such a +thing. + +But he was young, she was beautiful, they were in sunny Italy. And he +never dreamed of loving her. + +They were friends, that was all; they were to be exceptions to the +general rule--they were to be friends, without any of the elements of +love or flirtation marring their intercourse. + +Only friends. Yet in the beginning of May when Lady Cambrey and her ward +declined to return to England for the summer, but resolved to spend it +in Naples, Lord Chandos went there also, without feeling at all sure +that he would be back in London by June. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +"TELL ME YOUR SECRET." + + +The sunny summer days at Nice--who can tell of their beauty, the glory +of the sunny blue sky, the glory of the foliage, the sweet, balmy breath +of the wind, which seemed daily to bring with it the perfume from a +hundred new flowers? How did the time pass? No one knew; it was a long +roll of pleasure and gayety. There was pleasure enough in being +out-of-doors; a picnic there was a very simple matter. They heard of a +very beautiful spot, drove there, remained there so long as it suited +them, then went back again. There were, as there always are, some very +nice English people at Nice, but none like fair, sweet Lady Marion. + +As the charm of her sweet character grew upon him, Lord Chandos liked +her more and more. He enjoyed her society. She was not witty, she could +not amuse a whole room full of people, she could not create laughter, +she was not the cause of wit in others, nor did talking to her awake the +imagination and arouse all the faculties of one's mind. + +Talking to her was rest, grateful as the shade of green trees after the +glare of the summer's sun. The sweet voice, the clear, refined accent, +the gracious and gentle thoughts, the apt quotations, all were something +to remember. She was by no means a genius, but she was well read, and +had the power of remembering what she read, had the gift of making most +of her knowledge. If you wished for an hour's interesting conversation, +there was no one like Lady Marion. She had such curious odds and ends of +information; her reading had been universal. She had some knowledge on +every point. She had her own ideas, too, clearly defined and +straightforward, not liable to vary with every paper she read, and in +these days one learns to be thankful for consistency. On those warm, +lovely, life-giving days, when the sun and sky, earth and air, flower +and tree did their best, it was Lord Chandos who liked to linger under +the vines talking to this fair girl whose very face was a haven of rest. + +He never thought of love at all in connection with her, he felt so sure +of the one great fact that he loved his wife; he forgot that there could +be such a thing as danger or temptation. Lady Marion had grown to love +him; it was impossible to help it; he had great and grave faults, as all +men have, but he was so brave and fearless, so gallant and generous, so +kind and chivalrous, no one could help loving him; his faults were +lovable, a fact that was much to be regretted; since, if they had been +disagreeable, he might have been cured of them. + +Lady Marion, in her quiet, gentle fashion, had learned to love him. She +appealed to him continually; the reading of a book, the singing of a +song, the arrangement of a day's plans, the choosing of acquaintances, +on each and all of these points she made him her confidant and guide; it +was so gently and so naturally done that he insensibly guided her whole +life without knowing it. What Lord Chandos said or thought was her rule. +It was such a pleasure to guide and advise her, she was so yielding, so +gentle, she took such a pride in obeying him; she would apologize to him +at times and say: + +"I told you, Lord Chandos, that I must always have a stronger mind than +my own to lean upon." + +He listened to the words with a smile, but it did just occur to him that +she would not have his mind to lean upon much longer, for he must go +home to England to Leone. Once or twice lately he had been much struck +with Lady Marion's manner. She was so gracious, so charming with him. +When he had suddenly entered the room where she was sitting he had seen +the crimson blush that rose over her white neck and brow. He noticed +too, that she had rarely, if ever, raised her eyes to his face until +that blush had passed away, lest they should tell their own secret. And +one day he said to her: + +"Why do you never give me a frank, open look, Lady Marion--such as you +gave me always when I knew you first? now you turn your face away, and +your eyes droop. Have I displeased you?" + +"No," she replied, gently; "it is not that; you could not displease me." + +"Then you are keeping some secret from me," he said, and she smiled a +slow, sweet, half-sad smile that stirred his heart with curious power. + +"I have no secret," she said; "or if I have it matters little to any one +but myself." + +"Tell me your secret, Lady Marion," he said, with a sigh. + +"I will answer you in the words of my favorite poet," she said; "listen, +Lord Chandos." + +They were standing under the shade of a clustering vine, the wind that +kissed both fair young faces was full of perfume, the flowers that +bloomed around them were full of sweetest odors, the whisper of the +odorous wind was no sweeter than the voice in which she quoted the +words: + + "'Perhaps some languid summer day, + When drowsy birds sing less and less, + And golden fruit is ripening to excess; + If there's not too much wind or too much cloud, + And the warm wind is neither still nor loud, + Perhaps my secret I may say, + Or--you may guess.'" + +"What beautiful words," he cried. "It seems to me, Lady Marion, that you +have a whole storehouse full of the most apt and beautiful quotations. +You ought to have been a poet yourself." + +"No," she replied, "I can appreciate, but I cannot invent. I can make +the words and the thoughts of a poet my own, but I cannot invent or +create; I have no originality." + +"You have what is rarer, still," he cried; "a graceful humility that +raises you higher than any other gift could do." + +He spoke so warmly that she looked up in wonder, but Lord Chandos turned +abruptly away; there might be danger if he said more. + +So the lovely, leafy month of May ended, and June began. Then Lord +Chandos began to think of home--his birthday was on the thirtieth of +June, and he knew what he had promised for that day. He could see the +pretty, flower-covered window--the roses which must be thrust aside--the +gate he had promised to open; he remembered every detail. Well, it was +all very pretty and very pleasant; but, he could not tell why, the bloom +of the romance was gone, that was quite certain. He had learned to +associate poetry with the pale moonlight and golden hair, with a very +fair face and a soft ripple of sweet speech. Still he intended most +honorably to keep his promise; he took great delight, too, in thinking +of Leone's passionate happiness, of her beautiful face, of the ecstasy +of welcome she would give him. Then, of course, he must marry her; the +very day after that would be the first of July, and, for the first time, +he thought of his coming marriage with a sigh--it would separate him so +entirely from his mother, and from Lady Marion; in all probability he +would never see much of her again. He thought more of her loss than of +his own. + +"How she will miss me," he said to himself; "she will have no one to +consult, no one to advise her. I wish we could always be the same good +friends as now." + +Then it occurred to him that perhaps, after all, his wife would not care +to know that he was on such confidential terms with any one but herself. + +He would have felt far less sure of either his return or his marriage if +he had overheard a slight conversation that took place between his +mother and Lady Marion. The Countess of Lanswell called one day and took +the young heiress out for a drive with her; when they were seated, +driving through scenery so beautiful one could hardly believe it to be a +fallen world, the countess in her sweetest manner, which she knew how to +make quite irresistible, said: + +"Lady Marion, I want you to help me to do something, if you will." + +"You know I will do anything I can for you, Lady Lanswell," said the +girl, gently; "I could have no greater pleasure." + +She did not add, because I love your son, but this was in her mind, and +the countess quite understood it. + +She continued: + +"You know how I love my dear and only son, how anxious I am for his +welfare, how devoted to his interests." + +"I can imagine it all," said Lady Marion, warmly. + +The countess went on: + +"He has an idea, a quixotic, foolish and most unhappy one, one that if +carried out will mar his life and ruin his prospects, and in the end +break his heart. Now, I want you to help me break off this idea; he +thinks of returning to England in June, and if he does, all hope is +over. He never allows himself to be coerced or persuaded; as to the word +'marriage' it would be a fatal one, but we might, I am sure, influence +him--that is, if you will help me." + +"I will do all I can," said Lady Marion, earnestly; her sweet face had +grown very pale. + +"He must not go back to England," said the countess: "we must keep him +here until August--how can we do it?" + +"Ask him to stay," said the young girl, simply; "that seems the most +straightforward plan." + +"Yes, but it would not be of the least use; he must be influenced. Now I +think that he prefers your society to any other; suppose you plan a tour +through Spain, and ask him to go with us." + +The pale face flushed. + +"I will if you think he would agree," she replied. + +"I believe he would; if he seems inclined to refuse, and you are in the +least degree disturbed over it, I believe firmly that he will go. I do +not think that he knows the strength of his own feelings for you. Let us +try it. You can speak to me about it before him, then I will leave you +with him and you can finish your good work." + +"He is not likely to be vexed, is he?" asked Lady Marion, timidly. + +"Vexed, my dear child, no; he will consider himself highly favored. You +see it is in this way. I cannot show any eagerness for it, and you can. +My son would suspect my motive; he knows yours must be a good one, and +will feel sure that it is liking for his society--you do like it, do you +not, Lady Marion?" + +"Yes, I cannot deny it," replied the young girl, "and I will help you +all I can. You do not wish him to return to England in June. I will do +my best to keep him away." + +And the question was--would she succeed? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +HOW IT HAPPENED. + + +"Mother," said Lord Chandos, "I never knew a month pass as this has +done--the days have wings. It is the sixteenth to-day, and it does not +seem to be twenty-four hours since it was the first." + +"That shows, at least, that life has been pleasant to you," said the +countess. + +"Yes, it has been very pleasant," he replied, and then he sighed deeply. + +"Why do you sigh, Lance? The future can be as pleasant as the past, can +it not?" + +He looked up half impatiently. + +"I sigh to think that my share in it is all ended. I must be in England +by the end of June." + +"Make the most of the time left," said my lady; "there's another week, +at least. Let us go everywhere and see everything. In all probability, +we shall not meet at Nice again." + +He had expected contradiction, he had expected his mother to oppose his +desire of returning home, and he was slightly piqued to find that so far +from opposing him, she seemed to fall into the idea as though it were +the most natural one. + +"I think," he pursued, "that if I leave here on the twenty-seventh that +will be soon enough." + +"Yes," said the countess, quietly. "It is not such a long journey, after +all." + +So she would not oppose him, she would not argue with him, but left him +to take his own way. The handsome face grew shadowed, the frank eyes +troubled. It is very hard when a man cannot force any one to contradict +him. He rose from his chair, he walked uneasily up and down the room; he +spoke almost nervously on one or two points and then he said: + +"Mother, I suppose you know what I intend doing." + +She looked up at him with the blandest smile and the sweetest air. + +"Doing, Lance--about the boat to-night, do you mean?" + +She purposely affected to misunderstand him. + +"The boat?" he repeated. "No, I mean about--my--my--future--my +marriage." + +"I cannot say that I know what you intend doing, Lance, but I am quite +sure you will never again have the bad taste to offend your father and +me. I can trust you so far." + +He looked still more uncomfortable; he could always manage the countess +better when she was angry than when she was amiable. He stopped abruptly +before her, and looking at her said: + +"I must marry Leone, mother, I must." + +"Very well, Lance. When you are twenty-one, you can do as you like." + +"Oh, mother," cried the young lord, "be more humane, do not be so frigid +and cold; speak to me about it. I am your only son, surely my marriage +is a matter of some importance to you." + +There was a passion of entreaty in his voice, and Lady Lanswell looked +kindly at him. + +"Certainly your marriage is of more importance than anything else on +earth; but you cannot expect me to look with favor on that tempestuous +young person who ranted at me like a third-rate actress from a traveling +theater; you must excuse me, Lance, but there are limits to human +endurance, and she is beyond mine." + +"Mother, let me be happy, let me go and marry her, let me bring her back +here and we shall all be happy together." + +"My dear Lance, I should not consider a person of her position a fit +companion for my maid; for myself, I quite declare I shall not oppose +your marriage with the girl--it is quite useless, since you are of age, +to do as you like; but I shall never see you or speak to you again; when +you leave me here for that purpose our good-bye will last beyond death. +Still you understand I do not seek to win you from your purpose, you are +free to do as you will." + +The misery on his handsome young face touched her a little, and she had +to remind herself that she was doing all she did for his own good. + +"We will not talk any more about it, Lance," she said, kindly; "words +will not alter facts. Did your father tell you what we proposed about +the boat to-night?" + +His lips trembled as he tried to answer her. + +"I cannot throw off sorrow as you can, mother; I am talking to you about +that which will make the misery or the happiness of my life, and you +think of nothing but a boat." + +"Words are so useless, Lance," repeated my lady; "they are but empty +sounds. I am going out to look for some cameos; I think I should like a +set, they are very elegant and _recherche_." + +So saying, my lady left the room as though no serious thought occupied +her mind. + +Then, for the first time, something like impatience with his fate came +over the young lord, something like impatience with Leone, for whose +love he had so much to suffer. He loved his proud, beautiful mother, who +had, unknown to him, such great influence over him. He could not endure +the thought of life-long separation from her. The glamour of a boy's +first mad love had fallen from him, and he saw things as they were; he +could estimate better than he had done before, what it meant to give up +father, mother and friends all for one love. + +He did not recover his spirits all day, but the temptation never once +came near him to break his word or forget Leone. That night, one of the +loveliest that ever dawned on earth, they were all going to a _fete_ +given by the Countess Spizia, and one part of the entertainment was that +the beautiful grounds were to be illuminated. + +Lord Chandos had never seen his mother look so proud, so brilliant or so +handsome as on that night. She wore a superb dress of green velvet, with +a suit of diamonds worth a king's ransom. Lady Marion wore a dress of +rich lace, with cream color roses and green leaves. The _fete_ was well +attended; a great number of French people and English were there. The +earl had declined. Moonlit gardens and illuminated grounds had not much +attraction for him. + +Lord Chandos sat for some little time by his mother's side; he was +enjoying an ice, and as he watched her he felt a sensation of pride in +her beauty--a keen sense of regret that they should ever be parted. + +An involuntary cry of admiration came from the countess, and Lord +Chandos looking in the direction where her eyes were fixed, saw Lady +Erskine. Never had the great queen of blondes looked so lovely; the +fine, fairy-like web of costly lace fell in graceful folds around a +figure that stood alone for grace and symmetry. She wore nothing but +green leaves in her golden hair; her arms, bare to the shoulders, were +white, firm, and statuesque. Over her face, when she saw Lord Chandos, +came a beautiful, brilliant flush. + +The countess and her son were sitting in one of the pretty _salons_, +where some of the most famous works of art were collected. There was an +exquisite bust of Clytie which attracted much attention; they had been +commenting on it, and Lady Lanswell was saying how much she would like a +copy of it. + +"Here comes something more beautiful than Clytie," she said, as Lady +Marion advanced to meet them. + +She made room for the young heiress by her side. Lady Marion had +schooled herself well, but her task was no easy one--she was so candid, +so loyal, so true in all her dealings, that the least attempt at +anything savoring of deception was unpleasant to her; still, she would, +of course, do anything to help Lady Lanswell. So she sat down by her +side and talked with her usual gentle grace. + +She said, after a time: + +"Lady Lanswell, I have a great favor to ask of you. If you do not wish +to go back to England just yet, will you join me? I am trying to +persuade Lady Cambrey to make a tour through Spain." + +She drew a long breath of relief when the words were spoken, she was so +thankful to have them said and done with. She mentally resolved that +never would she promise to do anything of this kind again. Lady +Lanswell's calm restored hers. + +"To Spain?" repeated the countess. "What a traveler you are, Lady +Marion. What has put Spain into your mind?" + +"I have always longed to see the Alhambra," said Lady Marion, with +perfect truth. "As we are so near, it would be a pity to go back without +seeing it." + +"I quite agree with you. It may be some years before you come on the +Continent again--you are quite right to go to Spain. And you really wish +us to join your party?" + +"Certainly, I should be delighted; it would increase my pleasure a +hundred-fold," replied the young heiress, promptly. + +"You are very kind to say so. I will go if you can persuade Lord Chandos +to go with us." + +"How can I do that?" she asked, with a smile. "Teach me how to +'persuade,' Lady Lanswell. I have never been able to 'persuade' any +one." + +The countess rose from her seat with a light laugh. + +"I am afraid that in this case, persuasion, argument, and reason would +be in vain. Lance, take Lady Marion to see the lamps in the almond +trees--they are really very fine." + +He took the soft, silken wrapper from her and wrapped it round her +shoulders. + +"Let us go and see the lamps," he said, and they went. + +Ah, well. The sky above was filled with pale, pure stars; the +almond-trees filled the air with delicate perfume; the nightingales were +singing in the distant trees; great floods of silver moonlight fell over +the grounds, in which the lilies gleamed palely white, and the roses +hung their heavy heads. + +They went together to the grove where the lamps shone bright as huge +pearls. The path was a narrow one and he drew the white hand through his +arm. How did it come about? Ah, who shall tell? Perhaps the wind +whispered it, perhaps the nightingales sung about it, perhaps something +in the great white lily leaves suggested it, perhaps the pale, pure +stars looked disapproval; but it happened that the white hand felt the +arm, and was clasped in a warm, strong hand--a clasp such as only love +gives. + +Who shall say how it happened? She raised her fair face to his in the +soft, pure moonlight, and said to him: + +"Must you really go back to England, Lord Chandos?" + +The voice was sweet as music--the face, so fair, so pure, so proud. + +"Must you," she added, "really go?" + +"Yes, I am compelled to return," he answered slowly. + +"Need it be yet?" she said. "I know you must go, but the journey through +Spain will be so pleasant, and we might make a compromise. I will +shorten the journey if you will delay your return." + +And before he left the almond grove Lord Chandos had promised to do so, +and as he made the promise he bent down and kissed the white hand lying +in his. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +WAITING FOR HIM. + + +Never had June seen such roses, never had lilies opened such white +chalices, never had the trees looked so green, or the grass so long and +thick, never had the birds sung as they sung this June, never had the +light of the sun been so golden bright. The smile of the beautiful +summer lay over the land, but in no place was it so fair as in River +View. It was a scene like fairyland. + +So Leone thought it as she watched day by day the beauty of blossom and +leaf. It was in the month of May she first began to watch the signs of +coming summer; with the first breath of the hawthorn, her heart grew +light and a new beauty of hope came in her face. It was May and he was +coming in June. She worked harder than ever. She rose early and retired +late; these months of hard study and hard reading had changed her more +than she knew herself. One year ago she had risen a beautiful, strong, +healthy girl, full of fire, and life, and power. Now she was a refined, +intellectual woman, full of genius and talent, full of poetry and +eloquence, full of originality and wit; then she was a girl to be +admired, now she was a woman who could rule a kingdom, whose power was +unlimited. + +She had acquired more in these few months of study than some people +learn in years. She knew how great his delight would be, and she smiled +to think how entirely at her ease she should be, even with his stately +lady mother; she should feel no great awe of her in the future, for if +Heaven had not given her the position of a lady by birth, she had made +herself one by study and refinement. + +So he was coming, and their real married life was to begin. She thought +with a shudder of the pain she had passed through, of the horror of that +terrible discovery. It was all over now, thank Heaven. It had never been +any brand or stigma to her; she had never felt any false shame over it; +she had never bowed her bright head as though a blight had passed over +her. She said to herself it was not her fault, she was not in the least +to blame. She had believed herself in all honor to be the wife of Lord +Chandos, and she could not feel that the least shadow of blame rested on +her. + +He was coming home. Through the long hours of the summer day, she +thought of nothing else. True, since the month of June, his letters had +been very few and much cooler. True, it had been a severe shock to her, +to hear that he had gone to Nice; but, as his letter said nothing of +Lady Marion, and she knew nothing even of the existence of such a +person, that did not matter. Why had he gone to Nice when June was so +near? She wrote to him to ask the question, but his answer was: Because +his parents had gone there. Then she said no more; that seemed quite +natural. The only thing that occurred to her was, he would have a longer +journey in June; he would come to her as he had promised, but he would +take a longer time in traveling. + +Lose faith in him! She flung back her head, with a bright, proud laugh. +No, nothing could shake her faith in him; his proud lady mother had +managed to get him under her influence--what did that matter? He loved +her and her alone. She remembered the words spoken on her wedding-day; +when she had asked him if he was quite sure their marriage was legal, +his answer was, "Yes, and that nothing could part them except death." + +How well she remembered those words, "except death"! He had taken her in +his arms and kissed her, as though even death itself should not claim +her. No shadow of fear entered her mind. She knew that he would come, as +surely as she knew that the sun would rise and the day would dawn. + +The thirtieth of June. No gift of second sight came to her, to tell her +that on the twenty-seventh of June Lord Chandos had sat down and wrote +her a very long letter, telling her that it was impossible for him to be +at home on the thirtieth of June, as he had promised to go with his +parents to Spain. A large party were going, and he must join them; but +his heart would be with her on that day. He should think of her from +morning dawn until sunset, and he would be with her soon. He was vexed +that he had to take the journey; it was quite against his will, yet he +had been over-persuaded. He should soon see her now; and, whatever he +did, she must not feel in the least degree distressed, or put about. +Their happiness was only delayed for a short time. + +A long letter. She had no gift of second sight; she could not see that +his face burned with a shameful flush as he wrote it; that for himself +he had no pity; that his heart went out to her with a warmer love than +ever, but that the fear of his mother's taunts and the pain on Lady +Marion's face kept him where he was. + +Then, when the long letter was written, he directed it and sent it by +his valet to post; nor could she see how that same valet intended going +to post it at once, but was prevented, and then laid it aside for an +hour, as he thought, and forgot it for two whole days; then, fearing his +master's anger, said nothing about it, trusting that the delay might be +attributed to something wrong in the post; and so, on the very day it +should have been given to her, it was put into the post-office, three +days too late. She could not know all this, and she longed for the +thirtieth of June as the dying long for cold water, as the thirsty hart +for the clear spring. + +It came. She had longed for it, waited for it, prayed for it, and now it +was here. She awoke early in the morning; it was to her as though a +bridegroom were coming; the song of the birds woke her, and they seemed +to know that he was coming--they were up and awake in the earliest dawn. +Then a great flood of golden sunlight came to welcome her; she hastened +to the window to see what the day was like, and whether the sky was +blue. It seemed to her that every little bird sung, "He is coming." + +Here were the roses laughing in at the window, nodding as though they +would say, "This is the thirtieth of June." There flashed the deep, +clear river, hurrying on to the great sea over which he must have +crossed; the wind whispered among the leaves, and every leaf had a +voice. "He is coming to-day," they all said--"coming to-day." + +There was a great stir even at that early hour in the morning between +the white and purple butterflies; there was a swift, soft cooing from +the wood-pigeons; the world seemed to laugh in the warm embrace of the +rising sun. She laughed too--a sweet, happy laugh that stirred the rose +leaf and jasmine. + +"Oh, happy day!" she cried--"oh, kindly sun and kindly time, that brings +my love back to me." + +She looked at the gate through which he would pass--at the rose tree +from which he would gather the rose; and she stretched out her hands +with a great, longing cry. + +"Send him quickly--oh, kind Heaven!" she cried. "I have waited so long, +my eyes ache to look at him. I thirst for his presence as flowers thirst +for dew." + +She looked at her watch, it was but just six--the laborers were going to +the field, the maids to the dairy, the herdsmen to their flocks. She +could see the hay-makers in the meadow, and the barges dropped lazily +down the stream. The time would soon pass and he would be here before +noon. Could it be possible that she should see him so soon? + +"In six hours," she repeated, "she should see him in six hours." + +Ah, well, she had plenty to do. She went round the pretty villa to see +if everything was as he liked best to see it, then she occupied herself +in ordering for his enjoyment every dish that she knew he liked; and +then she dressed herself to sit and wait for him at the window. She +looked as though she had been bathed in dew and warmed by the golden +sun, so bright, so sparkling, so fresh and brilliant, her eyes radiant +with hope and love, the long, silken lashes like fringe, the white lids +half-drooping, her face, with its passionate beauty heightened by the +love that filled her heart and soul. She wore a dress of amber muslin +with white lace, and in the rich masses of her dark hair lay a creamy +rose. Fair and bright as the morning itself she took her place at the +window to watch the coming of him who was so many miles away. It is thus +women believe men, it is thus that men keep the most solemn vows that +they can make. + +The maid who brought her tea wondered why her young mistress chose to +sit at the window to drink it; indeed, she started with wonder at the +brilliant beauty of the face turned to her. + +It struck her now that she might in very truth begin to expect him; the +sun was growing warmer, the flowers were wide awake, the brown bees were +busy among the carnations, the birds had done half their day's work; +some of the tall-plumed lilacs were beginning to droop, and the white +acacia blossoms had fallen on the long grass. Her whole soul in her +eyes, and those eyes fixed longingly on the white gate, she sat there +until noon. + +Great city bells rang out the hour; in the villages it was told by sweet +old chimes. The hay-makers sat down to rest, the butterflies rested in +the great hearts of the red roses, the bees settled in the carnations, +the languid, odorous wind was still while the strokes rang out one after +another--fragrant, sunny, golden noon. + +He had not come; but every moment was bringing him nearer. Some one +brought her a glass of wine, some fruit and biscuits. She would not +touch them because she would not take her eyes from the white gate +through which he had to pass. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE. + + +She did not grow impatient; the love which sustained her, the hope that +inspired her was too sweet; her soul seemed to be in a blissful, happy +trance; no doubt, no fear, no presentiment of coming disappointment +dimmed the radiance of those sunny brows. He was coming fast as steam +could bring him; it did not matter if he would not come yet, if more of +the sunny hours passed--even if he delayed until even-tide, he would +come so sure as the sun shone in the blue sky. + +Noon passed. One--two--three--still she had never moved or stirred. Four +and five struck, still the light had not died from her eyes nor the +smile from her face; he would come; the stars might fall from the +heaven, the great earth upheave, the rivers rise, the hills fall, night +become day, darkness light, but he would come. Who so faithful, so fond, +so true? And at five her maid came again; this time she had a cup of +strong, fragrant coffee, and Leone drank it eagerly. She would wait for +dinner; she expected some one, and she would wait. Quickly enough she +replaced the cup and returned to her watch; he might have come while she +had the cup to her lips; but, ah, no, no one had trodden on the white +acacia blossoms--they were uncrushed. + +Perhaps the long watching had wearied her, or the warm glow of the June +afternoon fatigued her, or the strong odor of the flowers reached her +brain. She looked at her watch; it was after five. He would come, most +certainly; she knew that; but she was tired, and a great tearless sob +rose to her lips. The heat of the June sun was growing less; she leaned +her head against the casement of the window, and the white eyelids fell +over the dark, passionate, tender eyes. She was dreaming, then; she +heard the ripple of running water that sung as it ran, and the words +were: + + "A ring in pledge I gave her, + And vows of love we spoke-- + Those vows were all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +Over and over again the sweet, sad words were repeated. She was standing +on the brink of the mill-stream again, her lover's kisses warm on her +lips, her lover's hands clasping hers. Ah, Heaven, that the dream could +have lasted or she never woke! A bird woke her by perching on her hand; +perhaps he thought it was a lily, and she started in affright. The bells +were ringing six; she had lost one whole hour, yet Heaven had sent that +sleep in mercy; one hour of forgetfulness strengthened her for what she +had to suffer. She woke with a start; for one moment her brain was +confused between the dream and the reality. Was it the ripple of the +mill-stream, or was it the sighing of the wind among the roses? She had +slept for an hour. Had he come? Had she slept while he entered the +garden? Was he hiding in jest? + +She rang the bell quickly as the trembling hands would allow: and when +the pretty, coquettish maid answered it she asked had any one come, had +any one called; and the answer was, "No." Still she could not rest; she +looked through the rooms, through the garden; ah, no, there were no +traces of any arrival--none. + +Once more to her watch at the window; but the scene began to change. +There was no longer the golden glow over land and water, no longer the +golden glare of a summer's day, no longer the sweet summer's noise, and +the loud, jubilant songs of the birds. A gray tint was stealing over +earth and sky; the lilies were closing their white cups; the birds +singing their vesper hymn; longer shadows fell on the grass; cooler +winds stirred the roses. He would come. The sky might pale, the earth +darken, the sun set, the flowers sleep; but he would come. She would let +no doubt of him enter her faithful heart. Let the night shadow fall, the +sun of her love and her hope should still keep light. + +And then from sky and earth, from clear river and green wood the light +of day faded--eight, nine, and ten struck--the world grew dark and +still--she kept her watch unbroken. It might be night when he returned; +but she would hear the click of the gate and be there to welcome. + +Ah, me, the sorrow that gathered like a storm-cloud over the beautiful +face--the light, brightness and hope died from it as the light died from +the heavens. Still she would not yield. Even after the shadows of +evening had fallen over the land she kept her place. He would come. The +servants of the household grew alarmed at last; and one by one they +ventured in to try to persuade their young mistress to eat, to sleep, or +to rest. + +To one and all she said the same thing: + +"Hush, do not speak; I am listening!" + +It had grown too late to see; there was no moon, and the pale light of +the stars revealed nothing; it had grown colder, too. There was a faint +sound in the wind that told of coming rain. Her own maid--more at +liberty to speak than the others--prayed her to come in; but all advice, +reason, remonstrance received the same answer: + +"I must not leave this spot until the twenty-four hours are ended." + +She would not have suffered half the torture had the letter arrived; she +would have known then at once that she was not to expect him; and the +ordeal of waiting would have been over at once; but she clung to the +hope he would come, he must come. She recalled his promises given +solemnly--she said to herself with a little shudder: + +"If he does not come to-day he will never come." + +And then she hated herself for the half-implied doubt of him. No matter +if the sun had fallen and the nightingale was singing; no matter if the +solemn hush of night had fallen, and soft, deep shadows lay around, he +would come. The sighs of the wind grew deeper; the roses drooped. She +leaned forward, for it seemed to her there was a stir among the trees; +it was only some night bird in quest of its prey. Again she bent her +head; surely, at last, there was the click of the gate. But no; it was +only the swaying of the branches in the wind. + +Then clear and full and distinct, cleaving the air, rang out the hour of +twelve; it was midnight, and he had not come. The thirtieth of June was +over, and he had failed. + +One by one she counted those strokes as they fell, in the vain hope that +she must be mistaken, that it was only eleven. When she realized it she +rose from her solitary watch with a long, low sigh. He had failed; he +had not come. She would not judge him; but he had not kept that promise +which was more solemn to her than any oath. There were many perils, both +by sea and land; the steamer might have run ashore, the train may have +been delayed; but if the appointment had been for her to keep she would +have kept it in spite of all obstacles and all cost. + +She rose from her long dull watch; she tried to cross the room and ring +the bell, but the strength of her limbs failed her. She did not fall, +she sunk into a senseless, almost helpless heap on the floor; and there, +long after midnight, her servants found her, and for some time believed +her dead. That was the thirtieth of June--for which she had hoped, +worked, and prayed as woman never did before. + +They raised her from the ground and took her to her room. One kinder +than the others sat by her until the dawn, when the dark eyes opened +with a look in them which was never to die away again. + +"This is the first of July," she said, faintly. + +And the maid, seeing that the morning had dawned, said: + +"Yes, it is July." + +She never attempted to rise that day, but lay with her face turned to +the wall, turned from the sunlight and the birds' song, the bloom of +flowers, the ripple of leaves, the warmth and light of the summer, +thinking only of the mill-stream and the words that for her had so +terrible a prophecy: + + "A ring in pledge I gave her, + And vows of love we spoke-- + Those vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +Over and over again they rang through her brain and her heart, while she +fought against them, while she lay trying to deaden her senses, to +stifle her reason, doing deadly battle with the fears that assailed her. +She would not give in; she would not doubt him; there would come to her +in time some knowledge; she should know why he had failed. + +Failed, oh, God! how hard the word was to say--failed. Why, if every +star in the sky had fallen at her feet it would not have seemed so +wonderful. + +Perhaps his mother--that proud, haughty woman, who seemed to trample the +world under her feet--perhaps she had prevented his coming; but he would +come, no matter what the mill-stream said, no matter what his mother +wished. The day passed and the morrow came--the second of July. She rose +on that day and went down-stairs the shadow of her former self--pale, +cold, and silent. She did not say to herself "He will come to-day," hope +was dying within her. Then at noon came the letter--her maid brought it +in. She gave a low cry of delight when she saw the beloved handwriting, +that was followed by a cry of pain. He would not have written if he had +been coming; that he had written proved that he had no intention of +coming. She took the letter, but she dared not trust herself to open it +in the presence of her maid; but when the girl was gone, as there was no +human eye to rest on the tortured face she could not control, she opened +it. + +Deadly cold seemed to seize her; a deadly shudder made the letter fall +from her hands. + +No, he was not coming. + +He _must_ go to Spain--to Spain, with his parents and a party of +tourists--but he loved her just the same, and he should return to her. + +"He is weak of purpose," she said to herself when she had read the last +word; "he loves me still; he will come back to me; he will make me his +wife in the eyes of the law as he has done in the sight of Heaven. But +he is weak of purpose. The Countess of Lanswell has put difficulties in +his way, and he has let them conquer him." + +Then came to her mind those strong words: + + "Unstable as water, thou shalt not excel." + +For the second time her servants found her cold and senseless on the +ground; but this time she had an open letter in her hand. + +The pity was that the whole world could not see how women trust the +promises of men, and how men keep theirs. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +A MAN OF WAX. + + +It is not pleasant to tell how the foundations of a noble building are +sapped: to tell how the grand, strong trunk of a noble tree is hacked +and hewn until it falls; how the constant rippling of water wears away a +stone; how the association with baser minds takes away the bloom from +the pure ones; how the constant friction with the world takes the dainty +innocence of youth away. It is never pleasant to tell of untruth, or +infidelity, or sin. It is not pleasant to write here, little by little, +inch by inch, how Lord Chandos was persuaded, influenced, and overcome. + +The story of man's perfidy is always hateful--the story of man's +weakness is always contemptible. Yet the strongest of men, Samson, fell +through the blandishments of a woman. Lord Chandos was neither as strong +as Samson nor as wise as Solomon; and that a clever woman should get the +upper hand of him was not to be wondered at. + +He was a brave, gallant, generous gentleman, gay and genial; he could +not endure feeling unhappy, nor could he bear the thought of any other +person's unhappiness; he had no tragedy about him; he was kind of heart +and simple of mind; he was clever and gifted, but he was like wax in the +hands of a clever woman like Lady Lanswell. + +He was singularly unsuspicious, believed in most things and most +persons; he never misjudged or gave any one credit for bad qualities. He +had no more intention of deserting Leone when he left England than he +had of seizing the crown of Turkey. His honest, honorable intention was +to return to her and marry her on the first hour that such a marriage +could be legal. He would have laughed to scorn any one who would have +hinted at such a thing. His love then was his life, and he had nothing +beside it. + +Gradually, slowly but surely, other interests occupied him. A great +writer says: "Love is the life of a woman, but only an episode in the +life of a man." That was the difference--it was Leone's life; to him it +had been an episode--and now that the episode was somewhat passed, other +interests opened to him. He meant to be faithful to her and to marry +her; nothing should ever shake that determination; but he had ceased to +think it need be so hurriedly done; he need not certainly forego the +pleasure of the tour and hurry home for his birthday; that was quixotic +nonsense; any time that year would do. After his marriage he should lose +his mother and Lady Marion; he would enjoy their company as long as he +could; Leone was right, she had a luxurious home, the assurance of his +love and fidelity, the certainty of being his wife--a few weeks or +months would make but little difference to her. He did not think he had +done any great harm in going to Spain. One might call it a broken +promise; but then most promises are made with a proviso that they shall +be kept if possible; and this was not possible; he would have been very +foolish--so he said to himself--if he had made matters worse by refusing +to go with his mother to Spain. It would have increased her irritation +and annoyance all to no purpose. + +He tried to convince himself that it was right; and he ended by +believing it. + +He felt rather anxious as to what Leone would say--and the tone of her +letter rather surprised him. She had thought, long before she answered +him, reproaches were of no avail--they never are with men; if he had not +cared to keep his promise no sharply written words of hers could avail +to make him keep it. She made no complaint, no reproaches; she never +mentioned her pain or her sorrow; she said nothing of her long watch or +its unhappy ending; she did not even tell him of the delayed letter--and +he wondered. He was more uncomfortable than if her letter had been one +stinging reproach from beginning to end. He answered it--he wrote to her +often, but there was a change in the tone of her letters, and he was +half conscious of it. + +He meant to be true to her--that was his only comfort in the after +years; he could not tell--nor did he know--how it first entered his mind +to be anything else. Perhaps my lady knew--for she had completely +changed her tactics--instead of ignoring Leone she talked of her +continually--never unkindly, but with a pitying contempt that insensibly +influenced Lord Chandos. She spoke of his future with deepest +compassion, as though he would be completely cut off from everything +that could make life worth living; she treated him as though he were an +unwilling victim to an unfortunate promise. It took some time to impress +the idea upon him--he had never thought of himself in that light at all. +A victim who was giving up the best mother, the kindest friend, +everything in life, to keep an unfortunate promise. My lady spoke of him +so continually in that light at last he began to believe it. + +He was like wax in her hands; despite his warm and true love for his +wife that idea became firmly engraved on his mind--he was a victim. + +When once she had carefully impressed that upon him my lady went +further; she began to question whether really, after all, his promise +bound him or not. + +In her eyes it did not--certainly not. The whole thing was a most +unfortunate mistake; but that he should consider himself bound by such a +piece of boyish folly was madness. + +So that the second stage of his progress toward falsehood was that, +besides looking on himself as a kind of victim, he began to think that +he was not bound by his promise. If it had been an error at first it was +an error now; and the countess repeated for him very often the story of +the Marquis of Atherton, who married the daughter of a lodge-keeper in +his nineteenth year. His parents interfered; the marriage was set aside. +What was the consequence? Two years after the girl married the butler, +and they bought the Atherton Arms. The marquis, in his twenty-fifth +year, married a peeress in her own right, and was now one of the first +men in England. My lady often repeated that anecdote; it had made a +great impression on her, and it certainly produced an effect on Lord +Chandos. + +My lady had certainly other influences to bring to bear. The uncle of +Lady Erskine, the Duke of Lester, was one of the most powerful nobles in +England--the head of the Cabinet, the most influential peer in the House +of Lords, the grandest orator and the most respected of men. My lady +enjoyed talking about him--she brought forward his name continually, and +was often heard to say that whoever had the good fortune to marry Lady +Erskine was almost sure to succeed the duke in his numerous honors. Lord +Chandos, hearing her one day, said: + +"I will win honors, mother--win them for myself--and that will be better +than succeeding another man." + +She looked at him with a half-sad, half-mocking smile. + +"I have no ambition, no hope for you, Lance. You have taken your wife +from a dairy--the most I can hope is that you may learn to be a good +judge of milk." + +He turned from her with a hot flush of anger on his face. Yet the sharp, +satirical shaft found its way to his heart. He thought of the words and +brooded over them--they made more impression on him than any others had +done. In his mother's mind he had evidently lost his place in the +world's race, never to regain it. + +The duke--who knew nothing of the conspiracy, and knew nothing of the +young lord's story, except that he had involved himself in some tiresome +dilemma from which his parents had rescued him--the Duke of Lester, who +heard Lord Chandos spoken of as one likely to marry his niece, took a +great fancy to him; he had no children of his own; he was warmly +attached to his beautiful niece; it seemed very probable that if Lord +Chandos married Lady Erskine, he would have before him one of the most +brilliant futures that could fall to any man's lot. Many people hinted +at it, and constant dropping wears away a stone. + +The last and perhaps the greatest hold that the countess had over her +son was the evident liking of Lady Marion for him. In this, as in +everything else, she was most diplomatic; she never expressed any wish +that he should marry her; but she had a most sympathetic manner of +speaking about her. + +"I doubt, Lance," she said one day, "whether we have done wisely--at +least whether I have done wisely--in allowing Lady Marion to see so much +of you; she is so sweet and so gentle--I am quite distressed about it." + +"Why, mother? I see no cause for distress," he said, abruptly. + +"No, my dear; men all possess the happy faculty of never seeing that +which lies straight before their eyes. It is one of their special +gifts--you have it to perfection." + +"Do speak out what you mean, mother; that satire of yours puzzles me. +What do I not see that I ought to see?" + +"Nothing very particular. What I mean is this, Lance, that I am almost +afraid Lady Marion has been too much with us for her peace of mind. I +think, when you go back to England on this wild-goose chase of yours, +that she will feel it deeply." + +He looked anxiously at her. + +"Do you, mother, really think that?" he asked. + +"I do, indeed. Of course I know, Lance, no words of mine will ever +avail; but it seems to me you are in this position--if you leave Lady +Marion and return to your pretty dairy-maid that Lady Marion will never +be happy again. If you marry Lady Marion and dower that young person +with a good fortune she will marry some one in her own rank of life and +be much happier than she could be with you." + +"Ah, mother," he said, sadly, "you do not know Leone." + +"No, and never shall; but I know one thing--if I stood in your place and +was compelled to make one or the other unhappy, I know which it would +be. In marrying Lady Marion you make yourself at once and you delight +me, you gratify every one who knows and loves you. In marrying that +tempestuous young person you cut yourself adrift from fame, friends, and +parents." + +"But honor, mother, what about my honor?" + +"You lose it in marrying a dairy-maid. You preserve it in marrying Lady +Marion." + +And with this Parthian shot my lady left him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +AN ACT OF PERFIDY. + + +So--inch by inch, little by little, step by step--Lord Chandos was +influenced to give up his faith, his promise, his loyalty. I, who write +the story, offer no excuse for him--there is none for the falseness and +perfidy of men--yet it is of so common occurrence the world only jests +about it--the world makes poetry of it and sings, cheerfully: + + "One foot on land and one on shore, + Men were deceivers ever." + +A promise more or less, a vow more or less, a broken heart, a ruined +life, a lost soul, a crime that calls to Heaven for vengeance--what is +it? The world laughs at "Love's perfidies;" the world says that it +serves one right. The girl is slain in her youth by a worse fate than +early death, and the man goes on his way blithely enough. + +Lord Chandos could not quite trample his conscience under foot; under +the influence of his mother he began to see that his love for Leone had +been very unfortunate and very fatal; he had begun to think that if one +of two women must be miserable it had better be Leone. That which was +present influenced him most. He loved his mother, he was flattered by +Lady Marion's love for him. So many influences were brought to bear upon +him, the earl and countess were so devoted to him, Lady Marion charmed +him so much with her grace and kindness of manner, her sweetness of +disposition, her wonderful repose, that his faith grew weak and his +loyalty failed. + +There came an evening when they two--Lord Chandos and Lady Marion--stood +alone in one of the most beautiful courts of the Alhambra. The whole +party had been visiting that marvelous palace, and, more by accident +than design, they found themselves alone. The sun was setting--a hundred +colors flamed in the western sky; the sun seemed loath to leave the +lovely, laughing earth; all the flowers were sending her a farewell +message; the air was laden with richest odors; the ripple of green +leaves made music, and they stood in the midst of the glories of the +past and the smile of the present. + +"I can people the place," said Lady Marion, in her quiet way. "I can see +the cavaliers in their gay dresses and plumes, the dark-eyed senoras +with veil and fan. How many hearts have loved and broken within these +walls, Lord Chandos!" + +"Hearts love and break everywhere," he said, gloomily. + +She went on: + +"I wonder if many dreams of this grand Alhambra came to Queen Catharine +of Arragon, when she lay down to rest--that is, if much rest came to +her?" + +"Why should not rest come to her?" asked Lord Chandos, and the fair +face, raised to answer him, grew pale. + +"Why? What a question to ask me. Was she not jealous and with good +cause? How can a jealous woman know rest? I am quite sure that she must +have thought often with longing and regret, of her home in sunny +Granada." + +"I have never been jealous in my life," said Lord Chandos. + +"Then you have never loved," said Lady Marion. "I do not believe that +love ever exists without some tinge of jealousy. I must say that if I +loved any one very much, I should be jealous if I saw that person pay +much attention to any one else." + +He looked at her carelessly, he spoke carelessly; if he had known what +was to follow, he would not have spoken so. + +"But do you love any one very much?" he said. + +The next moment he deeply repented the thoughtless words. Her whole face +seemed on fire with a burning blush. She turned proudly away from him. + +"You have no right to ask me such a question," she said. "You are cruel +to me, Lord Chandos." + +The red blush died away, and the sweet eyes filled with tears. + +That was the _coup de grace_; perhaps if that little incident had never +happened, this story had never been written; but the tears in those +sweet eyes, and the quiver of pain in that beautiful face, was more than +he could bear. The next moment he was by her side, and had taken her +white hands in his. + +"Cruel! how could I be cruel to you. Lady Marion? Nothing could be +further from my thoughts. How am I cruel?" + +"Never mind," she said, gently. + +"But I do mind very much indeed. What did I say that could make you +think me cruel? Will you not tell me?" + +"No," she replied, with drooping eyes, "I will not tell you." + +"But I must know. Was it because I asked you, 'if you ever loved any one +very much?' Was that cruel?" + +"I cannot deny, but I will not affirm it," she said. "We are very +foolish to talk about such things as love and jealousy; they are much +better left alone." + +There was the witchery of the hour and the scene to excuse him; there +was the fair loveliness of her face, the love in her eyes that lured +him, the trembling lips that seemed made to be kissed; there was the +glamour that a young and beautiful woman always throws over a man; there +was the music that came from the throats of a thousand birds, the +fragrance that came from a thousand flowers to excuse him. He lost his +head, as many a wiser man has done; his brain reeled, his heart beat; +the warm white hand lay so trustingly in his own, and he read on her +fair, pure face the story of her love. He never knew what madness +possessed him; he who had called himself the husband of another; but he +drew her face to his and kissed her lips, while he whispered to her how +fair and how sweet she was. The next moment he remembered himself, and +wished the deed undone. It was too late--to one like Lady Marion a kiss +meant a betrothal, and he knew it. He saw tears fall from her eyes; he +kissed them away, and then she whispered to him in a low, sweet voice: + +"How did you guess my secret?" + +"Your secret," he repeated, and kissed her again, because he did not +know what to say. + +"Yes; how did you find out that I loved you?" she asked, simply. "I am +sure I have always tried to hide it." + +"Your beautiful eyes told it," he said; and then a sudden shock of +horror came to him. Great Heaven! what was he doing? where was Leone? +She did not perceive it, but raised her blushing face to his. + +"Ah, well," she said, sweetly, "it is no secret since you have found it +out. It is true, I do love you, and my eyes have not told you falsely." + +Perhaps she wondered that he listened so calmly, that he did not draw +her with passionate words and caresses to his heart, that he did not +speak with the raptures lovers used. He looked pale and troubled, yet he +clasped her hand more closely. + +"You are very good to me," he said. "I do not deserve it, I do not merit +it. You--you--shame me, Marion." + +She looked at him with a warm glow of happiness on her face. + +"It would not be possible to be too good to you; but I must not tell you +of all I think of you, or you will grow vain. I think," she continued, +with a smile that made her look like an angel, "I think now that I know +how much you love me I shall be the happiest woman on the face of the +earth." + +He did not remember to have said how much he loved her, or to have +spoken of his love at all, but evidently she thought he had, and it came +to the same thing. + +"How pleased Lady Lanswell will be!" said the young heiress, after a +time. "You will think me very vain to say so, but I believe she loves +me." + +"I am sure of it; who could help it?" he said, absently. + +He knew that he had done wrong, he repented it, and made one desperate +effort to save himself. + +"Lady Marion," he said, hurriedly, "let me ask you one question. You +have heard, of course, the story of my early love?" + +He felt the trembling of her whole figure as she answered, in a low +voice: + +"Yes; I know it, and that makes me understand jealousy. I am very weak, +I know, but if you had gone to England, I should have died of pain." + +He kissed her again, wondering whether for his perfidy a bolt from +Heaven would strike him dead. + +"You know it," he said; "then tell me--I leave it with you. Do you +consider that a barrier between us, between you and me? You shall +decide?" + +She knew so little about it that she hastily answered: + +"No; how can it be? That was folly. Lady Lanswell says you have +forgotten it. Shall a mere folly be a barrier between us? No; love +levels all barriers, you know." + +He kissed her hands, saying to himself that he was the greatest coward +and the greatest villain that ever stood on earth. Words he had none. +Then they heard Lady Cambrey calling for her niece. + +"Let me tell her," whispered the beautiful girl; "she will be so +pleased, she likes you so much." Then, as they passed out of the court, +she looked at the grand old walls. "I shall always love this place," she +said, "because it is here that you have first said that you loved me." + +And the pity is that every girl and every woman disposed to give her +whole chance of happiness in a man's hand was not there to see how women +believe men, and how men keep the promises they make. + +He told his mother that same night. + +"I have done it," he said; "circumstances have forced me into it, but I +have forsworn myself. I have lost my self-respect, and I shall never be +happy again while I live." + +But she embraced him with eager delight. + +"You have done well," she said; "you have risen above the shackles of a +miserable promise, and have proved yourself a noble man by daring to +undo the mad act of folly which might have blighted your life. I approve +of what you have done, and so will any other sensible person." + +And that was his consolation, his reward for the greatest act of perfidy +that man ever committed, or a woman sanctioned. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +"I HAVE PERJURED MYSELF." + + +Lady Lanswell was triumphant; she lost no time; before noon of the day +following she had sent to the Duke of Lester saying that they were +staying at Granada, and that important family business awaited him +there. She knew that he would lose no time in going there. In the days +that intervened she managed her son most cleverly; she said little or +nothing to him of Lady Marion. If he broached the subject, she changed +it at once, saying: "Let the matter rest for awhile;" she was so sorely +afraid he would draw back. She was kind to him in her way; if she saw +his handsome face looking distressed, pained, or anxious, she would +cheer him up with bright words, with laughter, or anything that would +take the weight of thought or care from him. + +The Duke of Lester was soon there. Anything in which his niece was +interested was of vital consequence to him; he had no particular liking +for Lady Cambrey, and always regretted that the young heiress had been +given into her charge rather than in that of his amiable wife. He went +to Granada, delighted with the news; he had heard so much of the talents +of Lord Chandos that he was charmed with the idea of his belonging to +the family. It had been a sore and heavy trial to the duke that he had +no son, that so many honors and such great offices should die with him. +It was from that motive that he had always felt an especial interest in +the marriage of his beautiful young niece. + +"If she marries well," he had said to himself more than once, "her +husband must stand to me in the place of a son." + +If he had to choose from the wide world, he would prefer Lord Chandos +from his singular talent, activity, and capability for political life. +He knew, as every one else did, that there had been some little drawback +in the young lord's life, some mysterious love-affair, and he had not +interested himself in it; he never did take any interest in matters of +that kind. Evidently if, at any time, there had been a little _faux +pas_, it was remedied, or so worldly-wise a woman as Lady Lanswell would +never have introduced him to his niece. + +So the Duke of Lester, all amiability and interest, gave the finishing +touch to Lord Chandos' fate. When he had once spoken of the matter, +there was no receding from it without a scandal that would have +horrified all England. The duke's first words settled the whole matter; +he held out his hand in frankest, kindliest greeting to Lord Chandos. + +"I hear very pleasant intelligence," he said; "and while I congratulate +you, I congratulate myself that I am to have the good fortune of an +alliance with you." + +Lady Lanswell stood by, and there was a moment's pause; perhaps she +never suffered such intensity of suspense as she did during that moment, +for her son's face grew colorless, and he looked as if he were going to +draw back. The next minute he had recovered himself, and returned the +duke's greeting: then, and only then, did the countess give a great sigh +of relief; there could be no mistake, no drawing back from anything +which the duke sanctioned. + +That same day there was a family meeting; the earl and countess, Lord +Chandos, the Duke of Lester, Lady Marion Erskine, and Lady Cambrey; they +all dined together, and the duke discussed with the countess the time of +the marriage. + +There was little said, but that little was binding; there could be no +retreat. In the autumn, about September, the countess thought; and she +suggested that they should not return to England for the marriage; it +could take place at the Embassy at Paris. There would be plenty of time +for discussing these details; the thing now was to settle the +engagement. It gave great delight; the earl, it is true, had some little +scruple, which he ventured to express to his wife. + +"I ought to add my congratulation," he said; "but I am in doubt over it. +This seems a very suitable marriage, and Lady Marion is a most charming +girl. But what about that other girl, my lady?" + +"That has nothing to do with us," she replied, haughtily. "I am prepared +to be very liberal; I shall not mind a thousand a year; she shall have +nothing to complain of." + +Lord Lanswell did not feel quite so sure, but as he never had had any +management of his own affairs, it was too late to begin now. My lady +would probably bring a hornet's nest about her ears--that was her own +business; if he were any judge, either of looks or character, that young +girl, Leone, would not be so lightly set aside. + +However, he said nothing. Lord Lanswell had learned one lesson in his +life; he had learned that "Silence was golden." + +The matter was settled now; the duke had given his sanction, expressed +his delight; several of the highly connected and important families +belonging to the Lanswells and the Lesters had sent in their +congratulations; everything was in trim. + +There was no need for the duke to remain; he would join them in Paris +for the wedding. No word was spoken on the subject between Lady Lanswell +and himself, but there was a certain tacit understanding that the +wedding must not take place in England, lest it should be disturbed. + +The duke returned to England, taking back with him a sincere liking and +a warm admiration for Lord Chandos; he was impatient for the time to +come when he should be able to claim him as a relation of his own. The +remainder of the party stayed at Granada; there was plenty to interest +them in and about that charming city. + +Some few days after his departure, Lord Chandos sought his mother. She +had felt anxious over him of late. He looked like anything but a happy +lover; he was thin, worn, and the face that had been so bright had grown +shadowed and careworn. My lady did not like it. Any man who had won such +a prize as Lady Erskine ought to feel delighted and show his pleasure. + +So argued my lady, but her son did not seem to share her sentiments. She +sat on this morning, looking very stately and beautiful, in a dress of +moire antique, with a morning-cap of point lace--a woman to whom every +one involuntarily did homage. + +Lord Chandos looked at her with wonder and admiration; then he sighed +deeply as he remembered why he had sought her. He sat down near her, the +very picture of dejection and misery. + +"Mother," he said, abruptly, "I have behaved like a villain and a +coward. In what words am I to excuse myself?" + +My lady's face darkened. + +"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," she said. "Will you +explain yourself?" + +"I have perjured myself. I have broken the most solemn vows that a man +could make. I have forsworn myself. Tell me in what words am I to tell +my guilt, or excuse it?" + +A contemptuous smile stole over the face of my lady. + +"Are you troubling yourself about that tempestuous young person, Leone? +Shame on you, when you have won the sweetest woman and the wealthiest +heiress in England for your wife!" + +His voice was broken with emotion as he answered her: + +"I cannot forget that I believed her to be my wife once, and I loved +her." + +My lady interrupted him. + +"My dear Lance, we all know what a boy's first love is. Ah, do believe +me, it is not worth thinking of; every one laughs at a boy's love. They +take it just as they take to whooping-cough or fever; it does not last +much longer either. In another year's time you will laugh at the very +mention of what you have called love. Believe me," continued her +ladyship, proudly, "that Lady Marion is the wife Heaven ordained for +you, and no other." + +The handsome young head was bent low, and it seemed to my lady as though +a great tearless sob came from his lips. She laid her hand on his dark, +crisp waves of hair. + +"I do sympathize with you, Lance," she said, in a kind voice; and when +Lady Lanswell chose to be kind no one could rival her. "You have, +perhaps, made some little sacrifice of inclination, but, believe me, you +have done right, and I am proud of you." + +He raised his haggard young face to hers. + +"I feel myself a coward and a villain, mother," he said, in a broken +voice. "I ought to have gone back to that poor girl; I ought not to have +dallied with temptation. I love Leone with the one love of my heart and +mind, and I am a weak, miserable coward that I have not been true to +her. I have lost my own self-respect, and I shall _never_ regain it." + +My lady was patient; she had always expected a climax, and, now it had +arrived, she was ready for it. The scorn and satire gave place to +tenderness; she who was the most undemonstrative of women, caressed him +as though he had been a child again on her knees. She praised him, she +spoke of his perfidy as though it were heroism; she pointed out to him +that he had made a noble sacrifice of an ignoble love. + +"But, mother," he said, "I have broken my faith, my honor, my plighted +word," and her answer was: + +"That for a great folly there could only be a great reparation; that if +he had broken his faith with this unfortunate girl he had kept it, and +his loyalty also, to the name and race of which he was so proud, to +herself and to Lady Marion." + +Like all other clever women, she could argue a question until she +convinced the listener, even against his own will, and she could argue +so speciously that she made wrong seem right. + +He listened until he was unable to make any reply. In his heart he hated +and loathed himself; he called himself a coward and a traitor; but in +his mother's eyes he was a great hero. + +"There is one thing I cannot do," he said; "I cannot write and tell her; +it seems to me more cruel than if I plunged a dagger in her heart." + +Lady Lanswell laughed. + +"That is all morbid sentiment, my dear Lance. Leave the matter with me, +I will be very kind and very generous; I will arrange everything with +her in such a manner that you will be pleased. Now promise me to try and +forget her, and be happy with the sweet girl who loves you so dearly." + +"I will try," he said, but his young face was so haggard and worn that +my lady's heart misgave her as she looked at him. + +"I have done all for the best," she murmured to herself. "He may suffer +now, but he will thank me for it in the years to come." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +A PALE BRIDEGROOM. + + +The writing of that letter was a labor of love to Lady Lanswell. She did +not wish to be cruel; on the contrary, now that she had gained her wish, +she felt something like pity for the girl she had so entirely crushed. +Lord Chandos would have been quite true to his first love but for his +mother's influence and maneuvers. She knew that. She knew that with her +own hand she had crushed the life and love from this girl's heart. +Writing to her would be the last disagreeable feature in the case. She +would be finished with them, and there would be nothing to mar the +brightness of the future. + +My lady took up a jeweled pen; she had paper, white and soft, with her +crest at the head; every little detail belonging to her grandeur would +help to crush this girl for whom she had so much contempt and so little +pity. She thought over every word of her letter; it might at some future +day, perhaps, be brought against her, and she resolved that it should be +a model of moderation and fairness. She had learned Leone's name, and +she began: + + "MY DEAR MISS NOEL,--My son has commissioned me to write to you, + thinking, as I think, that the business to be arranged will be + better settled between you and myself. I am glad to tell you that + at last, after many months of infatuation, my son has returned to + his senses, and has now but one idea, which is at once and forever + to put an end to all acquaintance between you and himself. My son + owns that it was a great mistake; he blames himself entirely, and + quite exculpates you; he holds you blameless. Permit me to say that + I do the same. + + "My son, having recovered his senses, sees that a marriage between + you and himself would be quite impossible. He regrets having + promised it, and begs that you will forgive what seems to be a + breach of that promise; but it is really the best and wisest plan + of his life. Neither your birth, training, education, manners, nor + appearance fit you to hold the position that my son's wife must + hold. You must, therefore, consider the whole affair at an end; it + was, at its worst, a piece of boyish folly and indiscretion, while + you are blameless. It is my son's wish that ample compensation + should be made to you, and I have placed the matter in the hands of + Mr. Sewell, my lawyer, whom I have instructed to settle a thousand + per annum on you. Let me add, further, that if ever you are in any + pecuniary difficulty, I shall find a pleasure in helping you. + + "One thing more: Lord Chandos is engaged to be married to one of + the wealthiest women in England--a marriage which makes his father + and myself extremely happy, which opens to him one of the finest + careers ever opened to any man, and will make him one of the + happiest of men. Let me add an earnest hope that your own good + sense will prevent any vulgar intrusion on your part, either on my + son or the lady to whom he is passionately attached. You will not + need to answer this letter. Lord Chandos does not wish to be + annoyed by any useless appeals; in short, no letter that you write + will reach him, as we are traveling from place to place, and shall + be so until the wedding-day. + + "In conclusion, I can but say I hope you will look at the matter in + a sensible light. You, a farmer's niece, have no right to aspire to + the position of an earl's wife, and you have every reason to think + yourself fortunate that worse has not happened. + + "LUCIA, COUNTESS OF LANSWELL." + +"There," said my lady, as she folded up the letter, "to most people that +would be a quietus. If she has half as much spirit as I give her credit +for, that little touch about the 'vulgar intrusion' will prevent her +from writing to him. I think this will effectually put an end to all +further proceedings." + +She sealed the letter and sent it, at the same time sending one to her +solicitor, Mr. Sewell, telling him of the happy event pending, and +begging of him to arrange with the girl at once. + + "If one thousand a year does not satisfy her, offer her two; offer + her anything, so that we are completely rid of her. From motives of + prudence it would be better for her to leave that place at once; + advise her to go abroad, or emigrate, or anything, so that she may + not annoy us again, and do not write to me about her; I do not wish + to be annoyed. Settle the business yourself, and remember that I + have no wish to know anything about it." + +That letter was sent with the other, and my lady sunk back with an air +of great relief. + +"Thank Heaven!" she said to herself, "that is over. Ah, me! what mothers +have to suffer with their sons, and yet few have been so docile as +mine." + +A few days afterward the countess sought her son. She had no grounds for +what she said, but she imagined herself speaking the truth. + +"Lance," she said, "I have good news for you. That tiresome little +affair of yours is all settled, and there will be no need for us ever to +mention the subject again. The girl has consented to take the thousand a +year, and she--she is happy and content." + +He looked at her with haggard eyes. + +"Happy and content, mother?" he said. "Are you quite sure of that?" + +"Sure as I am that you, Lance, are one of the most fortunate men in this +world. Now take my advice, and let us have no more mention of the +matter. I am tired of it, and I am sure that you must be the same. Try +from this time to be happy with Lady Marion, and forget the past." + +Did he forget it? No one ever knew. He never had the same light in his +eyes, the same frank, free look on his face, the same ring in his laugh; +from that day he was a changed man. Did he think of the fair young girl, +whose passionate heart and soul he had woke into such keen life? Did he +think of the mill-stream and the ripple of the water, and the lines so +full of foreboding: + + "The vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +Ah, how true Leone's presentiment had been! The vow was forgotten, the +ring broken, the pretty love-story all ended. He never dared to ask any +questions from his mother about her; he turned coward whenever the +English letters were delivered; he never dared to think about her, to +wonder how she had taken this letter, what she had thought, said, or +done. He was not happy. Proud, ambitious, mercenary, haughty as was the +Countess of Lanswell, there were times when she felt grieved for her +son. It was such a young face, but there was a line on the broad, fair +brow; there was a shadow in the sunny eyes; the music had gone out from +his voice. + +"Marion will soon make it all right," said the proud, anxious, unhappy +mother; "there will be nothing to fear when once they are married." + +Lady Marion was the most gentle and least exacting of all human beings, +but even she fancied Lord Chandos was but a poor wooer. He was always +polite, deferential, attentive, and kind; yet he seldom spoke of love. +After that evening in the Alhambra he never kissed her; he never sought +any _tete-a-tete_ with her. She had had many lovers, as was only natural +for a beauty and a great heiress. None of them had been so cool, so +self-contained as Lord Chandos. + +Lady Lanswell managed well; she ought to have been empress of some great +nation; her powers of administration were so great. She persuaded them +to have the wedding in the month of September, and to travel until that +came. + +"It will be a change from the common custom," she said; "most people are +married in England, and go to the Continent for their honey-moon; you +will be married in the Continent, and go to England for the honey-moon." + +It was some little disappointment to Lady Marion; like all girls she had +thought a great deal of her marriage. She had always fancied it in the +grand old church at Erskine, where the noble men and women of her race +slept their last sleep, where the Erskines for many generations had been +married. She had fancied a long train of fair, young bridemaids, a troop +of fair, fond children strewing flowers; and now it would be quite +different. Still she was content; she was marrying the man whom she +loved more than any one, or anything else in the world. + +She had wondered so much why the countess desired the wedding to take +place in Paris. She had even one day ventured to ask her, and Lady +Lanswell answered first by kissing her, then by telling her that it was +best for Lord Chandos. That was quite enough to content the loving +heart, if it were better for him in any way. She did not inquire why. +She would sacrifice any wish or desire of her own. + +So the day of the wedding came, and a grand ceremonial it was. The +noblest and most exclusive English in Paris attended it, and everything +was after the wish of Lady Lanswell's heart. There had never been a +fairer or more graceful bride. There had never been a handsomer or more +gallant bridegroom. One thing struck the Countess of Lanswell and made +her remember the day with a keen sense of pain, and it was this: when +the bride retired to change her superb bridal dress for a traveling +costume she had time to notice how white and ill her son looked. He was +one of the most temperate of men; she did not remember that he had ever +in his life been in the least degree the worse for wine, but she saw him +go to the buffet and fill a small glass with strong brandy and drink +it--even that, strong as it was, did not put any color into his face. +Then he came to speak to her. She looked anxiously at him. + +"Lance," she said, "I do not like asking you the question--but--have you +really been drinking brandy?" + +She never forgot the bitter laugh that came from his lips. + +"Yes, I have indeed, mother. It is just as well a glass of poison did +not stand there; I should have drunk it." + +She shuddered at the words, and it must be owned they were not cheerful +ones for a wedding-day. + +The bride and bridegroom drove away; slippers and rice were thrown after +them. And the pity is that every woman inclined to put faith in the vows +and promises of a man was not there to see how they were kept. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +"I LEAVE THEM MY HATRED AND MY CURSE." + + +Leone was alone when the letter of the Countess of Lanswell was +delivered to her: she had been wondering for some days why no news came +from Lord Chandos--why he did not write. She had written most urgent and +affectionate letters to him, praying for news of him, telling him how +bravely and happily she was bearing the separation from him, only +longing to know something of him. + +The warm, sultry month of August had set in, and she was working hard as +ever; there was but one comfort to her in this long absence--the longer +he was away from her, the more fit she should be to take her place as +his wife when he did return. She felt now that she could be as stately +as the Countess of Lanswell herself, with much more grace. + +She had been thinking over her future when that letter came; it found +her in the same pretty room where he had bidden her good-bye. When the +maid entered with the letter on a salver, she had looked up with a +quick, passionate sense of pleasure. Perhaps this was to tell her when +he would come. She seized the dainty envelope with a low cry of intense +rapture. + +"At last," she said to herself, "at last. Oh, my love, how could you be +silent so long?" + +Then she saw that it was not Lance's writing, but a hand that was quite +strange to her. Her face paled even as she opened it; she turned to the +signature before she read the letter; it was "Lucia, Countess of +Lanswell." Then she knew that it was from her mortal enemy, the one on +whom she had sworn revenge. + +She read it through. What happened while she read it? The reapers were +reaping in the cornfields, the wind had sunk to the lightest whisper, +some of the great red roses fell dead, the leaves of the white lilies +died in the heat of the sun, the birds were tired of singing; even the +butterflies had sunk, tired out, on the breasts of the flowers they +loved; there was a golden glow over everything; wave after wave of +perfume rose on the warm summer air; afar off one heard the song of the +reaper, and the cry of the sailors as the ships sailed down the stream; +there was life, light, lightness all around, and she stood in the middle +of it, stricken as one dead, holding her death warrant in her hand. She +might have been a marble statue as she stood there, so white, so silent, +so motionless. + +She read and reread it; at first she thought it must be a sorry jest; it +could not be true, it was impossible. If she took up the Bible there, +and the printed words turned blood-red before her eyes, it would be far +less wonderful than that this should be true. A sorry, miserable jest +some one had played her, but who--how? No, it was no jest. + +She must be dreaming--horrible dreams come to people in their sleep; she +should wake presently and find it all a black, blank dream. Yet, no--no +dream, the laughing August sunlight lay all round her, the birds were +singing, there was the flash of the deep river, with the pleasure-boats +slowly drifting down the stream. It was no dream, it was a horrible +reality; Lord Chandos, the lover whom she had loved with her whole +heart, who ought, under the peculiar circumstances, to have given her +even double the faith and double the love a husband gives his wife; he, +who was bound to her even by the weakness of the tie that should have +been stronger, had deserted her. + +She did not cry out, she did not faint or swoon; she did not sink as she +had done before, a senseless heap on the ground; she stood still, as a +soldier stands sometimes when he knows that he has to meet his death +blow. + +Every vestige of color had faded from her face and lips; if the angel of +death had touched her with his fingers, she could not have looked more +white and still. Over and over again she read the words that took from +her life its brightness and its hope, that slew her more cruelly than +poison or steel, that made their way like winged arrows to her heart, +and changed her from a tender, loving, passionate girl to a vengeful +woman. + +Slowly she realized it, slowly the letter fell from her hands, slowly +she fell on her knees. + +"He has forsaken me!" she cried. "Oh, my God! he has forsaken me, and I +cannot die!" + +No one cares to stand by the wheel or the rack while some poor body is +tortured to death; who can stand by while a human heart is breaking with +the extremity of anguish? When such a grief comes to any one as to +Leone, one stands by in silence; it is as though a funeral is passing, +and one is breathless from respect to the dead. + +The best part of her died as she knelt there; the blue of the sky, the +gold of the shining sun, the song of the birds, the sweet smell of +flowers were never the same to her again. Almost all that was good and +noble, brave and bright, died as she knelt there. When that letter +reached her, she was, if anything, better than the generality of women. +She had noble instincts, grand ideas, great generosity, and +self-sacrifice; it was as though a flame of fire came to her, and burned +away every idea save one, and that was revenge. + +"He loved me," she cried; "he loved me truly and well; but he was weak +of purpose and my enemy has taken him from me." + +Hours passed--all the August sunlight died; the reapers went home, the +cries of the sailors were stilled, the birds were silent and still. She +sat there trying to realize that for her that letter had blotted the sun +from the heavens and the light from her life; trying to understand that +her brave, handsome, gallant young love was false to her, that he was +going to marry another while she lived. + +It was too horrible. She was his wife before God. They had only been +parted for a short time by a legal quibble. How could he marry any one +else? + +She would not believe it. It was a falsehood that the proud mother had +invented to part her from him. She would not believe it unless she heard +it from others. She knew Mr. Sewell's private address; he would know if +it were true; she would go and ask him. + +Mr. Sewell was accustomed to tragedies, but even he felt in some degree +daunted when that young girl with her colorless face and flashing eyes +stood before him. She held out a letter. + +"Will you read this?" she said, abruptly. "I received it to-day from +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, and I refuse to believe it." + +He took the letter from her hands and read it, then looked at the still +white face before him. + +"Is it true?" she asked. + +"Yes," he replied, "perfectly true." + +"Will you tell me who it is that is going to marry my husband?" she +asked. + +"If you mean will I tell you whom Lord Chandos is to marry, I am sorry +to say my answer must be 'No.' I am not commissioned to do so. You may +see it for yourself in the newspapers." + +"Then it is true," she said slowly; "there is no jest, no doubt, no +mistake about it?" + +"No, none. And as you have shown me your letter," said Mr. Sewell, "I +may as well show you the one I have received, and you may see for +yourself what Lady Lanswell's intentions about you are. Take a chair," +added the lawyer, "I did not notice that you were standing all this +time; you took me by surprise. Pray be seated." + +She took the chair which he had placed for her, and read the letter +through. She laid it down on the table, her face calm, white, the fire +in her eyes giving place to utter scorn. + +"I thank you," she said. "The letter written you is cruel and unjust as +the one written to me. I decline the thousand per annum now and for all +time. My husband loved me and would have been quite true to me, but that +his mother has intrigued to make him false. I refuse her help, her +assistance in any way; but I will have my revenge. If I had money and +influence I would sue for my rights--ah, and might win then. As it is, +and for the present, I am powerless; but I will have my revenge. Tell +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, so from me." + +The passion, the dramatic force, the eager interest, the power of her +beautiful face, struck him. In his heart he felt sorry for this girl, +who he knew had been cruelly treated. + +"I would not think about revenge," he said; "that is a kind of thing one +reads about in novels and plays, but it is all out of date." + +"Is it?" she asked, with a slow, strange smile. + +"Yes. Take the advice of a sensible man who wishes to see you do well. +Yours is a false position, a cruel position; but make the best of +it--take the thousand per annum, and enjoy your life." + +He never forgot the scorn those wonderful eyes flashed at him. + +"No," she said, "I thank you; I believe when you give me that advice you +mean well, but I cannot follow it. If I were dying of hunger I would not +touch even a crumb of bread that came from Lady Lanswell. I will never +even return to the house which has been my own. I will take no one +single thing belonging to them. I will leave them my hatred and my +curse. And you tell Countess Lucia, from me, that my hatred shall find +her out, and my vengeance avenge me." + +She rose from her chair and took the letter she had brought with her. + +"I will never part with this," she said; "I will keep it near me always, +and the reading of it may stimulate me when my energy tires. I have no +message for Lord Chandos; to you I say farewell." + +"She is going to kill herself," he thought; "and then, if it gets into +the papers, my lady will wax wroth." + +She seemed to divine his thoughts, for she smiled, and the smile was +more sad than tears. + +"I shall not harm myself," she said: "death is sweeter than life, but +life holds 'vengeance.' Good-bye." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +AFTER THREE YEARS. + + +"The question is," said Lord Chandos, "shall we go or not? Please +yourself, Marion, and then," he added, with an air of weariness, "you +will be sure to please me." + +"I should like to go, certainly, if you really have no other engagement, +Lance," said Lady Chandos. + +"My engagements always give place to your pleasure," replied the young +husband. "If you really desire to see this new star we will go. I will +see about it at once." + +Still Lady Chandos seemed irresolute. + +"It is quite true," she said, "that all London has gone mad about her, +just as Paris, Vienna, and St. Petersburg did." + +"London is always going mad about something or other, but the madness +never lasts long." + +"I have read many things," continued his wife calmly, "but I have never +read anything like the description of the scene at the opera-house last +evening; it really made me long to see her." + +"Then let the longing be gratified, by all means," said Lord Chandos. +"We will go this evening. Consider it settled, Marion, and do not think +of changing your plans." + +It was breakfast-time, and the husband and wife were discussing the +advent of a new actress and singer--one who was setting the world on +fire--Madame Vanira. Lord and Lady Chandos always took breakfast +together; it was one of the established rules, never broken; it was the +only time in the day when they were quite sure of seeing each other. + +It was three years since they were married, and time had not worked any +great change in either. Lady Chandos was even more beautiful than in her +maiden days. She had the same sweet repose of manner, the same high-bred +elegance and grace, the same soft, low voice, but the beauty of her face +had grown deeper. + +There was more light in the blue eyes, a deeper sheen on the golden +hair, a richer tint on the fair face; there was more of life, animation, +and interest, than she had displayed in those days when she seemed to +glide through life like a spirit, rather than battle through it like a +human being. Perhaps for her the battle had to come. In figure she had +developed, she looked taller and more stately, but the same beautiful +lines and gracious curves were there. As she sits in her morning-dress, +the palest blue, trimmed with the most delicate cream color, a pretty, +coquettish cap on her golden head, the bloom and freshness of early +youth on her face, she looks the loveliest picture of lovely and +blooming womanhood, the perfection of elegance, the type of a patrician. +Her white hands are covered with shining gems--Lady Chandos has a taste +for rings. She is altogether a proper wife for a man to have to trust, +to place his life and honor in her, a wife to be esteemed, appreciated +and revered, but not worshiped with a mad passion. In the serene, pure +atmosphere in which she lived no passion could come, no madness; she did +not understand them, she never went out of the common grooves of life, +but she was most amiable and sweet in them. + +Nor had Lord Chandos altered much in these three years; he had grown +handsomer, more manly; the strong, graceful figure, the erect, easy +carriage, were just the same; his face had bronzed with travel, and the +mustache that shaded his beautiful lips was darker in hue. + +Had they been happy, these three years of married life? Ask Lady +Chandos, and she will say, "Happy as a dream." She has not known a +shadow of care or fear, she has been unutterably happy; she is the queen +of blondes, one of the most popular queens of society, the chosen and +intimate friend of more than one royal princess, one of the most +powerful ladies at court; no royal ball, or concert, or garden-party is +ever given without her name being on the list; she is at the head of +half the charities in London; she lays foundation stones; she opens the +new wings of hospitals; she interests herself in convalescent homes; she +influences, and in a great many instances leads the fashions. "Hats _a +la_ Chandos," "the Marion costume," are tributes to her influence. To +know her, to be known to be on her visiting list, is a passport +everywhere. She has the finest diamonds and the finest rubies in London; +her horses are the envy and admiration of all who see them; her mansion +in Belgravia is the wonder of all who see it--every corner of the earth +has been racked to add to its luxury and comfort. She has more +money--just as pin-money--than many a peer has for the keeping up of +title and estate. She has a husband who is all kindness and indulgence +to her; who has never denied her the gratification of a single wish; who +has never spoken one cross word to her; who is always devoted to her +service. What could any one wish for more? She would tell you, with a +charming, placid smile on her sweet face, that she is perfectly happy. +If there be higher bliss than hers she does not know it yet; if there is +a love, as there is genius, akin to madness, she has never felt it. +Passion does not enter her life, it is all serene and calm. + +In those three years Lord Chandos had made for himself a wonderful name. +The Duke of Lester had done all that he could for him, but his own +talents and energy had done more. He had proved himself to be what the +leading journals said of him, "a man of the times." Just the man +wanted--full of life, activity, energy, talent, and power. He had made +himself famous as an orator; when Lord Chandos rose to speak, the house +listened and the nation applauded; his speeches were eagerly read. He +was the rising man of the day, and people predicted for him that he +would be prime minister before he was thirty. His mother's heart +rejoiced in him--all her most sanguine hopes were fulfilled. Ask him if +he is happy. He would laugh carelessly, and answer, "I am as happy as +other men, I imagine." Ask him if his ambition and pride are gratified, +and he will tell you "Yes." Ask him if ambition and pride can fill his +life to the exclusion of all else; he will tell you "No." Ask him again +if he has a thousand vague, passionate desires unfulfilled, and his +handsome face will cloud and his eyes droop. + +They are very popular. Lord Chandos gives grand dinners, which are +considered among the best in London, Lady Chandos gives balls, and +people intrigue in every possible way for invitations. She gives quiet +dances and _soirees_, which are welcomed. She is "at home" every +Wednesday, and no royal drawing-room is better attended than her "at +home." She has select little teas at five o'clock, when some of the most +exclusive people in London drink orange pekoe out of the finest Rose du +Barri china. They are essentially popular; no ball is considered +complete unless it is graced by the presence of the queen of blondes. As +the Belgravian matrons all say, "Dear Lady Chandos is so happy in her +marriage." Her husband was always in attendance on her. Other husbands +had various ways; some went to their clubs, some smoked, some drank, +some gambled, others flirted. Lord Chandos was irreproachable; he did +none of these things. + +There had never been the least cloud between them. If this perfect wife +of his had any little weakness, it was a tendency to slight jealousies, +so slight as to be nameless, yet she allowed them at times to ruffle her +calm, serene repose. Her husband was very handsome--there was a +picturesque, manly beauty about his dark head and face, a grandeur in +his grand, easy figure that was irresistible. Women followed him +wherever he went with admiring eyes. As he walked along the streets they +said to each other, with smiling eyes, what a handsome man he was. If +they went to strange hotels all the maids courtesied with blushing faces +to the handsome young lord. At Naples one of the flower-girls had +disturbed Lady Marion's peace--a girl with a face darkly beautiful as +one of Raphael's women, with eyes that were like liquid fire, and this +girl always stood waiting for them with a basket of flowers. Lord +Chandos, in his generous, princely fashion, flung her pieces of gold or +silver; once my lady saw the girl lift the money he threw to her from +the ground, kiss it with a passionate kiss, and put it in the bodice of +her dress. In vain after that did Carina offer Parma violets and lilies +from Sorrento, Lady Chandos would have no more, and Carina was requested +soon afterward by the master of the hotel to take her stand with her +flowers elsewhere. + +Lord Chandos never made any remark upon it--every lady has some foible, +some little peculiarity. She was a perfect wife, and this little feeling +of small jealousies was not worth mentioning. If they went to a ball and +he danced three times with the same lady, he knew he would hear +something in faint dispraise. If he admired any one as a good rider or a +good dancer, out would come some little criticism; he smiled as he +heard, but said nothing--it was not worth while. Like a kind-hearted man +he bore this little failing in mind, and, if ever he praised one woman, +he took care to add something complimentary to his wife. So the three +years had passed and this was the spring-tide of the fourth, the +showery, sparkling month of April; violets and primroses were growing, +the birds beginning to sing, the leaves springing, the chestnuts +budding, the fair earth reviving after its long swoon in the arms of +winter. The London season of this year was one of the best known, no +cloud of either sorrow or adversity hung over the throne or the country; +trade was good, everything seemed bright and prosperous; but the great +event of the season was most certainly the first appearance in England +of the new singer, Madame Vanira, whose marvelous beauty and wonderful +voice were said to drive people mad with excitement and delight. + +It was to see her that Lord and Lady Chandos went to the Royal Italian +Opera on that night in April on which our story is continued. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +A MEETING OF EYES. + + +The newspapers had already given many details of Madame Vanira. For many +long years there had been nothing seen like her. They said her passion +and power, her dramatic instinct, her intensity were so great, that she +was like electric fire. One critic quoted of her what was so prettily +said of another great actress: + +"She has a soul of fire in a body of gauze." + +No one who saw her ever forgot her; even if they only saw her once, her +face lived clear, distinct, and vivid in their memory forever afterward. +No one knew which to admire most, her face or her voice. Her face was +the most wondrously beautiful ever seen on the stage, and her voice was +the most marvelous ever heard--it thrilled you, it made you tremble; its +grand pathos, its unutterable sadness, its marvelous sweetness; those +clear, passionate tones reached every heart, no matter how cold, how +hardened it might be--one felt that in listening to it that it was the +voice of a grand, passionate soul. It was full, too, of a kind of +electricity; when Madame Vanira sung she could sway the minds and hearts +of her hearers as the winter winds sway the strong boughs. She drew all +hearts to herself and opened them. When she sung, it was as though she +sung the secret of each heart to its owner. + +They said that her soul was of fire and that the fire caught her +listeners; she had power, genius, dramatic force enough in her to +electrify a whole theater full of people, to lift them out of the +commonplace, to take them with her into the fairyland of romance and +genius, to make them forget everything and anything except herself. + +Such a woman comes once in a century, not oftener. They called her a +siren, a Circe. She was a woman with a passionate soul full of poetry; a +genius with a soul full of power; a woman made to attract souls as the +magnet attracts the needle. + +She made her _debut_ in the theater of San Carlo, in Naples, and the +people had gone wild over her; they serenaded her through the long +starlit night; they cried out her name with every epithet of praise that +could be lavished on her; they raved about her beautiful eyes, her +glorious face, her voice, her acting, her attitudes. + +Then a royal request took her to Russia; a still warmer welcome met her +there; royal hands crowned her with diamonds, royal voices swelled her +triumph; there was no one like La Vanira. She was invited to court and +all honors were lavished on her. + +From there she went to Vienna, where her success was as great; to Paris, +where it was greater, and now she was to make her _debut_ before the +most critical, calm, appreciative audience in Europe. The papers for +weeks had been full of her; they could describe her grand, queenly +beauty, her wonderful acting, her genius, which was alone in the world, +her jewels, her dresses, her attitudes; but there was nothing to say +about her life. + +Even the society journals, usually so well informed, had nothing to say +about Madame Vanira. Whether she were single, or married, or a widow, +none of them knew; of what town, of what nation, even of what family, +none of them knew. + +She seemed to be quite alone in the world, and against her even the +faintest rumor had never been heard; she was of irreproachable +propriety, nay, more, she was of angelic goodness--generous, truthful, +charitable and high-minded. There was not a whisper against her good +name--not one. She had a legion of admirers, none of whom could boast of +a favor; she answered no letters; she gave no interviews; she accepted +no invitations; she visited among some of the most exclusive circles, +where she was received as an equal; she had had offers of marriage that +would have made any other woman vain; she refused them all; she seemed +to live for her art, and nothing else. Such a description naturally +excited the curiosity of people, and the result was a house so crowded +that it was almost impossible to find room. + +"We may think ourselves fortunate," said Lady Chandos. "I have never +seen the house so crowded, and, do not laugh, Lance, I do not see a +prettier toilet than my own." + +Lady Chandos was always well pleased when her husband complimented her +on her dress; if he forgot it, she generally reminded him of it. She +looked very beautiful this evening; her dress was of white satin, +effectively trimmed with dead gold, and she wore diamonds with +rubies--no one there looked better than the queen of blondes. + +"I am quite impatient to see La Vanira," she said to her husband. "I +wonder why she has chosen this opera, 'L'Etoile du Nord;' it is not the +usual thing for a _debutante_." + +Then the words died on her lips and for some minutes she said no more. +The curtain was drawn up and Madame Vanira appeared. There was a dead +silence for some few minutes, then there was a storm of applause; her +beautiful face won it, her grand figure, her eyes, with their fire of +passion, seemed to demand it. + +Of all characters, perhaps that of the loving, impassionate Star of the +North suited her best. In it she found expression for love, her passion +and despair. She stood before what was perhaps the most critical +audience in the world, and she thrilled them with her power. It was no +more a woman; she seemed more like an inspired sibyl; her audience hung +on every note, on every word from those wonderful lips; while she +charmed all ears she charmed all eyes; the beauty of her magnificent +face, the beauty of her superb figure, the grandeur of her attitudes, +the inimitable grace of her actions were something new and wonderful. +From the first moment the curtain rose until it fell the whole audience +was breathless. + +Lady Chandos laid down her jeweled opera-glass while she drew a breath +of relief, it was so wonderful to her, this woman all fire, and genius +and power. + +"Lance," she said to her husband, "what a wonderful face it is. Have you +looked well at it?" + +She glanced carelessly at her husband as she spoke, then started at the +change in him; his whole face had altered, the expression of careless +interest had died, the color and light had died, his dark eyes had a +strained, bewildered look; they were shadowed as though by some great +doubt or fear. + +"Lance," said his wife, "are you not well? You look so strange--quite +unlike yourself." + +He turned away lest she should see his face more plainly, and then she +continued: + +"If you are not well, we will go home, dear; nothing will interest me +without you." + +He made a great effort and spoke to her; but the very tone of his voice +was altered, all the sweetness and music had gone out of it. + +"I am well," he said, "pray do not feel anxious over me; the house is +very full and very warm." + +"What do you think of La Vanira?" continued Lady Chandos; "how very +different she is to any one else." + +He laughed, and the sound was forced and unnatural. + +"I think she is very wonderful," he replied. + +"And beautiful?" asked Lady Marion, with a look of eager anxiety. + +He was too wise and too wary to reply with anything like enthusiasm. + +"Beautiful for those who like brunettes," he answered coldly, and his +wife's heart was at rest. If he had gone into raptures she would have +been disgusted. + +"If she would but leave me in peace," thought Lord Chandos to himself. + +He was bewildered and confused. Before him stood the great and gifted +singer whom kings and emperors had delighted to honor, the most +beautiful and brilliant of women; yet surely those dark, lustrous eyes +had looked in his own; surely he had kissed the quivering lips, over +which such rich strains of music rolled; surely he knew that beautiful +face. He had seen it under the starlight, under the shade of green trees +by the mill-stream; it must be the girl he had loved with such mad love, +and had married more than four years ago. Yet, how could it be? Of Leone +he had never heard one syllable. + +Mr. Sewell had written to Lady Lanswell to tell her of her indignant +rejection of all help, of her disappearance, how she never even returned +to River View for anything belonging to her, and after some time the +countess had told her son. He went to River View and he found the house +closed and the servants gone; he made some inquiries about Leone, but +never heard anything about her. He deplored the fact--it added to his +misery over her. If he could have known that he left her well provided +for he would not have suffered half so much. + +All these years he had never heard one word of her. He had thought of +her continually, more than any one would have imagined; he never knew +what it was to forget her for one minute. His heart was always sad, his +soul sorrowful, his mind ill at ease. The more he thought of it, the +more despicable his own conduct seemed. He hated the thought of it, he +loathed the very memory. + +And here was the face he had seen by the mill-stream, the face which had +haunted him, the face he loved so well--here it was alight with power, +passion and genius. Could this brilliant, gifted singer be Leone, or was +he misled by a wonderful likeness? He could not understand it, he was +bewildered. + +He had wondered a thousand times a day what had become of Leone; he +remembered her wonderful talent, how she read those grand old tragedies +of Shakespeare until she knew them by heart; but could it be possible +that Leone had become the finest singer and the grandest actress in the +world? + +It was in the last grandly pathetic scene that their eyes met, and for +one half moment the gifted woman, on whose lightest breath that vast +crowd hung, swayed to and fro as though she would have fallen; the next +minute she was pouring out the richest streams of melody, and Lady +Chandos said: + +"Is it my fancy, Lance, or was La Vanira looking at you?" + +"I should say it was your fancy, Marion--La Vanira sees nothing lower +than the skies, I think." + +And then the opera ended. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +LANCE'S DETERMINATION. + + +"You have not much to say to me to-night, Lance," said Lady Marion, in a +tone of gentle expostulation. "I wonder if that beautiful singer was +really looking at you. It seemed to me that the moment her eyes caught +yours she faltered and almost failed." + +Lord Chandos roused himself. + +"Give me a woman's fancy," he said; "it is boundless as the deep sea." + +"I think a beautiful singer is like a siren," continued Lady Chandos, +"she wins all hearts." + +He laughed again, a tired, indifferent, reckless laugh. + +"I thought we had agreed that you had won mine, Marion," he said, "and, +if that be true, it cannot be won again." + +She was silent for a few minutes, then she continued: + +"Which do you really admire most, Lance, blonde or brunette, tell me?" + +"A strange question to ask a man who was fortunate enough to win the +queen of blondes for his wife," he replied. + +He would have paid her any compliment--said anything to please her--if +she would only have given him time to think. + +They were driving home together, but he felt it was impossible to remain +under any roof until he had learned whether Leone and La Vanira were the +same. If his dear, good, amiable wife would but give him time to think. +He could hear the sound of the mill-wheel, he could hear the ripple of +the waters, the words of the song: + + "In sheltered vale a mill-wheel + Still sings its busy lay. + My darling once did dwell there, + But now she's gone away." + +The stars were shining as they shone when he sat by the mill-stream, +with that beautiful head on his heart. He shuddered as he remembered her +forebodings. Lady Chandos took his hand anxiously in hers. + +"My dearest Lance, I am quite sure you are not well, I saw you shudder +as though you were cold, and yet your hands are burning hot. What is it +you say about going to your club? Nothing of the kind, my darling. You +must have some white wine whey; you have taken cold. No; pray do not +laugh, Lance, prevention is better than cure." + +She had exactly her own way, as those very quiet, amiable wives +generally have. He did not go to his club, but he sat by his +dressing-room fire, and drank white wine whey. He had the satisfaction +of hearing his wife say that he was the best husband in the world; then +he fell asleep, to dream of the mill-stream and the song. + +It grew upon him--he must know if that was Leone. Of course, he said to +himself, he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with her--he would +never dare, after his cruel treatment of her, even to address one word +to her; but he should be quite content if he could know whether this was +Leone or not. If he could know that he would be happy, his sorrow and +remorse would be lessened. + +He knew that the best place for hearing such details was his club--the +Royal Junior--every one and everything were discussed there, no one +escaped, and what was never known elsewhere was always known at the +Royal Junior. He would take luncheon there and by patient listening +would be sure to know. He went, although Lady Chandos said plaintively +that she could not eat her luncheon alone. + +"I am compelled to go," he said. "I have business, Marion, that is +imperative." + +"I think husbands have a reserve fund of business," said Lady Chandos. +"What a mysterious word it is, and how much it covers, Lance. Lord +Seafield is never at home, but whenever his wife asks him where he is +going, he always says 'on business.' Now, in your case what does +business mean?" + +He laughed at the question. + +"Parliamentary interests, my dear," he replied, as he hastened away. +Such close questions were very difficult to answer. + +He found the dining-rooms well filled, and, just as he had foreseen, the +one subject was La Vanira. Then, indeed, did he listen to some wonderful +stories. The Marquis of Exham declared that she was the daughter of an +illustrious Sicilian nobleman, who had so great a love for the stage +nothing could keep her from it. The Earl of Haleston said he knew for a +fact she was the widow of an Austrian Jew, who had taken to the stage as +the means of gaining her livelihood. Lord Bowden said she was the wife +of an Austrian officer who was possessed of ample means. There were at +least twenty different stories about her, and not one agreed with +another. + +"I wonder," said Lord Chandos, at last, "what is the real truth?" + +"About what?" said a white-haired major, who sat next to him. + +"About La Vanira," he replied; "every one here has a different story to +tell." + +"I can tell you as much truth as any one else about her," said the +major, "I was with the manager last evening. La Vanira is English. I +grant that she looks like a Spaniard--I never saw such dark eyes in my +life; but she is English; accomplished, clever, good as gold, and has no +one belonging to her in the wide world. That much the manager told me +himself." + +"But where does she come from?" he asked, impatiently. "Everybody comes +from somewhere." + +"The manager's idea is that she was brought up in the midland counties; +he thinks so from a few words she said one day." + +"Is she married or single?" asked Lord Chandos. + +"Single," was the reply; "and in no hurry to be married. She has refused +some of the best offers that could be made; and yet she wears a ring on +the third finger of her left hand--perhaps it is not a wedding-ring." + +"I should like to see her," said Lord Chandos. + +The white-haired major laughed. + +"So would half the men in London, but no one visits her--she allows no +introductions. I know a dozen and more who have tried to see her in +vain." + +He was not much wiser after this conversation than before; but he was +more determined to know. That same evening he made another excuse, and +left his wife at Lady Blanchard's ball while he drove to the +opera-house. The opera was almost over, but he saw the manager, to whom +he briefly stated his errand. + +"I believe," he said, "that in Madame Vanira I recognize an old friend. +Will you introduce me to her?" + +"I am sorry to say that I cannot," was the courteous reply. "I promised +madame not to make any introductions to her." + +"Will you take my card to her? If she is the lady I take her to be she +will send word whether she wishes to see me or not." + +The manager complied with his request. He soon returned. + +"Madame Vanira wishes me to say that she has not the pleasure of your +lordship's acquaintance, and that she is compelled to decline any +introduction." + +"Then it is not Leone," he said to himself, and a chill of +disappointment came over him. + +His heart had been beating quickly and warmly, yet he persuaded himself +it was only that he was so pleased to know she was all right and safe +from the frowns of the world. It was not Leone, but she was so much like +Leone that he felt he must go to see her again. + +"The opera to-night?" said Lady Marion, in her sweetest tones. "Why, my +dear Lance, you were there three nights since." + +"Yes, I know, but I thought it pleased you, Marion. We will ask my +mother to go with us. It is the 'Crown Diamonds,' a very favorite opera +of hers." + +"Will Madame Vanira sing?" asked Lady Chandos, and her husband quietly +answered: + +"Yes." + +He was anxious for Lady Lanswell to go, to see if she would recognize +Leone, or if any likeness would strike her. As his chief wish seemed to +be to give pleasure to his mother, and he expressed no desire to see the +beautiful singer again, Lady Chandos was very amiable. She sent a kind +little note to the countess, saying what pleasure it would give them if +she would go to the opera with them, and Lady Lanswell was only too +pleased. The earl had grown tired of such things and never cared to go +out in the evening. + +How anxiously Lord Chandos watched his mother's face. He saw delight, +surprise and wonder, but no recognition--except once, and then the +magnificent arms of the actress were raised in denunciation. Then +something of bewilderment came over Lady Lanswell's face, and she turned +to her son. + +"Lance," she said, "Madame Vanira reminds me of some one, and I cannot +think who it is." + +"Have you seen her before, mother, do you think?" he asked. + +"No, I think not; but she reminds me of some one, I cannot think whom. +Her gestures are more familiar to me than her face." + +Evidently the thought of Leone never entered her mind; and Lord Chandos +was more puzzled than ever. The countess was charmed. + +"What fire, what genius, what power! That is really acting," she said. +"In all my life I have seen nothing better. There is truth in her +tenderness, reality in her sorrow. I shall often come to see Vanira, +Lance." + +So she did, and was often puzzled over the resemblance of some one she +knew; but she never once dreamed of Leone, while, by dint of earnest +watching and study, Lord Chandos became more and more convinced that it +was she. + +He was determined to find out. He was foolish enough to think that if he +could once be sure of it, his heart and mind would be at rest, but until +then there was no rest for him. + +What could he do--how could he know? Then the idea came, to follow her +carriage home. By dint of perseverance he found, at last, that Madame +Vanira had a very pretty house in Hampstead called the Cedars, and he +determined to call and see her there. If he had really been mistaken, +and it were not Leone, he could but apologize; if it were---- + +Ah, well, if it were, he would ask her forgiveness, and she would give +it to him, on account of the love she bore him years ago. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +NEITHER WIFE NOR WIDOW. + + +It was with some trepidation that Lord Chandos presented himself at the +gates of the Cedars, yet surely she who had loved him so well would +never refuse him admission into her house? that is, if it were Leone. As +he walked through the pretty garden and saw all the pretty flowers +blooming, he said to himself, that it was like her. She had always so +dearly loved the spring flowers, the flame of the yellow crocus, the +faint, sweet odor of the violets, the pure heads of the white +snow-drops. He had heard her say so often that she loved these modest, +sweet flowers that come in the spring more than the dainty ones that +bloom in summer-time. + +It was like her, this garden, and yet, he could not tell why. Great +clusters of lilac-trees were budding, the laburnums were thinking of +flowering; but there was no song of running brook, and no ripple of +fountains, no sound of falling water; the birds were busy wooing and +they had so much to sing about. + +There was a profusion of flowers, all the windows seemed full of them; +there was a picturesque look about the place that reminded him of Leone. +On the lawn stood two large cedars, from which the place derived its +name. He went to the hall door. What if she should meet him suddenly and +turn from him in indignant anger? What if it should not be Leone, but a +stranger? + +A pretty housemaid, Parisian, he knew from the type, answered the door, +from whom he inquired, in his most polite fashion, if Madame Vanira was +at home. + +There is no denying the fact that all women are more or less +susceptible to the charms of a handsome face, and Lord Chandos was +handsome--exceedingly. The girl looked up into the dark face and the +dark eyes that always looked admiringly when a woman was near. + +"Madame Vanira sees no one," she replied. + +Something passed rapidly from his hand to hers. + +"You look kind," he said, "be my friend. I think that, years ago, I knew +Madame Vanira. If she be the lady whom I believe her to be, she will be +pleased to see me, and no possible blame can be attached to you. Tell me +where she is that I may find her." + +"Madame is in the morning-room," said the girl, with some hesitation, +"but I shall lose my place if I admit you." + +"I promise you no," said Lord Chandos; "on the contrary, your lady will +be pleased that you are able to discriminate between those whom she +would like to see, and those whom she would not." + +"At least, let me announce you," pleaded the pretty housemaid, in broken +English. + +"No, it would serve no purpose; that is, of course, you can go before me +and open the door--I will follow you immediately. You need only say, 'A +gentleman to see you, madame.' Will you do this?" + +"Yes," said the girl, reluctantly. + +As he followed her through the passage, it did occur to him that if it +were not Leone, he should be in a terrible dilemma. It occurred to him +also, that if it were Leone, what right had he there, with that fair, +sweet wife of his at home--what right had he there? + +He followed the pretty maid through the hall and through a suit of +rooms, furnished with quiet elegance. They came to the door of a room +before which the maid stopped, and Lord Chandos saw that her face had +grown pale. + +She opened it. + +"A gentleman to see you, madame," she said, hastily. + +And then the maid disappeared, and he entered the room. + +Leone was standing with her face to the window when he entered, and he +had one moment in which to look round the room--one moment in which to +control the rapid beating of his heart; then she turned suddenly, and +once more they were face to face. + +Ah, to see the heaven of delight and rapture that came over hers--the +light that came into her eyes; it was as though her face was suddenly +transfigured; all the past in that one moment of rapture was forgotten, +all the treachery, the perfidy, the falsity. + +She uttered one word, "Lance," but it was a cry of unutterable delight. +"Lance," she repeated, and then, with all the light of heaven still +shining in her face, she hid her face on his breast. She did not +remember, she only knew that it was the face of her lost lover, the same +strong, tender arms were clasped round her, the same warm kisses were on +her face, the same passionate, loving heart was beating near her own. +Ah, Heaven, how sweet that one moment was. To die while it lasted, never +to leave the shelter of those dear arms again. She had waited for him +for years, and he had come at last. + +There were a few minutes of silent, rapturous greeting, and then, +suddenly, she remembered, and sprung from him with a low cry. + +"How dare you?" she cried, "I had forgotten. How dare you?" + +Then the sight of the beloved face, the dear eyes, the well-remembered +figure, took all the hot anger from her. + +"Oh, Lance, Lance, I ought not to speak to you or look at you, and yet I +cannot help it. God help me, I cannot help it." + +He was down on his knees by her side, clasping her hands, the folds of +her dress, crying out to her to pardon him; that he had no excuse to +offer her; he had been guilty beyond all guilt; that neither in heaven +nor on earth could there be any pardon for him; that he would have died +a hundred deaths rather than have lost her. + +For some five minutes it was a mad whirl of passion, love and regret. +She was the first to recollect herself, to say to him: + +"Lord Chandos, you must not kneel there; remember you have a wife at +home." + +The words struck him like a sharp sword. He arose and, drawing a chair +for her, stood by her side. + +"I am beside myself," he said, "with the pleasure of seeing you again. +Forgive me, Leone; I will not offend. Oh, what can I say to you? How can +I look upon your face and live?" + +"You were very cruel to me and very treacherous," she said; "your +treachery has spoiled my life. Oh, Lance, how could you be so cruel to +me when I loved you so--how could you?" + +Tears that she had repressed for years rained down her face; all the +bitter grief that she had held in as with an iron hand, all the pride so +long triumphant, all the pain and anguish, and the desolation, that had +been in check, rushed over her, as the tempestuous waves of the sea rush +over the rocks and sands. + +"How could you, Lance?" she cried, wringing her hands; "how could you? +You were cruel and treacherous to me, though I trusted you so. Ah, my +love, my love, how could you?" + +The beautiful head fell forward in the very abandonment of sorrow; great +sobs shook the beautiful figure. + +"Oh, Lance, I loved you so, I believed in you as I believed in Heaven. I +loved you and trusted you, you forsook me and deceived me. Oh, my love, +my love!" + +His face grew white and his strong figure trembled under the pain of her +reproaches. + +"Leone," he said, gently, "every word of yours is a sword in my heart. +Why did I do it? Ah me, why? I have no word of excuse for myself, not +one. I might say that I was under woman's influence, but that would not +excuse me. I take the whole blame, the whole sin upon myself. Can you +ever forgive me?" + +She raised her face to his, all wet with tears. + +"I ought not to forgive you," she said; "I ought to drive you from my +presence; I ought to curse you with my ruined life, but I cannot. Oh, +Lance, if I only lay under the waters of the mill-stream, dead." + +The passion of her grief was terrible to see. He forgot all and +everything but her--the wife at home, the plighted vows, honor, truth, +loyalty--all and everything except the girl whom he had loved with a mad +love, and her grief. He drew her to his breast, he kissed away the +shining tears; he kissed the trembling lips. + +"Leone, you will drive me mad. Great God, what have I done? I realize it +now; I had better have died," and then the strength of the strong man +gave way, and he wept like a child. "It is no excuse," he said, "to +plead that I was young, foolish, and easily led. Oh, Leone, my only +love, what was I doing when I gave you up--when I left you?" + +The violence of his grief somewhat restrained hers; she was half +frightened at it. + +"We are making matters worse," she said. "Lance, we must not forget that +you are married now in earnest." + +"Will you ever forgive me?" he asked. "I have no excuse to offer. I own +that my sin was the most disloyal and the most traitorous a man could +commit, but forgive me, Leone. I have repented of it in sackcloth and +ashes. Say you forgive me." + +The beautiful, colorless face did not soften at the words. + +"I cannot," she said; "I cannot forgive that treachery, Lance; it has +wounded me even unto death. How can I forgive it?" + +"My darling--Leone--say you will pardon me. I will do anything to atone +for it." + +She laid one white hand on his arm. + +"You see, Lance," she said, earnestly, "it is one of those things for +which you can never atone--one that can never be undone--but one which +will brand me forever. What am I? Did you stop to think of that when +your new love tempted you? What am I? not your wife--not your widow. Oh +God, what am I?" + +He drew her to him again, but this time she resisted his warm kisses. + +"Leone," he said sadly, "I deserve to be shot. I hate myself--I loathe +myself. I cannot imagine how I failed in my duty and loyalty to you. I +can only say that I was young and thoughtless--easily led. Heaven help +me, I had no mind of my own, but I have suffered so cruelly and so have +you, my darling--so have you." + +"I?" she replied. "When you can count the leaves in the forest, or the +sands on the seashore, you will know what I have suffered, not until +then." + +Her voice died away in a melancholy cadence that to him was like the +last wailing breath of the summer wind in the trees. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +"FORGIVE ME, LEONE." + + +"Lance," she said, suddenly, "or, as I ought to say, Lord Chandos--how +can I forgive you? What you ask is more than any woman could grant. I +cannot pardon the treachery which has ruined my life, which has stricken +me, without blame or fault of mine, from the roll of honorable +women--which has made me a by-word, a mark for the scorn and contempt of +others, a woman to be contemned and despised. Of what use are all the +gifts of Heaven to me, with the scarlet brand you have marked on my +brow?" + +He grew white, even to the lips, as the passionate words reached his +ears. + +"Leone," he cried, "for God's sake spare me. I have no defense--no +excuse; spare me; your words kill me. They are not true, my darling; +none of what happened was your fault--you were innocent and blameless as +a child; you are the same now. Would to Heaven all women were pure and +honorable as you. Say what you will to me, no punishment would be too +great for me--but say nothing yourself; never one word, Leone. Could you +forgive me? I have done you the most cruel wrong, and I have no excuse +to offer--nothing but my foolish youth, my mad folly, my unmanly +weakness. I have known it ever since I married. You are my only love; I +have never had another. Ah, my darling, forgive me. If I have ruined +your life, I have doubly ruined my own." + +She raised her beautiful, colorless face to his. + +"Lance," she said, gently, "what a prophecy that song held for us. And +the running water--how true a foreboding it always murmured: + + "'The vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broken.' + +How true and how cruel. I hear the song and I hear the murmur of the +water in my dreams." + +"So do I," he replied, sadly. "My darling, I wish we never left the +mill-stream. I would to Heaven we had died under the running water +together." + +"So do I," she said, "but we are living, not dead, and life holds duties +just as death holds relief. We must remember much harm has been done--we +need not do more." + +"Say that you will forgive me, Leone, and then I do not care what +happens. I will do anything you tell me. I will humble myself in every +way. I will do anything you can desire if you will only forgive me. Do, +for Heaven's sake. I am so utterly wretched that I believe if you refuse +to say one word of pardon to me I shall go mad or kill myself." + +There was a long struggle in her mind. Could she forgive the injury +which seemed greater than man had ever inflicted on woman? She was very +proud, and her pride was all in arms. How could she pardon a traitor? +She had loved him better than her life, and with the first sight of his +handsome, beloved face all the glamour of her love was over her again. + +How could she forgive him? Yet the proud figure was bent so humbly +before her, the proud head so low. + +"What am I to say?" she cried. "I was a good and innocent girl--now it +seems to me that the evil spirits of passion and unrest have taken +possession of me. What am I to say or to do? Heaven help and teach me." + +"Forgive me," he repeated. "Your refusal will send me away a madman, +ready for any reckless action. Your consent will humble me, but it will +make me happier. Oh, my darling, forgive me." + +"Suppose that harm follows my forgiveness--we are better enemies than +friends, Lord Chandos." + +"We will never be enemies, and no harm can come except that I shall be +happier for it. Say you will forgive me, Leone. See, I ask your pardon +on my knees. For Heaven's sake, for my great love's sake, say you +forgive me!" + +He knelt before her humbly as a child, he bowed his handsome head until +his face rested on her knees; he sobbed aloud in his sorrow and his deep +regret. She stood for a few minutes quite uncertain; her clear reason +and common sense told her that it would be better if she would refuse +him pardon, and that they should part for all time; but love and pity +pleaded, and of course love and pity won. She laid her hand on the dark +head of the man whom she had once believed her husband; her beautiful +face quivered with emotion. + +"I forgive you," she said, "freely, frankly, fully, as I hope Heaven +will forgive me all my sins. Nay, you must not kiss me, not even my +hand. Your kisses belong to some one else now--not to me. I forgive you, +but we must part again. Come what may--we must part, we must not meet +again." + +"I can never part with you," he said, in a hoarse voice. "You have been +life of my life, heart of my heart too long for that." + +She held up her hand with a superb gesture of warning and silence. + +"Hush, Lord Chandos," she said; "if you speak to me in that strain, I +shall never see you again. Remember you have a wife; you must not be +false to two women--keep true to one. Neither your kisses nor your +loving words belong to me now." + +"I will not offend you," he said, sadly. + +She leaned her beautiful arms on the table, her white hands under her +chin, looking steadily at him. + +"I have forgiven you," she said, musingly, "I, who have sworn such +terrible oaths, such bitter revenge, I have ended by forgiving you, +after the fashion of the most milk-and-water type of women. I have +forgiven you, and Heaven knows how I tried to hate you, and have tried +to take pleasure in the thoughts of my vengeance." + +"You have had your vengeance on me, Leone, in the shape of the love that +has never left me, and the memories which have haunted me. You swore +vengeance against my mother, but you will forego that." + +A slow smile came over her face and died away again. + +"Lord Chandos," she said, "you will not be my debtor in generosity. You +have asked me to pardon you; I have done so. Grant me one favor in +return--tell me who influenced you to forsake me?" + +He looked puzzled. + +"I hardly know, Leone, I can hardly tell you." + +"It was not the lady whom you have married," she continued, "of that I +am sure. Who was it?" + +"I think if any one influenced me it must have been my mother," he said, +gently; "she was always violently opposed to it." + +The beautiful lips paled and trembled. + +"I thought it was your mother," she said, gravely, "No, I shall not +forego my vengeance against her, although I know not when I may gain +it." + +"You will forget all that," he said. "You are too noble to care for +vengeance." + +"I am not too noble," she replied. "All that was best and noble in me +died on the day you forsook me. And now, Lord Chandos, listen to me. +Words of peace and pardon have passed between us. It has raised a heavy +funeral pall from my life; it has, perhaps, raised a black cloud from +yours. Lord Chandos, we must not meet again." + +"You cannot be so cruel, Leone. Having found you, how can I lose you +again?" + +"You must, it is imperative," she said slowly. + +"But, Leone, why should we not be friends?" he said, gently. + +She laughed a hard, scornful laugh that struck him in the face like the +sting of a sharp blade. + +"Friends?" she repeated. "Could we who have been wedded lovers ever be +friends? You do not know what words mean if you think that." + +He stood before her with a stern, white face. + +"Leone," he cried, "are you really going to be cruel enough to send me +away out of your life again, I who have been mad with joy at finding +you?" + +"If I were cruel," she said, slowly, "now I would take my vengeance. I +should say as you once left me so now I leave you, but I am not cruel, +and that is my reason. My reason is a good and pure one; we could never +remain friends, we love each other too much for that; we must live as +strangers now; and remember, it is your fault, not mine." + +"I cannot submit to it," he cried. + +But she looked at him with a face stern, resolute, fixed as his own. + +"Remember, Lord Chandos," she said, "that I am my own mistress. I can +choose my friends and associates. I refuse to admit you among the +number." + +"You cannot prevent me from coming to see you, Leone." + +"No; but I can, and shall, refuse to see you when you come," she +replied; "and I shall do so." + +"Oh, my love, my cruel, beautiful love," he cried. + +The girl's face flushed with hot anger and indignation. + +"Will you be silent?" she cried. "Shame on you, Lord Chandos, to use +such words. You have a beautiful and beloved wife at home to whom all +your love and fidelity belong. If you say one more such word to me I +will never see you again." + +"But, Leone, it seems so very hard; you might let me call at times and +see you." + +"No, I cannot, I cannot trust myself, even if I could trust you. I have +had no other husband, no other love; you have married. I would not trust +myself; my love is as great now as ever it was, but it shall not run +away with me; it shall not be my master. I will master it. You must not +come near me." + +"But, surely, if I meet you in the street, you will not ask me to pass +you by?" he said. + +"No; if we meet quite by chance, quite by accident, I will always speak +to you. Ah, Lance," she added, with a smile, "I know you so well, I know +every look in your eyes; you are thinking to yourself you will often see +me by accident. You must not; such honor as you have left me let me +keep." + +"If this is to be our last interview, for some time, at least," he +continued, "tell me, Leone, how is it that you have become so famous?" + +"Yes, I will tell you all about that; I am rather proud of my power. It +is not a long story, and it dates from the day on which your mother sent +me that letter." + +She told him all her studies, her struggles, her perseverance, her +success, finally her crowning by fame. + +"It is like a romance," he said. + +"Yes, only it is true," she replied. + +He tried to prolong the interview, but she would close it; and he was +compelled to leave her, when he would have given years of his life to +have remained one hour longer. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +"LET US BE FRIENDS." + + +"Lance," said the sweet voice of Lady Marion, plaintively, "I am +beginning to have a faint suspicion about you." + +"Indeed. Your suspicions are not faint as a rule. What is this?" + +"I am afraid that you are growing just a little tired of me," said the +beautiful queen of blondes. + +"What makes you think so?" he asked, trying to laugh, as he would have +done a few weeks since at such an accusation. + +"Several reasons. You are not so attentive to me as you used to be; you +do not seem to listen when I speak; you have grown so absent-minded; and +then you say such strange things in your sleep." + +He looked grave for half a minute, then laughed carelessly. + +"Do I? Then I ought to be ashamed of myself. Men talk enough in their +waking hours without talking in their sleep. What do I say, Marion?" + +He asked the question carelessly enough, but there was an anxious look +in his dark eyes. + +"I cannot tell; I hardly remember," said Lady Chandos; "but you are +always asking some one to forgive you and see you. Have you ever +offended any one very much, Lance?" + +"I hope not," he replied. "Dreams are so strange, and I do not think +they are often true reflections of our lives. Have you any further +reason for saying I am growing tired of you? It is a vexed question, and +we may as well settle it now as renew the argument." + +"No, I have no other reason. Lance, you are not cross with me, dear?" + +"No, I am not cross; but, at the same time, I must say frankly I do not +like the idea of a jealous wife; it is very distasteful to me." + +Lady Marion raised her eyes in wonder. + +"Jealous, Lance?" she repeated. "I am not jealous. Of whom could I be +jealous? I never see you pay the least attention to any one." + +"Jealous wives, as a rule, begin by accusing their husbands of cooling +love, want of attention, and all that kind of thing." + +"But, Lance," continued the beautiful woman, "are you quite sure that +there is no truth in what I say?" + +He looked at her with a dreamy gaze in his dark eyes. + +"I am quite sure," he replied. "I love you, Marion, as much as ever I +did, and I have not noticed in the least that I have failed in any +attention toward you; if I have I will amend my ways." + +He kissed the fair face bent so lovingly over him; and his wife laid her +fair arms round his neck. + +"I should not like to be jealous," she said; "but I must have your whole +heart, Lance; I could not be content with a share of it." + +"Who could share it with you?" he asked, evasively. + +"I do not know, I only know that it must be all or none for me," she +answered. "It is all--is it not, Lance?" + +He kissed her and would fain have said yes, but it came home to him with +a sharp conviction that his heart had been given to one woman, and one +only--no other could ever possess it. + +A few days afterward, when Lord Chandos expressed a wish to go to the +opera again, his wife looked at him in wonder. + +"Again?" she said. "Why, Lance, it is only two nights since you were +there, and it is the same opera; you will grow tired of it." + +"The only amusement I really care for is the opera," he said. "I am +growing too lazy for balls, but I never tire of music." + +He said to himself, that if for the future he wished to go to the opera +he would not mention the fact, but would go without her. + +They went out that evening: the opera was "Norma." Lord Chandos heard +nothing and saw nothing but the wondrous face of Norma; every note of +that music went home to his heart--the love, the trust, the reproaches. +When she sang them in her grandly pathetic voice, it was as though each +one were addressed to himself. Three times did Lady Chandos address him +without any response, a thing which in her eyes was little less than a +crime. + +"How you watch La Vanira," she said. "I am sure you admire her very +much." + +He looked at her with eyes that were dazed--that saw nothing; the eyes +of a man more than half mad. + +"And now look," she said. "Why, Lance, La Vanira is looking at me. What +eyes she has. They stir my very heart and trouble me. They are saying +something to me." + +"Marion, hush! What are you talking about?" he cried. + +"La Vanira's eyes--she is looking at me, Lance." + +"Nonsense!" he said, and the one word was so abruptly pronounced that +Lady Chandos felt sure it was nonsense and said no more. + +But after that evening he said no more about going to the opera. If he +felt any wish to go, he would go; it would be quite easy for him to make +some excuse to her. + +And those evenings grew more and more frequent. He did not dare to +disobey Leone; he did not dare to go to her house, or to offer to see +her in the opera house. He tried hard to meet her accidentally, but that +happy accident never occurred; yet he could not rest, he must see her; +something that was stronger than himself drew him near her. + +He was weak of purpose; he never resolutely took himself in hand and +said: + +"I am married now. I have a wife at home. Leone's beauty, Leone's +talents, are all less than nothing to me. I will be true to my wife." + +He never said that; he never braced his will, or his energies to the +task of forgetting her; he dallied with the temptation as he had done +before; he allowed himself to be tempted as he had done before; the +result was that he fell as he had fallen before. + +Every day his first thought was how he could possibly get away that +evening without drawing particular attention to his movements; and he +went so often that people began to laugh and to tease him and to wonder +why he was always there. + +Leone always saw him. If any one had been shrewd and quick enough to +follow her, they would have seen that she played to one person; that her +eyes turned to him continually; that the gestures of her white arms +seemed to woo him. She never smiled at him, but there were times, when +she was singing some lingering, pathetic notes, it seemed as though she +were almost waiting for him to answer her. + +He did not dare to go behind the scenes, to linger near the door, to +wait for her carriage, but his life was consumed with the one eager +desire to see her. He went night after night to the box; he sat in the +same place; he leaned his arms on the same spot, watching her with eyes +that seemed to flash fire as they rested on her. + +People remarked it at last, and began to wonder if it could be possible +that Lord Chandos, with that beautiful wife, the queen of blondes, was +beginning to care for La Vanira; he never missed one night of her +acting, and he saw nothing but her when she was on the stage. + +Again one evening Lady Chandos said to him: + +"Lance, have you noticed how seldom you spend an evening--that is, the +whole of an evening--with me? If you go to a ball with me, it seems to +me that you are always absent for an hour or two." + +"You have a vivid imagination, my dear wife," he replied. + +And yet he knew it was on the night Leone played; he could no more have +kept from going to see her than he could have flown; it was stronger +than himself, the impulse that led him there. + +Then his nights became all fever; his days all unrest; his whole heart +and soul craved with passionate longing for one half hour with her, and +yet he dared not seek it. Even then, had he striven to conquer his love, +and have resolutely thought of his duty, his good faith and his loyalty, +he would have conquered, as any strong man can conquer when he likes; he +never tried. When the impulse led him, he went; when the temptation came +to him to think of her, he thought of her, when the temptation came to +him to love her, he gave way to it and never once set his will against +it. + +Then, when the fever of his longing consumed him, and his life had grown +intolerable to him, he wrote a note to her; it said simply: + + "DEAR LEONE,--Life is very sad. Do let us be friends--why should we + not? Life is so short. Let us be friends. I am very miserable; + seeing you sometimes would make me happy. Let us be friends, Leone. + Why refuse me? I will never speak of love--the word shall never be + mentioned. You shall be to me like my dearest, best-beloved sister. + I will be your brother, your servant, and your friend; only give + me, for God's dear sake, the comfort of seeing you. Leone, be + friends." + +It was one evening when she was tired that this letter was brought to +her. She read it with weeping eyes; life was hard; she found it so. She +loved her art, she lived in it, but she was only a woman, and she wanted +the comfort of a human love and friendship. + +Wearily enough she repeated the words to herself: + +"Let us be friends. As he says, 'life is short.' The comfort will be +small enough, Heaven knows, but it will be better than nothing. Yes, we +will be friends." + +So she answered the letter in a few words, telling him if he really +wished what he said, she would discuss the prudence of such a friendship +with him. + +This letter of hers fell into the hands of Lady Marion. She looked at +the fine, beautiful, clear handwriting. + +"Lance, this is from a lady," she said. + +When he took it from her his face flushed, for he knew the hand. + +"It is from a lady," she repeated. + +"It is on business," he replied, coldly, putting the envelope aside; +and, to his intense delight, Lady Marion forgot it. + +He was to go and see her. It was wrong to be so pleased, he knew, but he +did not even try to hide his delight over it. + +When should he go? He should count the hours--he could not wait longer +than to-morrow. Would she be willing; or would she not? How long the +hours seemed, yet they passed, and once more he was at the Cedars. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +BECOMING SUSPICIOUS. + + +So they made the second great mistake of their lives. These two, who had +been married lovers, fancied they could be friends. If it had not been +so sad and so pitiful, it would have been amusing to have heard the +conditions of that friendship--they were as numerous as the +preliminaries of an article of peace. They made all arrangements; their +friendship was to be of the purest and most platonic nature; there was +to be nothing said which would remind them of the past; he was to shake +hands with her when he came and when he went; he might pay her a visit +twice or three times a week; if they met, they were to be on friendly +terms; they would discuss art, literature, and music--anything and +everything except their own story; they were to take an interest in each +other's lives and fortunes. + +"I shall take such a pride in your career, Leone," said Lord Chandos, in +all good faith; "it will be the dearest part of my life." + +She held up one white finger with a smile; that was trespassing on +forbidden ground. He must not break the new code of friendship by saying +such things. + +"We are friends, not lovers, Lord Chandos," she said, gently; "you will +annoy me if you forget that. The dearer part of your life is at home." + +He apologized for the words. + +"I mean," he said, "that I shall take the keenest interest in your +career, and watch it with pride." + +"That is right, as I shall yours, Lord Chandos. I am proud of you, I am +proud when I read your speeches; it seems to me no other man ever spoke +so well. I am proud when I read that the rising man of the day is Lord +Chandos, that England looks to Lord Chandos as a great power and a +promising statesman. Ah, yes, I am proud of you when I read those +things. Your face, your eager, hopeful eyes rise before me, and I say to +myself, 'Ah, yes, he is a genius, and the world knows it.' It is +pleasant to have true friends, such as we shall be to each other." + +"Yes," he had answered her, with a sigh; "we should have been foolish +indeed, Leone, to have deprived ourselves of this, the only consolation +left in life for either of us. We shall be more happy as friends, Leone; +it would have been too horrible to have been always apart." + +They hedged themselves round with precautions; they were to be so +prudent; they were not to address each other as Lance and Leone; they +were never to sing old songs together; he was not to go behind the +scenes in the theater, he was not to wait for her in the evening. She +said to him laughingly, that they ought to have these conditions of +friendship written down as they write down the articles of war or the +preliminaries of peace. + +"We ought to have parchment strong as parchment can be; but, Lord +Chandos, we must keep to our rules, no matter what happens." + +So they intended, and neither of them had the faintest idea of ever +deviating from the rules laid down. It was better than nothing, spending +a few hours with her each week was refreshing as an oasis in a desert; +he eagerly looked forward to those days on which he was permitted to +call, and before long these visits became chiefly the event of his +life--he thought of little else. + +So it gradually came about that the stronger nature gained the +ascendency, the stronger soul gained the upper hand in his life. The +love of Leone had always been by far the strongest element in his life; +it had been set aside by a series of clever maneuvers, but now it +resumed its sway. He did not intend it; he was weak enough and foolish +enough to think that the prudent friendship could replace mad love, and +he was not very long before he found out his mistake. But at first all +went well--her praise stimulated him, he gave loose to the fiery +eloquence that was natural to him. Knowing that she would read and +criticise every word, he took more pride and pleasure in his public life +than he had ever done before; he liked to hear her criticisms on his +opinions and actions; he was delighted with the interest she took in his +works. + +At times the visits he paid were all occupied with the discussion of +these details. He would tell her of some great oration or speech that he +intended to make on some important measure, she would talk it over to +him, and her marvelous intelligence, her bright wit and originality +always threw some new light on the matter, some more picturesque view. +In this she differed from Lady Marion, who was more timid and retiring, +who looked upon everything connected with public life as a dreadful +ordeal, who, fond as she was of literature, could not read a newspaper, +who, dearly as she loved her husband, could not interest herself in his +career. + +So gradually and slowly the old love threw its glamour over them, slowly +the master passion took its place again in Lord Chandos' life, but just +at that time it was unknown to himself. It came at last that the only +real life for him was the time spent with her--the morning hours when he +discussed all the topics of the day with her, and the evening when he +leaned over his opera box, his eyes drinking in the marvelous beauty of +her face. + +Then, as a matter of course, Lady Marion began to wonder where he went. +He had been accustomed, when he had finished his breakfast, always to +consult her about the day's plans--whether she liked to walk, ride, or +drive, and he had always been her companion; but now it often happened +that he would say to her: + +"Marion, drive with my mother this morning, she likes to have you with +her; my father goes out so little, you know." + +She always smiled with the most amiable air of compliance with his +wishes, but she looked up at him on this particular morning. + +"Where are you going, Lance?" she asked. Her eyes took in, in their +quiet fashion, every detail of his appearance, even to the dainty exotic +in his button-hole. + +Lord Chandos had a habit of blushing--his dark face would flush like a +girl's when any sudden emotion stirred him--it did so now, and she, with +wondering eyes, noticed the flush. + +"Why, Lance," she said, "you are blushing; blushing just like a girl, +because I just asked you where you were going." + +And though the fiery red burned the dark skin, he managed to look calmly +at his wife and say: + +"You are always fanciful over me, Marion, and your fancies are not +always correct." + +She was one of the sweetest and most amiable of women, no one ever saw +her ruffled or impatient. She went up to him now with the loveliest +smile, and laid her fair arms round his neck; the very heaven of repose +was in the eyes she raised to his. + +"My darling Lance," she said, "I can never have any fancy over you; my +thoughts about you are always true." She laid one slim, white hand on +his face. "Why, your face burns now," she said, and he made some little +gesture of impatience, and then his heart smote him. She was so fair, so +gentle, and loved him so dearly. + +"Have I vexed you, Lance?" she said. "I did not mean to do so. If you do +not like me to ask you where you are going, I will not, but it seems to +me such a simple thing." + +"How can I object, or, rather, why should I object to tell you where I +go, Marion? Here is my note-book; open it and read." + +But when he said the words he knew that on his note-book there was no +mention of Leone's name, and again his heart smote him. It was so very +easy to deceive this fair, trusting woman. Lady Chandos put the +note-book back in his pocket. + +"I do not want to see it, Lance. I merely asked you the question because +you looked so very nice, and you have chosen such a beautiful flower. I +thought you were going to pay some particular visit." + +He kissed the sweet, wistful face raised to his, and changed the +subject. + +"Do I not always look what you ladies call 'nice'?" he asked, +laughingly; and she looked admiringly at him. + +"You are always nice to me, Lance; there is no one like you. I often +wonder if other wives are as proud of their husbands as I am of you? Now +I shall try to remember that you do not like me to ask you where you are +going. The greatest pleasure I have on earth is complying with every +little wish of yours." + +He could not help kissing her again, she was so sweet, so gentle, so +kind, yet his heart smote him. Ah, Heaven! if life had been different to +him; if he had been but firmer of purpose, stronger of will! He left her +with an uneasy mind and a sore heart. + +Lady Marion was more than usually thoughtful after he had gone. She +could not quite understand. + +The time had been when he had never left the house without saying +something about where he was going; now his absences were long, and she +did not know where his time was spent. + +Lady Lanswell noticed the unusual shadow on the girl's sweet face, and +in her quick, impetuous way asked her about it. + +"Marion, you are anxious or thoughtful--which is it?" she asked. + +"Thoughtful," said Lady Chandos. "I am not anxious, not in the least." + +"Of what are you thinking, that it brings a shadow on that dear face of +yours?" said Lady Lanswell, kindly. + +Lady Chandos turned to her, and in a low tone of voice said: + +"Has Lance any very old or intimate friends in London?" + +"No; none that I know of. He knows a great many people, of course, and +some very intimately, but I am not aware of any especial friendship. Why +do you ask me?" + +"I fancied he had; he is so much more from home than he used to be, and +does not say where he goes." + +"My dear Marion," said the countess, kindly, "Lance has many occupations +and many cares; he cannot possibly tell you every detail of how and +where he passes the time. Let me give you a little warning; never give +way to any little suspicions of your husband; that is always the +beginning of domestic misery; trust him all in all. Lance is loyal and +true to you; do not tease him with suspicions and little jealousies." + +"I am not jealous," said Lady Chandos, "but it seems to me only natural +that I should like to know where my husband passes his time." + +The older and wiser woman thought to herself, with a sigh, that it might +be quite as well that she should not know. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +"DEATH ENDS EVERYTHING." + + +Madame Vanira became one of the greatest features of the day. Her beauty +and her singing made her the wonder of the world. Royalty delighted to +honor her. One evening after she had entranced a whole audience, keeping +them hanging, as it were, on every silvery note that came from her +lovely lips--people were almost wild over her--they had called her until +they were tired. Popular enthusiasm had never been so aroused. And then +the greatest honor ever paid to any singer was paid to her. Royal lips +praised her and the highest personage in the land presented her with a +diamond bracelet, worthy of the donor and the recipient. Her triumph was +at its height; that night the opera in which she played was the "Crown +Diamonds." Her singing had been perfection, her acting magnificent; she +bad electrified the audience as no other _artiste_ living could have +done; her passion, her power, her genius had carried them with her. When +she quitted the stage it was as though they woke from a long trance of +delight. + +That evening crowned her "Queen of Song." No one who saw her ever forgot +her. The next morning the papers raved about her; they prophesied a new +era for music and for the stage; it was, perhaps, the most triumphant +night of her great career. She had the gift which makes an actress or a +singer; she could impress her individuality on people; she made a mark +on the hearts and minds of those who saw her that was never effaced; her +gestures, her face, her figure, her magnificent attitudes stood out +vivid and clear, while they lived distinct from any others. + +"Where royalty smiles, other people laugh," says the old proverb. No +sooner was it known that the warmest praise kindly and royal lips could +give had been given to Madame Vanira than she became at once the darling +of the world of fashion. + +Invitations poured in upon her, the most princely mansions in London +were thrown open to her; the _creme de la creme_ of the _elite_ sought +her eagerly; there was nothing like her; her beauty and her genius +inthralled every one. The time came when she was the most popular and +the most eagerly sought after woman in London, yet she cared little for +society; her art was the one thing she lived for, and her friendship +with Lord Chandos. One day she said to him: + +"I have never seen Lady Marion. What is she like?" + +He noticed then and afterward that she never spoke of the queen of +blondes as Lady Chandos, or as "your wife," but always as Lady Marion. + +This was a beautiful morning in May, and there, sitting under the great +cedar-tree on the lawn, all the sweet-smelling wind wafting luscious +odors from jasmine and honeysuckle, the brilliant sun shining down on +them, he had been reading to her the notes of a speech by which he hoped +to do wonders; she had suggested some alterations, and, as he found, +improvements; then she sat silently musing. After some time she startled +him with the question: + +"What is Lady Marion like?" + +"Did you not see her," he replied, "on the first evening we were at the +opera? She was by my side, and you saw me. Nay, I remember that she told +me you were looking at her, and that your eyes magnetized hers." + +"I remember the evening," said Leone sadly, "but I do not remember +seeing my lady. I--I saw nothing but you. Tell me what she is like. Is +she very beautiful?" she asked, and the tone of her voice was very +wistful. + +"Yes; she is very fine and queenly," he replied; "she is very quiet, +gentle, and amiable. Would you like to see her, Leone?" + +A sudden flame of passion flashed in those dark eyes, and then died +away. + +"Yes, I should like just once to see her. She is very clever, is she +not?" + +"Yes, in a quiet way. She plays beautifully, and she composes pretty +airs to pretty words." + +Leone looked up, with vivid interest in her face. + +"Does she? Ah, that is greater art than being able to sing the music +another has written." + +"I do not think so," he replied. "If you are thinking of Lady Marion in +comparison with yourself, there is no comparison; it is like moonlight +and sunlight, water and wine. She has the grace and calm of repose. You +have the fire of genius, before which everything grows pale. She quiets +a man's heart. You stir every pulse in it. She soothes one into +forgetfulness of life. You brace and animate and brighten. You cannot +compare the two characters, because they are quite different. You are +smiling. What amuses you?" + +"Nothing. I was not amused, Lord Chandos. I was thinking, and the +thought I smiled over was not amusing." + +"What was it?" + +"I was thinking of how it would be the same, the end of all; all grace, +gifts, and talents; all beauty and genius. I read some lines yesterday +that have haunted me ever since. Shall I repeat them to you?" + +"It is always a great treat to hear you recite poetry," he replied. "I +shall be only too delighted." + +Her beautiful face grew more beautiful and more earnest, as it always +did under the influence of noble words. Her voice was sweeter than that +of a singing-bird, and stirred every pulse in the heart of the listener +as she recited this little poem: + + "While roses are so red, + While lilies are so white, + Shall a woman exalt her face + Because it gives delight? + She's not so sweet as a rose, + A lily is straighter than she, + And if she were as red or white, + She'd be but one of three. + + "Whether she flush in love's summer, + Or in its winter grow pale, + Whether she flaunt her beauty, + Or hide it in a veil; + Be she red or white, + And stand she erect or bowed, + Time will win the race he runs with her, + And hide her away in a shroud." + +"Those words took my fancy, Lord Chandos," continued Leone; "they are so +true, so terribly true. All grace and beauty will be hidden away some +day in a shroud." + +"There will be no shroud for the soul," he said. + +She rose from her seat and looked round with a weary sigh. + +"That is true. After all, nothing matters, death ends everything; +nothing matters except being good and going to heaven." + +He smiled half sadly at her. + +"Those are grave thoughts for the most brilliant beauty, the most gifted +singer, the most popular queen of the day," he said. + +"The brilliant beauty will be a mere handful of dust and ashes some +day," she said. + +Then Lord Chandos rose from his seat with a shudder. + +"Let us go out into the sunlight," he said; "the shade under the old +cedar makes you dull. How you have changed! I can remember when you +never had a dull thought." + +"I can remember when I had no cause for dull thoughts," she answered. +Then, fancying that the words implied some little reproach to him, she +continued, hastily: "My soul has grown larger, and the larger one's soul +the more one suffers. I have understood more of human nature since I +have tried to represent the woes of others." + +He glanced at her with sudden interest. + +"Which, of all the characters you represent, do you prefer?" he asked. + +"I can hardly tell you. I like Norma very much--the stately, proud, +loving woman, who has struggled so much with her pride, with her sense +of duty, with her sacred character, who fought human love inch by inch, +who yielded at last; who made the greatest sacrifice a woman could make, +who risked her life and dearer than her life for her love. All the +passion and power in my nature rises to that character." + +"That is easily seen," he replied. "There have been many Normas, but +none like you." + +Her face brightened; it was so sweet to be praised by him! + +"And then," she continued, "the grand tragedy of passion and despair, +the noble, queenly woman who has sacrificed everything to the man she +loves finds that she has a rival--a young, beautiful, beloved rival." +She clasped her hands with the manner of a queen. "My whole soul rises +to that," she continued; "I understand it--the passion, the anguish, the +despair!" + +His dark eyes, full of admiration, were riveted on her. + +"Who would have thought," he said, gravely, "that you had such a marvel +of genius in you?" + +"You are very good to call it genius," she said. "I always knew I had +something in me that was not to be described or understood--something +that made me different from other people; but I never knew what it was. +Do you know those two lines: + + "'The poets learn in suffering + What they tell in song.' + +"I think the passion of anguish and pain taught me to interpret the pains +and joys of others. There is another opera I love--'L'Etoile du Nord.' +The grave, tender, grand character of Catherine, with her passionate +love, her despair, and her madness, holds me in thrall. There is no love +without madness." + +A deep sigh from her companion aroused her, and she remembered that she +was on dangerous ground; still the subject had a great charm for her. + +"If I ever wrote an opera," she said, "I should have jealousy for my +ground-work." + +"Why?" he asked, briefly. + +"Because," she replied, "it is the strongest of all passions." + +"Stronger than love?" he asked. + +"I shall always think they go together," said Leone. "I know that +philosophers call jealousy the passion of ignoble minds; I am not so +sure of it. It goes, I think, with all great love, but not with calm, +well-controlled affection. I should make it the subject of my opera, +because it is so strong, so deep, so bitter; it transforms one, it +changes angels into demons. We will not talk about it." She drew a +little jeweled watch from her pocket. "Lord Chandos," she said, "we have +been talking two hours, and you must not stay any longer." + +When he was gone she said to herself that she would not ask him any more +questions about Lady Marion. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +THE RIVALS FACE TO FACE. + + +Madame de Chandalle gave a grand SOIREE, and she said to herself that it +should be one of the greatest successes of the season. Three women were +especially popular and sought after: Madame Vanira, whose beauty and +genius made her queen of society; Lady Chandos, whose fair, tranquil +loveliness was to men like the light of the fair moon, and Miss Bygrave, +the most brilliant of brunettes--the most proud and exclusive of ladies. + +Madame de Chandalle thought if she could but insure the presence of all +three at once, her _soiree_ would be the success of the season. She went +in person to invite the great singer herself, a compliment she seldom +paid to any one, and Leone at first refused. Madame de Chandalle looked +imploringly at her. + +"What can I offer as an inducement? The loveliest woman in London, Lady +Chandos, will be there. That will not tempt you, I am afraid." + +She little knew how much. + +As Leone heard the words, her heart beat wildly. Lady Chandos, the fair +woman who was her rival. She had longed to see her, and here was a +chance. She dreaded, yet desired to look at her, to see what the woman +was like whom Lance had forsaken her for. The longing tempted her. + +"Your desire to welcome me," she said, gracefully, "is the greatest +inducement you can offer me." + +And Madame de Chandalle smiled at her victory. + +Madame de Chandalle was the widow of an eminent French general. She +preferred London to Paris. She was mistress of a large fortune, and gave +the best entertainments of the season. + +She knew that the beautiful singer accepted but few of the many +invitations sent to her. Last week she had declined the invitations of a +duchess and the wife of an American millionaire. She was doubly +delighted that her own was accepted. The same was for Tuesday evening. +On that evening Leone was free, and she had some idea that madame had +chosen it purposely. + +At last she was to see Lance's wife, the woman whom the laws of man, of +society, and the world had placed in her place, given her position, her +name, her love--the woman whom a mere legal quibble had put in her +place. + +The hours seemed long until Tuesday evening came. It struck her that if +Lady Chandos were there Lord Chandos would be there too; he would see +her at last in the regal position her own genius had won for herself; a +position that seemed to her a thousand times grander than the one +derived from the mere accident of birth. He would see then the world's +estimation of the woman he had forsaken. She was pleased, yet half +frightened, to know that at last she and her rival would meet face to +face. + +She had so noble a soul that vanity was not among her faults, but on +this evening she was more than usually particular. Never had the +matchless beauty of the great actress shown to greater advantage. She +wore a dress of faint cream-colored brocade, half hidden in fine, costly +lace, in the beautiful waves of her hair a large, cream-colored rose +nestled, and with that she wore a set of diamonds a princess might have +envied. The superb beauty, the half stately, half-languid grace, the +southern eyes, the full, sweet lips, the wondrous beauty of her white +neck and arms, the inexpressible charm of her attitudes, the play of her +superb features--all made her marvelous to look upon. A dainty, delicate +perfume came from the folds of her dress. She had a richly jeweled fan, +made from the delicate amber plumage of some rare tropical bird; the +radiance and light of her beauty would have made a whole room bright. +She reached Madame de Chandalle's rather late. She gave one hasty glance +round the superb reception-room as she passed to where madame was +receiving her guests, but the dark, handsome head and face of Lord +Chandos were nowhere to be seen. + +Madame overwhelmed her with civilities, and Leone soon found herself the +center of an admiring crowd. The assembly was a most brilliant one; +there were princes of the blood, royal dukes, marshals of France, peers +of England, men of highest note in the land; to each and all the +radiant, beautiful artist was the center of all attraction. + +A royal duke was bending over her chair, one of the noblest marshals of +France, with the young Marquis of Tyrol to assist him, was trying to +entertain her. They were lavishing compliments upon her. + +Suddenly she saw some slight stir in the groups, the French marshal +murmured: "_Comme elle est belle!_" and, looking up, she saw a fair, +regal woman bowing to Madame de Chandalle--a woman whose fair, tranquil +loveliness was like moonlight on a summer's lake. Leone was charmed by +her. The graceful figure was shown to the best advantage by the dress of +rich white silk; she wore a superb suit of opals, whose hundred tints +gleamed and glistened as she moved. + +"The very queen of blondes," she overheard one gentleman say to another, +her eyes riveted by the fair, tranquil loveliness of this beautiful +woman, whose dress was trimmed with white water-lilies, who wore a +water-lily in her hair and one on her white breast. + +Leone watched her intently. Watching her was like reading a sweet, +half-sad poem, or listening to sweet, half-sad music--every movement was +full of sweet harmony. Leone watched this beautiful woman for some time; +every one appeared to know her; she was evidently a leader of fashion; +still she had no idea who she was. She expected, she did not know why, +to see Lord and Lady Chandos enter together. + +The French marshal was the first to speak. + +"You admire La Reine des Blondes, madame?" he said. "Ah, Heaven, how we +should rave in Paris over so fair a lady. Do you know who she is?" + +"No," answered Leone, "but I should like to know very much. She is very +beautiful." + +"It is the beauty of an angel," cried the marshal. "She is the wife of +one of the most famous men in England--she is Lady Chandos." + +"Ah," said Leone, with a long, low cry. + +The very mention of the name had stabbed her through the heart. + +The marshal looked up in wonder. + +"I beg pardon," she said, quickly, "what name did you say? A sudden +faintness seized me; the room is warm. What is the lady's name?" + +She would not for the whole world that he should have known what caused +either the pain or the cry. + +The marshal repeated: + +"That is Lady Chandos, the wife of Lord Chandos, who is the rising light +of this generation." + +"There are so many rising lights," she said, carelessly; but her heart +was beating fast the while. + +Ah, me! so fair, so graceful, so high-bred! Was it any wonder that he +had loved her? Yet to this gorgeous woman, with her soul of fire, it +seemed that those perfect features were almost too gentle, and lacked +the fire of life. She saw several gentlemen gather round the chair on +which Lady Chandos sat, like a queen on a throne; and then the golden +head was hidden from her sight. + +So at last she was face to face with her rival--at last she could see +and hear her--this fair woman who had taken her lover from her. It was +with difficulty that she was herself, that she maintained her brilliant +repartees; her fire of wit, her _bon mots_ that were repeated from one +to the other. Her powers of conversation were of the highest order. She +could enchain twenty people at once, and keep all their intellects in +active exercise. It was with difficulty she did that now; she was +thinking so entirely of the golden head, with its opal stars. Then came +another stir among the brilliant groups--the _entree_ of a prince, +beloved and revered by all who knew him. Leone, with her quick, artistic +eye, thought she had never seen a more brilliant picture than this--the +magnificent apartment, with its superb pictures, its background of +flowers, its flood of light; the splendid dresses and jewels of the +women, the blending of rich colors, the flashing of light made it a +picture never to be forgotten. + +Suddenly she saw Madame de Chandalle smiling in her face, and by her +side was the beautiful rival who supplanted her. + +"Madame Vanira," said their hostess, "permit me to make known to you +Lady Chandos, who greatly desires the pleasure of your acquaintance." + +Then the two who had crossed each other's lives so strangely looked at +each other face to face. Leone's heart almost stood still with a great +throb of pain as she glanced steadily at the fair, lovely face of her +rival. How often had he sunned himself in those blue eyes? how often had +he kissed those sweet lips and held those white hands in his own? She +recovered herself with a violent effort and listened. Lady Chandos was +speaking to her. + +"I am charmed to see you, Madame Vanira," she said; "I am one of your +greatest admirers." + +"You are very kind, Lady Chandos," said Leone. + +Then Lady Marion turned to her hostess. + +"I should like to remain with Madame Vanira," she said; "that is, if you +will, madame?" + +Leone drew aside her rich cream-colored draperies and lace. Lady Chandos +sat down by her side. + +"I am so pleased to meet you," she continued, with what was unusual +animation with her. "I have longed to see you off the stage." + +Leone smiled in the fair face. + +"I can only hope," she said, "that you will like me as well off the +stage as you do on." + +"I am sure of that," said Lady Chandos, with charming frankness. + +She admired the beautiful and gifted singer more than she cared to say. +She added, timidly: + +"Now that I have met you here, madame, I shall hope for the pleasure and +honor of receiving you at my own house." + +She wondered why Madame Vanira drew back with a slight start: it seemed +so strange to be asked into the house that she believed to be her own. + +"I shall be delighted," continued Lady Chandos. "I give a ball on +Wednesday week; promise me that you will come." + +"I will promise you to think of it," she replied, and Lady Chandos +laughed blithely. + +"That means you will come," she said, and the next moment Lord Chandos +entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +AN INVITATION. + + +They both saw him at the same moment. Leone, with a sudden paling of her +beautiful face, with a keen sense of sharp pain, and Lady Chandos with a +bright, happy flush. + +"Here is my husband," she said, proudly; little dreaming that the +beautiful singer had called him husband, too. + +He came toward them slowly; it seemed to him so wonderful that these two +should be sitting side by side--the woman he loved with a passionate +love, and the woman he married under his mother's influence. + +There were so many people present that it was some time before he could +get up to them, and by that time he had recovered himself. + +"Lance," cried Lady Chandos, in a low voice, "see how fortunate I am; I +have been introduced to Madame Vanira." + +Yes, his heart smote him again; it seemed so cruel to deceive her when +she was so kind, so gentle; she trusted in him so implicitly that it +seemed cruel to deceive her. She turned with a radiant face to Leone. + +"Let me introduce my husband, Lord Chandos, to you, Madame Vanira," she +said, and they looked at each other for one moment as though they were +paralyzed. + +Then the simple, innate truth of Leone's disposition came uppermost. +With the most dignified manner she returned the bow that Lord Chandos +made. + +"I have had the pleasure of meeting Lord Chandos before," she said. + +And Lady Marion looked at her husband in reproachful wonder. + +"And you never told me," she said. "Knowing my great admiration for +Madame Vanira, you did not tell me." + +"Where was it, madame?" he asked, looking at her with an air of +helpless, hopeless entreaty. + +Then she bethought herself that perhaps those few words might cause +unpleasantness between husband and wife, and she tried to make little of +them. + +"I was at the French Embassy here in London, Lord Chandos, at the same +time you were," she said. + +And Lady Marion was quite satisfied with the explanation, which was +perfectly true. + +Then they talked for a few minutes, at the end of which Lady Chandos was +claimed by her hostess for a series of introductions. + +Lord Chandos and Leone were left alone. + +She spoke to him quickly and in an undertone of voice. + +"Lord Chandos," she said, "I wish to speak to you; take me into the +conservatory where we shall not be interrupted." + +He obeyed in silence; they walked through the brilliant throng of +guests, through the crowded, brilliant room, until they reached the +quiet conservatory at the end. + +The lamps were lighted and shone like huge pearls among the blossoms. +There were few people and those few desired no attention from the +new-comers. He led her to a pretty chair, placed among the hyacinths; +the fragrance was very strong. + +"I am afraid you will find this odor too much, beautiful as it is," he +said. + +"I do not notice," she said; "my heart and soul are full of one thing. +Oh, Lord Chandos, your wife likes me, likes me," she repeated, eagerly. + +"I am not surprised at it; indeed, I should have been surprised if she +had not liked you," he said. + +The dark, beautiful eyes had a wistful look in them as they were raised +to his face. + +"How beautiful she is, how fair and stately!" she said. + +"Yes, beautiful; but compared to you, Leone, as I said before, she is +like moonlight to sunlight, like water to wine." + +"I have done no wrong," continued Leone, with a thrill of subdued +passion in her voice; "on the contrary, a cruel wrong was done to me. +But when I am with her, I feel in some vague way that I are guilty. Does +she know anything of your story and mine?" + +His dark face burned. + +"No," he replied; "she knows nothing of that except that in my +youth--ah, Leone, that I must say this to you--in my youth I made some +mistake; so my lady mother Was pleased to call it," he added, bitterly. +"She does not know exactly what it was, nor could she ever dream for one +moment that it was you." + +She looked at him with a serious, questioning gaze. + +"Surely you did not marry her without telling her that you had gone +through that service already, did you? If so, I think you acted +disloyally and dishonorably." + +He bent his head in lowly humility before her. + +"Leone," he said--"ah, forgive me for calling you Leone, but the name is +so sweet and so dear to me--Leone, I am a miserable sinner. When I think +of my weakness and cowardice, I loathe myself; I could kill myself; yet +I can never undo the wrong I have done to either. She knows little, and +I believe implicitly she has forgotten that little. Why do you ask me?" + +"It seems so strange," said Leone, musingly, "I asked you to come here +to speak to me that I might ask your advice. She, Lady Marion, has asked +me to her house--has pressed me, urged me to go; and I have said that I +will think of it. I want you to advise me and tell me what I should do." + +"My dear Leone, I--I cannot. I should love above all things to see you +at my house, but it would be painful for you and painful to me." + +She continued, in a low voice: + +"Lady Marion has asked me to be her friend; she is good enough to say +she admires me. What shall I do?" + +He was silent for some minutes, then he said: + +"There is one thing, Leone, if you become a friend, or even a visitor of +Lady Marion's, I should see a great deal of you, and that would be very +pleasant; it is all there is left in life. I should like it, +Leone--would you?" + +Looking up, she met the loving light of the dark eyes full upon her. Her +face flushed. + +"Yes," she whispered, "I, too, should like it." + +There was silence between them for some little time, then Leone said: + +"Would it be quite safe for me to visit you? Do you think that Lady +Lanswell would recognize me?" + +"No," he answered, "if the eyes of love failed to recognize you at one +glance, the eyes of indifference will fail altogether. My mother is here +to-night; risk an introduction to her, and you will see. It would give +fresh zest and pleasure to my life if you could visit us." + +"It would be pleasant," said Leone, musingly; "and yet to my mind, I +cannot tell why, there is something that savors of wrong about it. Lord +Chandos," she added, "I like your wife, she was kindness itself to me. +We must mind one thing if I enter your house; I must be to you no more +than any other person in it--I must be a stranger--and you must never +even by one word allude to the past; you promise that, do you not?" + +"I will promise everything and anything," he replied. "I will ask Madame +de Chandalle to introduce you to my mother--I should not have the nerve +for it." + +"If she should recognize me there will be a scene," said Leone, with a +faint smile; "it seems to me that the eyes of hate are keener than the +eyes of love." + +"She will not know you. I believe that she has forgotten even your name; +who would think of finding Leone in the brilliant actress for whose +friendship all men sigh? Why, Leone, forgive me for using the word--life +will be quite different to me if we are to be friends, if I may see your +face sometimes in the home that should have been yours. It will make all +the difference in the world, and I am absurdly happy at the bare thought +of it." + +"I think our conference has lasted long enough," she said, rising. "You +think, then, that I should accept Lady Marion's invitation?" + +"Yes, it will give us more opportunities of meeting, and will bring +about between Lady Marion and yourself a great intimacy," he said. + +"Heaven send it may end well," she said, half sadly. + +"Thank Heaven for its kindness," he replied, and then they left the +quiet conservatory, where the soft ripple of the scented fountain made +sweetest music. + +Lord Chandos quitted her, much to his regret, and Leone sought out +Madame de Chandalle. + +"I should like to ask you, madame, for one more introduction," she said. +"I should much like to know the Countess of Lanswell." + +Nothing could exceed madame's delight and courtesy. She took Leone to +the blue saloon, as it was called, where the Countess of Lanswell sat in +state. She looked up in gratified surprise as the name of the great +singer was pronounced. If Leone felt any nervousness she did not show +it; there must be no hesitation or all would be lost. She raised her +eyes bravely to the handsome, haughty face of the woman who had spurned +her. In the one moment during which their eyes met, Leone's heart almost +stood still, the next it beat freely, for not even the faintest gleam of +recognition came into my lady's eyes. + +But when they had been talking for some minutes, and the countess had +excelled herself in the grace of her compliments, she gazed with keen, +bright eyes in that beautiful face. + +"Do you know, Madame Vanira, that the first time I saw you there was +something quite familiar in your face." + +There was something startling in the crimson blush that mounts even to +the locks of her dark hair. + +"Is it so?" she asked. + +And the countess did not relax the questioning gaze. + +"I think now," she added, "that I am wrong. I cannot think of any one +who is like you. I shall be glad to see you at Dunmore House, Madame +Vanira. We have a dinner-party next week, and I hope you will be +inclined to favor us. Do you know Lady Chandos?" + +"Yes," was the half sad reply, "I was introduced to her this evening." + +They talked on indifferent subjects. The countess was most charming to +the gifted singer, and Leone could not help contrasting this interview +with the last that she had with Lady Lanswell. One thing was quite +certain. The countess did not recognize her, and her visits to Dunmore +House would be quite safe. + +She talked to Lady Lanswell for some time, and went away that night +quite pleased with the new prospects opening before her. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +AT THE BALL. + + +"I like Madame Vanira," said the Countess of Lanswell, a few days after +the introduction. "She is not only the most gifted singer of the present +day, but she is an uncommon type of woman. Who or what was she?" + +My lady was seated in her own drawing-room in the midst of a circle of +morning callers. Lord Chandos was there, and he listened with some +amusement to the conversation that followed. The countess was speaking +to Major Hautbois, who was supposed to know the pedigree of everybody. +She looked at him now for the information he generally gave readily, but +the major's face wore a troubled expression. + +"To tell the truth," he replied, "I have heard so many conflicting +stories as to the lady's origin that I am quite at a loss which to +repeat." + +Lady Lanswell smiled at the naive confession. + +"Truth does wear a strange aspect at times," she said. "When Major +Hautbois has to choose between many reports, I should say that none of +them were true. Myself," she continued, "I should say that Madame Vanira +was well-born--she has a patrician face." + +Lord Chandos thought of the "dairy-maid," and sighed while he smiled. +Ah, if his mother could but have seen Leone with the same eyes with +which she saw Madame Vanira all would have been well. + +It was quite evident that my lady did not in the least recognize +her--there could be no doubt of it. She continued to praise her. + +"I have always," she said, "been far above what I consider the +littleness of those people who think to show their superiority by +abusing the stage, or rather by treating with supercilious contempt +those who ornament the stage. Something," she added, with an air of +patronage, "is due to queens." + +And again Lord Chandos smiled bitterly to himself. If his mother had but +owned these opinions a short time before, how different life might have +been. Lady Lanswell turned to her son. + +"Madame Vanira will be at Lady Marion's ball on Tuesday," she said: "I +am sorry that I shall not meet her." + +"Are you not coming, mother?" he asked, with a certain secret hope that +she was not. + +"No; the earl has made an engagement for me, which I am compelled to +keep," she said, "much to my regret." + +And she spoke truthfully. The proud and haughty countess found herself +much impressed by the grace, genius, and beauty of Madame Vanira. + +Leone had looked forward to the evening of the ball as to an ordeal that +must be passed through. She dreaded it, yet longed for it. She could not +rest for thinking of it. She was to enter as a guest the house where she +should have reigned mistress. She was to be the visitor of the woman who +had taken her place. How should she bear it? how would it pass? For the +first time some of the terrible pain of jealousy found its way into her +heart--a pain that blanched her face, and made her tremble; a new pain +to her in the fire of its burning. + +When the night of the ball came it found her with a pale face; her usual +radiant coloring faded, and she looked all the lovelier for it. She +dressed herself with unusual care and magnificence. + +"I must look my best to-night," she said to herself, with a bitter +smile. "I am going to see the home that should have been my own. I am +going to visit Lady Chandos, and I believed myself to be Lady Chandos +and no other. I must look my best." + +She chose a brocade of pale amber that looked like woven sunbeams; it +was half covered with point lace and trimmed with great creamy roses. +She wore a _parure_ of rubies, presented by an empress, who delighted in +her glorious voice; on her beautiful neck, white and firm as a pillar, +she wore a necklace of rubies; on her white breast gleamed a cross of +rubies, in which the fire flashed like gleams of light. + +She had never looked so magnificently beautiful. The low dress showed +the white shining arms and shoulders like white satin. The different +emotions that surged through her whole heart and soul gave a softened +tenderness to the beautiful, passionate face. + +She was a woman at whose feet a man could kneel and worship; who could +sway the heart and soul of a man as the wind sways the great branches of +strong trees. + +On the morning of the day of the ball, a bouquet arrived for her, and +she knew that it held her favorite flowers, white lilies-of-the-valley, +with sweet hanging bells and gardenias that filled the whole room with +perfume. She had nerve enough to face the most critical audience in the +world. + +She sung while kings and queens looked on in wonder; the applause of +great multitudes had never made her heart beat or her pulses thrill; but +as she drove to Stoneland House a faint, languid sensation almost +overcame her; how should she bear it? What should she do? More than once +the impulse almost mastered her to return, and never see Lord Chandos +again; but the pain, the fever and the longing urged her on. + +It was like a dream to her, the brilliantly-lighted mansion, the rows of +liveried servants, the spacious entrance-hall lined with flowers, the +broad white staircase with the crimson carpet, the white statues holding +crimson lamps. + +She walked slowly up that gorgeous staircase, every eye riveted by her +queenly beauty. She said to herself: + +"All this should have been mine." + +Yet, it was not envy of the wealth and magnificence surrounding her, it +was the keen pain of the outrageous wrong done to her which stung her to +the quick. Brilliantly dressed ladies passed her, and she saw that more +deference was paid to her than would have been paid to a duchess. + +Then, in the drawing-room that led to the ballroom, she saw Lady Marion +in her usual calm, regal attitude, receiving her guests. The queen of +blondes looked more than lovely; her dress was of rich white lace over +pale blue silk, with blue forget-me-nots in her hair. Leone had one +moment's hard fight with herself as she gazed at this beautiful woman. + +"She stands in my place, she bears my name; on her finger shines the +ring that ought to shine on mine; she has taken the love I believed to +be mine for life," said Leone to herself; "how shall I bear it?" + +As she stood among the brilliant crowd, a strong impulse came over her +to go up to Lady Marion and say: + +"Stand aside; this is my place. Men cannot undo the laws of God. Stand +aside, give me my place." + +Words were still burning from her heart to her lips when she saw Lady +Marion holding out her hand in kindliest greeting to her; all the bitter +thoughts melted at once in the sunshine of that fair presence; her own +hand sought Lady Marion's, and the two women, whose lives had crossed +each other's so strangely, stood for one moment hand locked in hand, +their eyes fixed on each other. + +Lady Marion spoke first, and she seemed to draw her breath with a deep +sigh as she did so. + +"I am so pleased to see you, Madame Vanira," she said, eagerly. "We must +find time for a long talk this evening." + +With a bow Leone passed on to the ballroom, where the first person to +meet her was Lord Chandos; he looked at the bouquet she carried. + +"You have honored my flowers, madame," he said. "I remember your love +for lilies-of-the-valley. You will put my name down for the first +waltz?" + +There was a world of reproach in the dark eyes she raised to his. + +"No, I will not waltz with you," she replied, gently. + +"Why not?" he asked, bending his handsome head over her. + +"I might make false excuses, but I prefer telling you the truth," she +answered; "I will not trust myself." + +And when Leone took that tone Lord Chandos knew that further words were +useless. + +"You will dance a quadrille, at least?" he asked, and she consented. + +Then he offered her his arm and they walked through the room together. + +The ballroom at Stoneland House was a large and magnificent apartment; +many people thought it the finest ballroom in London; the immense dome +was brilliantly lighted, the walls were superbly painted, and tier after +tier of superb blossoms filled the room with exquisite color and +exquisite perfume. + +The ballroom opened into a large conservatory, which led to a fernery, +and from the fernery one passed to the grounds. Leone felt embarrassed; +she longed to praise the beautiful place, yet it seemed to her if she +did so it would be like reminding him that it ought to have been hers; +while he, on the contrary, did not dare to draw her attention to +picture, flower, or statue, lest she should remember that they had been +taken from her by a great and grievous wrong. + +"We are not very cheerful friends," he said, trying to arouse himself. + +"I begin to think we have done wrong in ever thinking of friendship at +all," she replied. + +Lord Chandos turned to her suddenly. + +"Leone," he said, "you have quite made a conquest of my mother--you do +not know how she admires you!" + +A bitter smile curled the beautiful lips. + +"It is too late," she said sadly. "It does not seem very long since she +refused even to tolerate me." + +Lord Chandos continued: + +"She was speaking about you yesterday, and she was quite animated about +you; she praised you more than I have ever heard her praise any one." + +"I ought to feel flattered," said Leone; "but it strikes me as being +something wonderful that Lady Lanswell did not find out any good +qualities in me before." + +"My mother saw you through a haze of hatred," said Lord Chandos; "now +she will learn to appreciate you." + +A sudden glow of fire flashed in those superb eyes. + +"I wonder," she said, "if I shall ever be able to pay my debt to Lady +Lanswell, and in what shape I shall pay it?" + +He shuddered as he gazed in the beautiful face. + +"Try to forget that, Leone," he said; "I never like to remember that you +threatened my mother." + +"We will not discuss it," she said, coldly; "we shall never agree." + +Then the band began to play the quadrilles. Lord Chandos led Leone to +her place. He thought to himself what cruel wrong it was on the part of +fate, that the woman whom he had believed to be his wedded wife should +be standing there, a visitor in the house which ought to have been her +home. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE COMPACT OF FRIENDSHIP. + + +The one set of quadrilles had been danced, and Leone said to herself +that there was more pain than pleasure in it, when Lady Marion, with an +unusual glow of animation on her face, came to Leone, who was sitting +alone. + +"Madame Vanira," she said, "it seems cruel to deprive others of the +pleasure of your society, but I should like to talk to you. I have some +pretty things which I have brought from Spain, which I should like to +show you. Will it please you to leave the ballroom and come with me, or +do you care for dancing?" + +Leone smiled sadly; tragedy and comedy are always side by side, and it +seemed to her, who had had so terrible a tragedy in her life, who stood +face to face with so terrible a tragedy now, it seemed to her absurd +that she should think of dancing. + +"I would rather talk to you," she replied, "than do anything else." The +two beautiful, graceful women left the ballroom together. Leone made +some remark on the magnificence of the rooms as they passed, and Lady +Chandos smiled. + +"I am a very home-loving being myself. I prefer the pretty little +morning-room where we take breakfast, and my own boudoir, to any other +place in the house; they seem to be really one's own because no one else +enters them. Come to my boudoir now, Madame Vanira, and I will show you +a whole lot of pretty treasures that I brought from Spain." + +"From Spain." She little knew how those words jarred even on Leone's +heart. It was in Spain they had intrigued to take her husband from her, +and while Lady Marion was collecting art treasures the peace and +happiness of her life had been wrecked, her fair name blighted, her love +slain. She wondered to herself at the strange turn of fate which had +brought her into contact with the one woman in all the world that she +felt she ought to have avoided. But there was no resisting Lady Marion +when she chose to make herself irresistible. There was something +childlike and graceful in the way in which she looked up to Madame +Vanira, with an absolute worship of her genius, her voice, and her +beauty. She laid her white hand on Leone's. + +"You will think me a very gushing young lady, I fear, Madame Vanira, if +I say how fervently I hope we shall always be friends; not in the common +meaning of the words, but real, true, warm friends until we die. Have +you ever made such a compact of friendship with any one?" + +Leone's heart smote her, her face flushed. + +"Yes," she replied; "I have once." + +Lady Chandos looked up at her quickly. + +"With a lady, I mean?" + +"No," said Leone; "I have no lady friends; indeed, I have few friends of +any kind, though I have many acquaintances." + +Lady Marion's hand lingered caressingly on the white shoulder of Leone. + +"Something draws me to you," she said; "and I cannot tell quite what it +is. You are very beautiful, but it is not that; the beauty of a woman +would never win me. It cannot be altogether your genius, though it is +without peer. It is a strange feeling, one I can hardly explain--as +though there was something sympathetic between us. You are not laughing +at me, Madame Vanira?" + +"No, I am not laughing," said Leone, with wondering eyes. How strange it +was that Lance's wife, above all other women, should feel this curious, +sympathetic friendship for her! + +They entered the beautiful boudoir together, and Lady Marion, with +pardonable pride, turned to her companion. + +"Lord Chandos arranged this room for me himself. Have you heard the +flattering, foolish name for me that the London people have invented? +They call me the Queen of Blondes." + +"That is a very pretty title," said Leone, "they call me a queen, the +Queen of Song." + +And the two women who were, each in her way, a "queen," smiled at each +other. + +"You see," continued Lady Chandos, "that my husband used to think there +was nothing in the world but blondes. I have often told him if I bring a +brunette here she is quite at a disadvantage; everything is blue, white, +or silver." + +Leone looked round the sumptuous room; the ceiling was painted by a +master hand; all the story of Endymion was told there; the walls were +superbly painted; the hangings were of blue velvet and blue silk, +relieved by white lace; the carpet, of rich velvet pile, had a white +ground with blue corn-flowers, so artistically grouped they looked as +though they had fallen on the ground in picturesque confusion. The +chairs and pretty couch were covered with velvet; a hundred little +trifles that lay scattered over the place told that it was occupied by a +lady of taste; books in beautiful bindings, exquisite drawings and +photographs, a jeweled fan, a superb bouquet holder, flowers costly, +beautiful, and fragrant; a room that was a fitting shrine for a goddess +of beauty. + +"My own room," said Lady Chandos, with a smile, as she closed the door; +"and what a luxury it is, Madame Vanira--a room quite your own! Even +when the house is full of visitors no one comes here but Lord Chandos; +he always takes that chair near those flowers while he talks to me, and +that is, I think, the happiest hour in the day. Sit down there +yourself." + +Leone took the chair, and Lady Chandos sat down on a footstool by her +side. It was one of the most brilliant and picturesque pictures ever +beheld; the gorgeous room, with its rich hangings, the beautiful, +dark-eyed woman, with the Spanish face, her dress like softened +sunbeams, the fire of her rubies like points of flame, her whole self +lovely as a picture, and the fair Queen of Blondes, with the golden hair +and white roses--a picture that would have made an artist's fortune. + +"How pleasant this is," said Lady Chandos, "a few minutes' respite from +the music and dancing! Do you love the quiet moments of your life, +Madame Vanira?" + +Leone looked down on the fair, lovely face with a deep sigh. + +"No, I think not," she replied; "I like my stage life best." + +Lady Chandos asked, in a half pitying tone: + +"Why did you go on the stage? Did you always like it?" + +And Leone answered, gravely: + +"A great sorrow drove me there." + +"A great sorrow? How strange! What sorrow could come to one so +beautiful, so gifted as you?" + +"A sorrow that crushed all the natural life in me," said Leone; "but we +will not speak of it. I live more in my life on the stage than in my +home life; that is desolate always." + +She spoke unconsciously, and the heart of the fair woman who believed +herself so entirely beloved warmed with pity and kindness to the one +whose heart was so desolate. + +"A great sorrow taught you to find comfort in an artificial life," she +said, gently; "it would not do that to me." + +And her white hand, on which the wedding-ring shone, caressed the +beautiful white arm of Madame Vanira. + +"What would it do to you?" asked Leone, slightly startled. + +"A really great trouble," replied Lady Chandos, musingly, "what would it +do for me? Kill me. I have known so little of it; I cannot indeed +remember what could be called trouble." + +"You have been singularly fortunate," said Leone, half enviously. + +And the fair face of the Queen of Blondes grew troubled. + +"Perhaps," she said, "all my troubles are to come. I should not like to +believe that." + +She was quite silent for some few minutes, then, with a sigh, she said: + +"You have made me feel nervous, and I cannot tell why. What trouble +could come to me? So far as I see, humanly speakingly, none. No money +troubles could reach me; sickness would hardly be a trouble if those I +loved were round me. Ah, well, that is common to every one." A look of +startled intelligence came over her face. "I know one, and only one +source of trouble," she said; "that would be if anything happened to +Lord Chandos, to--to my husband; if he did not love me, or I lost him." + +She sighed as she uttered the last words, and the heart of the gifted +singer was touched by the noblest, kindest pity; she looked into the +fair, flower-like face. + +"You love your husband then?" she said, with a gentle, caressing voice. + +"Love him," replied Lady Chandos, her whole soul flashing in her +eyes--"love him? Ah, that seems to me a weak word! My husband is all the +world, all life to me. It is strange that I should speak to you, a +stranger, in this manner; but, as I told you before, my heart warms to +you in some fashion that I do not myself understand. I am not like most +people. I have so few to love. No father, no mother, no sisters, or +brothers. I have no one in the wide world but my husband; he is more to +me than most husbands are to most wives--he is everything." + +Leone looked down on that fair, sweet face with loving eyes; the very +depths of her soul were touched by those simple words; she prayed God +that she might always remember them. There was infinite pathos in her +voice and in her face when she said: + +"You are very happy, then, with your husband, Lady Marion?" + +"Yes, I am very happy," said the young wife, simply. "My husband loves +me, I have no rivals, no jealousies, no annoyances; I may say I am +perfectly happy." + +"I pray God that you may always be so!" said Leone, gently. + +And with an impulse she could not resist she bent down and kissed the +sweet face. + +Then Lady Chandos looked up. + +"I am afraid," she said, "that our pleasant five minutes' chat is ended. +We must go back to the ballroom. I am afraid all your admirers will be +very angry with me, Madame Vanira." + +"That is a matter of perfect indifference?" she replied. "I know you +better, Lady Marion, for those five minutes spent here than I should +have done during a century in ballrooms." + +"And you promise that we shall always be friends," said the fair woman +who called herself Lady Chandos. + +"I promise, and I will keep my word," said the beautiful singer, who had +believed herself to be his wife. + +And with those words they parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +THE HUSBAND'S KISS. + + +Lady Marion never did anything by halves. It was seldom that her calm, +quiet nature was stirred, but when that happened she felt more deeply, +perhaps, than people who express their feelings with great ease and +rapidity. She was amused herself at her own great liking for Madame +Vanira; it was the second great love of her life; the first had been for +her husband, this was the next. She talked of her incessantly, until +even Lord Chandos wondered and asked how it was. + +"I cannot tell," she replied; "I think I am infatuated. I am quite sure, +Lance, that if I had been a gentleman, I should have followed Madame +Vanira to the other side of the world. I think her, without exception, +the most charming woman in the world." + +She raised her eyes with innocent tenderness to his face. + +"Are you jealous because I love her so much?" she asked. + +He shuddered as he heard the playful, innocent words, so different from +the reality. + +"I should never be jealous of you, Marion," he replied, and then turned +the conversation. + +Nothing less than a visit to Madame Vanira would please Lady Chandos. +She asked her husband if he would go to the Cedars with her, and +wondered when he declined. The truth was that he feared some chance +recognition, some accidental temptation; he dared not go, and Lady +Marion looked very disappointed. + +"I thought you liked Madame Vanira," she said. "I am quite sure, Lance, +that you looked as if you did." + +"My dear Marion, between liking persons and giving up a busy morning to +go to see them there is an immense difference. If you really wish me to +go, Marion, you know that I will break all my appointments." + +"I would not ask you to do that," she replied, gently, and the result of +the conversation was that Lady Chandos went alone. + +She spent two hours with Leone, and the result was a great increase of +liking and affection for her. Leone sang for her, and her grand voice +thrilled through every fiber of that gentle heart; Leone read to her, +and Lady Chandos said to herself that she never quite understood what +words meant before. When it was time to go, Lady Chandos looked at her +watch in wonder. + +"I have been here two hours," she said, "and they have passed like two +minutes. Madame Vanira, I have no engagement to-morrow evening, come and +see me. Lord Chandos has a speech to prepare, and he asked me to forego +all engagements this evening." + +"Perhaps I should be in the way," said Leone; but Lady Marion laughed at +the notion. She pleaded so prettily and so gracefully that Leone +consented, and it was arranged that she should spend the evening of the +day following at Stoneland House. + +She went--more than once. She had asked herself if this intimacy were +wise? She could not help liking the fair, sweet woman who had taken her +place, and yet she felt a great undercurrent of jealous indignation and +righteous anger--it might blaze out some day, and she knew that if it +ever did so it would be out of her control. It was something like +playing with fire, yet how many people play with fire all their lives +and never get burned! + +She went, looking more beautiful and regal than ever, in a most becoming +dress of black velvet, her white arms and white shoulders looking whiter +than ever through the fine white lace. + +She wore no jewels; a pomegranate blossom lay in the thick coils of her +hair; a red rose nestled in her white breast. + +She was shown into the boudoir she had admired so much, and there Lady +Chandos joined her. + +Lord Chandos had been busily engaged during the day in looking up facts +and information for his speech. He had joined his wife for dinner, but +she saw him so completely engrossed that she did not talk to him, and it +had not occurred to her to tell him that Madame Vanira was coming, so +that he was quite ignorant of that fact. + +The two ladies enjoyed themselves very much--they had a cup of orange +Pekoe from cups of priceless china, they talked of music, art, and +books. + +The pretty little clock chimed ten. Lady Chandos looked at her +companion. + +"You have not tried my piano yet," she said. "It was a wedding present +from Lord Chandos to me; the tone of it is very sweet and clear." + +"I will try it," said Madame Vanira. "May I look through the pile of +music that lies behind it?" + +Lady Chandos laughed at the eagerness with which Leone went on her knees +and examined the music. + +Just at that moment, when she was completely hidden from view, the door +suddenly opened, and Lord Chandos hastily entered. Seeing his wife near, +without looking around the room, in his usual caressing manner, he threw +one arm round her, drew her to him, and kissed her. + +It was that kiss which woke all the love, and passion, and jealousy in +Leone's heart; it came home to her in that minute, and for the first +time, that the husband she had lost belonged to another--that his kisses +and caresses were never more to be hers, but would be given always to +this other. + +There was one moment--only one moment of silence; but while it lasted a +sharp sword pierced her heart; the next, Lady Chandos, with a laughing, +blushing face, had turned to her husband, holding up one white hand in +warning. + +"Lance," she cried, "do you not see Madame Vanira?" + +She wondered why the words seemed to transfix him--why his face paled +and his eyes flashed fire. + +"Madame Vanira!" he cried, "I did not see that she was here." + +Then Leone rose slowly from the pile of music. + +"I should ask pardon," she said; "I did not know that I had hidden +myself so completely." + +It was like a scene from a play; a fair wife, with her sweet face, its +expression of quiet happiness in her husband's love; the husband, with +the startled look of passion repressed; Leone, with her grand Spanish +beauty all aglow with emotion. She could not recover her presence of +mind so as to laugh away the awkward situation. Lady Chandos was the +first to do that. + +"How melodramatic we all look!" she said. "What is the matter?" + +Then Lord Chandos recovered himself. He knew that the kiss he had given +to one fair woman must have stabbed the heart of the other, and he would +rather have done anything than that it should have happened. There came +to him like a flash of lightning the remembrance of that first home at +River View, and the white arms that were clasped round his neck when he +entered there; and he knew that the same memory rankled in the heart of +the beautiful woman whose face had suddenly grown pale as his own. + +The air had grown like living flame to Leone; the pain which stung her +was so sharp she could have cried aloud with the anguish of it. It was +well nigh intolerable to see his arm round her, to see him draw her fair +face and head to him, to see his lips seek hers and rest on them. The +air grew like living flames; her heart beat fast and loud; her hands +burned. All that she had lost by woman's intrigue and man's injustice +this fair, gentle woman had gained. A red mist came before her eyes; a +rush, as of many waters, filled her ears. She bit her lips to prevent +the loud and bitter cry that seemed as though it must escape her. + +Then Lord Chandos hastened to place a chair for her, and tried to drive +from her mind all recollection of the little incident. + +"You are looking for some music, madame," he said, "from which I may +augur the happy fact that you intended to sing. Let me pray that you +will not change your intention." + +"Lady Chandos asked me to try her piano," she said shyly. + +"I told Madame Vanira how sweet and silvery the tone of it is, Lance," +said Lady Chandos. + +And again Leone shrunk from hearing on another woman's lip the word she +had once used. It was awkward, it was intolerable; it struck her all at +once with a sense of shame that she had done wrong in ever allowing Lord +Chandos to speak to her again. But then he had pleaded so, he had seemed +so utterly miserable, so forlorn, so hopeless, she could not help it. +She had done wrong in allowing Lady Marion to make friends with her; +Lady Marion was her enemy by force of circumstances, and there ought not +to have been even one word between them. Yet she pleaded so eagerly, it +had seemed quite impossible to resist her. + +She was roused from her reverie by the laughing voice of Lady Marion, +over whose fair head so dark a cloud hung. + +"Madame Vanira," she was saying, "ask my husband to sing with you. He +has a beautiful voice, not a deep, rolling bass, as one would imagine +from the dark face and tall, stalwart figure, but a rich, clear tenor, +sweet and silvery as the chime of bells." + +Leone remembered every tone, every note of it; they had spent long hours +in singing together, and the memory of those hours shone now in the eyes +that met so sadly. A sudden, keen, passionate desire to sing with him +once more came over Leone. It might be rash--it was imprudent. + +"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself, with a most bitter +smile. "It might be dangerous--but once more." + +Just once more she would like to hear her voice float away with his. She +bent over the music again--the first and foremost lay Mendelssohn's +beautiful duet. "Oh, would that my love." They sang it in the summer +gloamings when she had been pleased and proud to hear her wonderful +voice float away over the trees and die in sweetest silence. She raised +it now and looked at him. + +"Will you sing this?" she asked; but her eyes did not meet his, and her +face was very pale. + +She did not wait for an answer, but placed the music on a stand, and +then--ah, then--the two beautiful voices floated away, and the very air +seemed to vibrate with the passionate, thrilling sound; the +drawing-room, the magnificence of Stoneland House, the graceful presence +of the fair wife, faded from them. They were together once more at the +garden at River View, the green trees making shade, the deep river in +the distance. + +But when they had finished, Lady Chandos was standing by, her face wet +with tears. + +"Your music breaks my heart," she said; but she did not know the reason +why. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +THE WOUND IN HER HEART. + + +If Leone had been wiser after that one evening, she would have avoided +Lord Chandos as she would have shunned the flames of fire; that one +evening showed her that she stood on the edge of a precipice. Looking in +her own heart, she knew by its passionate anguish and passionate pain +that the love in her had never been conquered. She said to herself, when +the evening was over and she drove away, leaving them together, that she +would never expose herself to that pain again. + +It was so strange, so unnatural for her--she who believed herself his +wife, who had spent so many evenings with him--to go away and leave him +with this beautiful woman who was really his wife. She looked up at the +silent stars as she drove home; surely their pale, golden eyes must +shine down in dearest pity on her. She clinched her white, soft hands +until the rings made great red dents; she exhausted herself with great +tearless sobs; yet no tears came from her burning eyes. + +Was ever woman so foully, so cruelly wronged? had ever woman been so +cruelly tortured? + +"I will not see him again," she cried to herself; "I cannot bear it." + +Long after the stars had set, and the crimson flush of dawn stirred the +pearly tints of the sky, she lay, sobbing, with passionate tears, +feeling that she could not bear it--she must die. + +It would have been well if that had frightened her, but when morning +dawned she said to herself that hers had always been a mad love, and +would be so until the end. She made one desperate resolve, one desperate +effort; she wrote to Lord Chandos, and sent the letter to his club--a +little, pathetic note, with a heart-break in every line of it--to say +that they who had been wedded lovers were foolish to think of being +friends; that it was not possible, and that she thought they had better +part; the pain was too great for her, she could not bear it. + +The letter was blotted with tears, and as he read it for whom it was +written, other tears fell on it. Before two hours had passed, he was +standing before her, with outstretched hands, the ring of passion in his +voice, the fire of passion in his face. + +"Leone," he said, "do you mean this--must we part?" + +They forgot in that moment all the restraints by which they had +surrounded themselves; once more they were Lance and Leone, as in the +old days. + +"Must we part?" he repeated, and her face paled as she raised it to his. + +"I cannot bear the pain, Lance," she said, wearily. "It would be better +for us never to meet than for me to suffer as I did last evening." + +He drew nearer to her. + +"Did you suffer so much, Leone?" he asked, gently. + +"Yes, more almost than I can bear. It is not many years since I believed +that I was your wife, and now I have to see another woman in my place. +I--I saw you kiss her--I had to go away and leave you together. No, I +cannot bear it, Lance!" + +The beautiful head drooped wearily, the beautiful voice trembled and +died away in a wail that was pitiful to hear; all her beauty, her +genius, her talent--what did it avail her? + +Lord Chandos had suffered much, but his pain had never been so keen as +now at this moment, when this beautiful queenly woman wailed out her +sorrow to him. + +"What shall I do, Leone? I would give my life to undo what I have done; +but it is useless--I cannot. Do you mean that we must part?" + +The eyes she raised to his face were haggard and weary with pain. + +"There is nothing for it but parting, Lance," she said. "I thought we +could be friends, but it is not possible; we have loved each other too +well." + +"We need not part now," he said; "let us think it over; life is very +long; it will be hard to live without the sunlight of your presence, +Leone, now that I have lived in it so long. Let us think it over. Do you +know what I wanted to ask you last evening?" + +"No," she replied, "what was it?" + +"A good that you may still grant me," he said. "We may part, if you wish +it, Leone. Leone, let us have one happy day before the time comes. +Leone, you see how fair the summer is, I want you to spend one day with +me on the river. The chestnuts are all in flower--the whole world is +full of beauty, and song, and fragrance; the great boughs are dipping +into the stream, and the water-lilies lie on the river's breast. My dear +love and lost love, come with me for one day. We may be parted all the +rest of our lives, come with me for one day." + +Her face brightened with the thought. Surely for one day they might be +happy; long years would have to pass, and they would never meet. Oh, for +one day, away on the river, in the world of clear waters, green boughs +and violet banks--one day away from the world which had trammeled them +and fettered them. + +"You tempt me," she said, slowly. "A day with you on the river. Ah, for +such a pleasure as that I would give twenty years of my life." + +He did not answer her, because he dared not. He waited until his heart +was calm and at rest again, then he said: + +"Let us go to-morrow, Leone, no one knows what twenty-four hours may +bring forth. Let us go to-morrow, Leone. Rise early. How often we have +gone out together while the dew lay upon the flowers and grass. Shall it +be so?" + +The angel of prudence faded from her presence as she answered, "Yes." +Knowing how she loved him, hearing the old love story in his voice, +reading it in his face, she would have done better had she died there in +the splendor of her beauty and the pain of her love than have said, +"Yes." So it was arranged. + +"It will be a beautiful day," said Lord Chandos. "I am a capital rower, +Leone, as you will remember. I will take you as far as Medmersham Abbey: +we will land there and spend an hour in the ruins; but you will have to +rise early and drive down to the river side. You will not mind that." + +"I shall mind nothing that brings me to you," she said, with a vivid +blush, and so it was settled. + +They forgot the dictates of honor; he forgot his duty to his wife at +home, and she forgot prudence and justice. + +The morning dawned. She had eagerly watched for it through the long +hours of the night; it wakes her with the song of the birds and the +shine of the sun; it wakes her with a mingled sense of pain and +happiness, of pleasure and regret. She was to spend a whole day with +him, but the background to that happiness was that he was leaving a wife +at home who had all claims to his time and attention. + +"One happy day before I die," she said to herself. + +But will it be happy? The sun will shine brightly, yet there will be a +background; yet it shall be happy because it will be with him. + +It was yet early in the morning when she drove to the appointed place at +the river side. The sun shone in the skies, the birds sang in the trees, +the beautiful river flashed and glowed in the light, the waters seemed +to dance and the green leaves to thrill. + +Ah, if she were but back by the mill-stream, if she were but Leone Noel +once again, with her life all unspoiled before her; if she were anything +on earth except a woman possessed by a mad love. If she could but +exchange these burning ashes of a burning love for the light, bright +heart of her girlhood, when the world had been full of beauty which +spoke to her in an unknown tongue. + +God had been so good to her; he had given to her the beauty of a queen, +genius that was immortal, wit, everything life holds most fair, and they +were all lost to her because of her mad love. Ah, well, never mind, the +sun was shining, the river dancing far away in the sun, and she was to +spend the day with him. She had dressed herself to perfection in a +close-fitting dress of dark-gray velvet, relieved by ribbons of rose +pink; she wore a hat with a dark-gray plume, under the shade of which +her beautiful face looked doubly bewitching; the little hands, which by +their royal gestures swayed multitudes, were cased in dark gray. Lord +Chandos looked at her in undisguised admiration. + +"The day seems to have been made on purpose for us," he said, as he +helped her in the boat. + +Leone laughed, but there was just the least tinge of bitterness in that +laugh. + +"A day made for us would have gray skies, cold rains, and bleak, bitter +winds," she said. + +And then the pretty pleasure boat floated away on the broad, beautiful +stream. + +It was a day on which to dream of heaven; there was hardly a ripple on +the beautiful Thames; the air was balmy, sweet, filled with the scent of +hay from the meadows; of flowers from the banks; it was as though they +had floated away into Paradise. + +Lord Chandos bent forward to see that the rugs were properly disposed; +he opened her sunshade, but she would not use it. + +"Let me see the beautiful river, the banks and the yews, while I may," +she said, "the sun will not hurt me." + +There was no sound save that of the oars cleaving the bright waters. +Leone watched the river with loving eyes; since she had left River +View--and she had loved it with something like passion--it seemed like +part of that married life which had ended so abruptly. They passed by a +thicket, where the birds were singing after a mad fashion of their own. + +"Stop and listen," she said, holding up her hand. + +He stopped and the boat floated gently with the noiseless tide. + +"I wonder," said Leone, "if in that green bird kingdom there are +tragedies such as take place in ours?" + +Lord Chandos laughed. + +"You are full of fanciful ideas, Leone," he said. "Yes, I imagine, the +birds have their tragedies because they have their loves." + +"I suppose there are pretty birds and plain birds, loving birds, and +hard-hearted ones; some who live a happy life, filled with sunlight and +song--some who die while the leaves are green, shot through the heart. +In the kingdom of birds and the kingdom of men it is all just the same." + +"Which fate is yours, Leone?" asked Lord Chandos. + +"Mine?" she said, looking away over the dancing waters, "mine? I was +shot while the sun shone, and the best part of me died of the wound in +my heart." + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +"AS DEAD AS MY HOPES." + + +The broad, beautiful river widened, and the magnificent scenery of the +Thames spread out on either side, a picture without parallel in English +landscapes. The silvery water, the lights and shades ever changing, the +overhanging woods, the distant hill, the pretty islets, the +pleasure-boats, the lawns, the great nests of water-lilies, the green +banks studded with flowers, the rushes and reeds that grew even on the +water's edge. On they went, through Richmond, Kew, past Hampton Court, +past the picturesque old Hampton windmill, on to one of the prettiest +spots on the river--the "Bells" at Ousely, and there Lord Chandos +fastened the boat to a tree while they went ashore. + +Ah, but it was like a faint, far-off dream of heaven--the lovely, +laughing river, the rippling foliage, the gorgeous trees, the quaint old +hostelry, the hundreds of blooming flowers--the golden sunlight pouring +over all. Sorrow, care and death might come to-morrow, when the sky was +gray and the water dull; but not to-day. Oh, lovely, happy to-day. +Beautiful sun and balmy wind, blooming flowers and singing birds. Lord +Chandos made a comfortable seat for Leone on the river bank, and sat +down by her side. They did not remember that they had been wedded +lovers, or that a tragedy lay between them; they did not talk of love or +of sorrow, but they gave themselves up to the happiness of the hour, to +the warm, golden sunshine, to the thousand beauties that lay around +them. They watched a pretty pleasure-boat drifting slowly along the +river. It was well filled with what Lord Chandos surmised to be a picnic +party, and somewhat to his dismay the whole party landed near the spot +where he, with Leone, was sitting. "I hope," he thought to himself, +"that there is no one among them who knows me--I should not like it, for +Leone's sake." + +The thought had hardly shaped itself in his mind, when some one touched +him on the arm. Turning hastily he saw Captain Harry Blake, one of his +friends, who cried out in astonishment at seeing him there, and then +looked in still greater astonishment at the beautiful face of Madame +Vanira. + +"Lady Evelyn is on board the Water Witch," he said. "Will you come and +speak to her?" + +The handsome face of Lord Lanswell's son darkened. + +"No," he replied, "pray excuse me. And--Harry, say nothing of my being +here. I rowed down this morning. There is no need for every one in +London to hear of it before night." + +Captain Harry Blake laughed; at the sound of that laugh Lord Chandos +felt the greatest impulse to knock him down. His face flushed hotly, and +his eyes flashed fire. Leone had not heard one word, and had +persistently turned her face from the intruder, quite forgetting that in +doing so she was visible to every one on the boat. Lady Evelyn Blake was +the first to see her, and she knew just enough of life to make no +comment. When her husband returned she said to him carelessly: + +"That was Madame Vanira with Lord Chandos, I am sure." + +"You had better bring stronger glasses or clearer eyes with you the next +time you come," he replied, laughingly, and then Lady Evelyn knew that +she was quite right in her suspicions. It was only a jest to her and she +thought nothing of it. That same evening when Lady Ilfield, who was one +of Lady Marion's dearest friends, spoke of Stoneland House, Lady Evelyn +told the incident as a grand jest. Lady Ilfield looked earnestly at her. + +"Do you really mean that you saw Lord Chandos with Madame Vanira at +Ousely?" she asked. "Alone, without his wife?" + +"Yes," laughed Lady Evelyn, "a stolen expedition, evidently. He looked +horrified when Captain Blake spoke to him." + +"I do not like it," said Lady Ilfield, who was one of the old school, +and did not understand the science of modern flirtation. "I have heard +already more of Lord Chandos than has pleased me, and I like his wife." + +This simple conversation was the beginning of the end--the beginning of +one of the saddest tragedies on which the sun ever shone. + +"I am sorry that he saw me," said Lord Chandos, as the captain waved his +final adieu; "but he did not see your face, Leone, did he?" + +"No," she replied, "I think not." + +"It does not matter about me," he said, "but I should not like to have +any one recognize you." + +He forgot the incident soon after. When the boat was again on the +bright, dancing river, then they forgot the world and everything else +except that they were together. + +"Lance," said Leone, "row close to those water-lilies. I should like to +gather one." + +Obediently enough he went quite close to the white water-lilies, and +placed the oars at the bottom of the boat, while he gathered the lilies +for her. It was more like a poem than a reality; a golden sun, a blue, +shining river, the boat among the water-lilies, the beautiful regal +woman, her glorious face bent over the water, her white hands throwing +the drops of spray over the green leaves. + +It was the prettiest picture ever seen. Lord Chandos filled the boat +with flowers; he heaped the pretty white water-lilies at the feet of +Leone, until she looked as though she had grown out of them. Then, while +the water ran lazily on, and the sun shone in golden splendor, he asked +her if she would sing for him. + +"One song, Leone," he said, "and that in the faintest voice. It will be +clear and distinct as the voice of an angel to me." + +There must have been an instinct of pride or defiance in her heart, for +she raised her head and looked at him. + +"Yes, I will sing for you, Lance," she replied. "Those water-lilies take +me home. I will sing a song of which not one word has passed my lips +since I saw you. Listen, see if you know the words: + + "'In sheltered vale a mill-wheel + Still sings its tuneful lay. + My darling once did dwell there, + But now she's far away. + A ring in pledge I gave her, + And vows of love we spoke-- + Those vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke.'" + +The rich, beautiful voice, low and plaintive, now seemed to float over +the water: it died away among the water-lilies; it seemed to hang like a +veil over the low boughs; it startled the birds, and hushed even the +summer winds to silence. So sweet, so soft, so low, as he listened, it +stole into his heart and worked sweet and fatal mischief. He buried his +face in his hands and wept aloud. + +On went the sweet voice, with its sad story: he held up his hand with a +gesture of entreaty. + +"Hush, Leone," he said, "for God's sake, hush. I cannot bear it." + +On went the sweet voice: + + "'But while I hear that mill-wheel + My pains will never cease; + I would the grave would hide me, + For there alone is peace, + For there alone is peace.'" + +"I will sing that verse again," she said, "it is prophetic." + + "'I would the grave would hide me, + For there alone is peace.'" + +She bent her head as she sung the last few words, and there was silence +between them--silence unbroken save for the ripple of the waters as it +washed past the boat, and the song of a lark that soared high in the +sky. + +"Leone," said Lord Chandos, "you have killed me. I thought I had a +stronger, braver heart, I thought I had a stronger nature--you have +killed me." + +He looked quite exhausted, and she saw great lines of pain round his +mouth, great shadows in his eyes. + +"Have I been cruel to you?" she asked, and there was a ring of +tenderness in her voice. + +"More cruel than you know," he answered. "Once, Leone, soon after I came +home we went to a concert, and among other things I heard 'In Sheltered +Vale.' At the first sound of the first notes my heart stood still. I +thought, Leone, it would never beat again; I thought my blood was frozen +in my veins; I felt the color die from my face. Lady Marion asked me +what was the matter, and the countess thought that I was going to swoon. +I staggered out of the room like a man who had drunk too much wine, and +it was many hours before I recovered myself; and now, Leone, you sing +the same words to me; they are like a death knell." + +"They hold a prophecy," said Leone, sadly, "the only place where any one +can find rest is the grave." + +"My beautiful Leone," he cried, "you must not talk about the grave. +There should be no death and no grave for one like you." + +"There will be none to my love," she said, but rather to herself than to +him. Then she roused herself and laughed, but the laugh was forced and +bitter. "Why should I speak of my love?" she said. "Mine was a 'Mad +Love.'" + +The day drifted on to a golden, sunlight afternoon, and the wind died on +the waters while the lilies slept. And then they went slowly home. + +"Has it been a happy day, Leone?" asked Lord Chandos, as they drew near +home. + +"It will have no morrow," she answered, sadly. "I shall keep those +water-lilies until every leaf is withered and dead; yet they will never +be so dead as my hopes--as dead as my life, though art fills it and +praises crown it." + +"And I," he said, "shall remember this day until I die. I have often +wondered, Leone, if people take memory with them to heaven. If they do, +I shall think of it there." + +"And I," she said, "shall know no heaven, if memory goes with me." + +They parted without another word, without a touch of the hands, or one +adieu; but there had been no mention of parting, and that was the last +thing thought of. + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +THE CONFESSION. + + +"I do not believe it," said Lady Marion; "it is some absurd mistake. If +Lord Chandos had been out alone, or on a party of pleasure where you +say, he would have told me." + +"I assure you, Lady Chandos, that it is true. Captain Blake spoke to him +there, and Lady Evelyn saw him. Madame Vanira was with him." + +The speakers were Lady Chandos and Lady Ilfield; the place was the +drawing-room at Stoneland House; the time was half past three in the +afternoon; and Lady Ilfield had called on her friend because the news +which she had heard preyed upon her mind and she felt that she must +reveal it. Like all mischief-makers Lady Ilfield persuaded herself that +she was acting upon conscientious motives; she herself had no +nonsensical ideas about singers and actresses; they were quite out of +her sphere, quite beneath her notice, and no good, she was in the habit +of saying, ever came from associating with them. She had met Madame +Vanira several times at Stoneland House, and had always felt annoyed +over it, but her idea was that a singer, an actress, let her be +beautiful as a goddess and talented above all other women, had no right +to stand on terms of any particular friendship with Lord Chandos. Lady +Ilfield persuaded herself it was her duty, her absolute Christian duty, +to let Lady Chandos know what was going on. She was quite sure of the +truth of what she had to tell, and she chose a beautiful, sunshiny +afternoon for telling it. She wore a look of the greatest +importance--she seated herself quite close to Lady Marion. + +"My dear Lady Chandos," she said, "I have called on the most unpleasant +business. There is something which I am quite sure I ought to tell you, +and I really do not know how. People are saying such things--you ought +to know them." + +The fair, sweet face lost none of its tranquillity, none of its calm. +How could she surmise that her heart was to be stabbed by this woman's +words? + +"The sayings of people trouble me but little, Lady Ilfield," she +replied, with a calm smile. + +"What I have to say concerns you," she said, "concerns you very much. I +would not tell you but that I consider it my duty to do so. I told Lady +Evelyn that she, who had actually witnessed the scene, ought to be the +one to describe it, but she absolutely refused; unpleasant as the duty +is, it has fallen on me." + +"What duty? what scene?" asked Lady Chandos, beginning to feel something +like alarm. "If you have anything to say, Lady Ilfield, anything to tell +me, pray speak out; I am anxious now to hear it." + +Then indeed was Lady Ilfield in her glory. She hastened to tell the +story. How Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake had gone with a few friends for +a river-party, and at Ousely had seen Lord Chandos with Madame Vanira, +the great queen of song. + +Lady Marion's sweet face colored with indignation. She denied it +emphatically; it was not true. She was surprised that Lady Ilfield +should repeat such a calumny. + +"But, my dear Lady Chandos, it is true. I should not have repeated it if +there had been a single chance of its being a falsehood. Lady Evelyn saw +the boat fastened to a tree, your husband and Madame Vanira sat on the +river bank, and when the captain spoke to Lord Chandos he seemed quite +annoyed at being seen." + +Lady Marion's fair face grew paler as she listened; the story seemed so +improbable to her. + +"My husband--Lord Chandos--does not know Madame Vanira half so well as I +do," she said; "it is I who like her, nay, even love her. It is by my +invitation that madame has been to my house. Lord Chandos was introduced +to her by accident. I sought her acquaintance. If people had said she +had been out for a day on the river with me there would have been some +sense in it." + +Lady Ilfield smiled with the air of a person possessed of superior +knowledge. + +"My dear Lady Chandos," she said, "it is time your eyes were opened; you +are about the only person in London who does not know that Lord Chandos +is Madame Vanira's shadow." + +"I do not believe it," was the indignant reply. "I would not believe it, +Lady Ilfield, if all London swore it." + +Lady Ilfield laughed, and the tinge of contempt in that laugh made the +gentle heart beat with indignation. She rose from her seat. + +"I do not doubt," she said, "that you came to tell me this with a +good-natured intention. I will give you credit for that always, Lady +Ilfield, when I remember this painful scene, but I have faith in my +husband. Nothing can shake it. And if the story you tell be true, I am +quite sure Lord Chandos can give a good explanation of it. Permit me to +say good-morning, Lady Ilfield, and to decline any further conversation +on the matter." + +"For all that," said Lady Ilfield to herself, "you will have to suffer, +my lady; you refuse to believe it, but the time will come when you will +have to believe it and deplore it." + +Yet Lady Ilfield was not quite satisfied when she went away. + +While to Lady Chandos had come the first burst of an intolerable pain, +her first anguish of jealousy, her only emotion at the commencement of +the conversation was one of extreme indignation. It was a calumny, she +told herself, and she had vehemently espoused her husband's cause; but +when she was alone and began to think over what had been said her faith +was somewhat shaken. + +It was a straightforward story. Captain and Lady Evelyn Blake were quite +incapable of inventing such a thing. Then she tried to remember how +Tuesday had passed. It came back to her with a keen sense of pain that +on Tuesday she had not seen him all day. He had risen early and had gone +out, leaving word that he should not return for luncheon. She had been +to a morning concert, and had stayed until nearly dinner-time with the +countess. When she returned to Stoneland House he was there; they had a +dinner-party, and neither husband nor wife had asked each other how the +day was spent. She remembered it now. Certainly so far his absence +tallied with the story; but her faith in her husband was not to be +destroyed by the gossip of people who had nothing to do but talk. + +What was it Lady Ilfield had said? That she was the only person in +London who did not know that her husband was Madame Vanira's shadow. +Could that be true? She remembered all at once his long absences, his +abstraction; how she wondered if he had any friends whom he visited long +and intimately. + +Madame Vanira's beautiful face rose before her with its noble eloquence, +its grandeur and truth. No, that was not the woman who would try to rob +a woman of her husband's love. Madame Vanira, the queen of song, the +grand and noble woman who swayed men's hearts with her glorious voice; +Madame Vanira, who had kissed her face and called herself her friend. It +was impossible. She could sooner have believed that the sun and the moon +had fallen from the skies than that her husband had connived with her +friend to deceive her. The best plan would be to ask her husband. He +never spoke falsely; he would tell her at once whether it were true or +not. She waited until dinner was over and then said to him: + +"Lance, can you spare me a few minutes? I want to speak to you." + +They were in the library, where Lord Chandos had gone to write a letter. +Lady Marion looked very beautiful in her pale-blue dinner dress and a +suit of costly pearls. She went up to her husband, and kneeling down by +his side, she laid her fair arms round his neck. + +"Lance," she said, "before I say what I have to say I want to make an +act of faith in you." + +He smiled at the expression. + +"An act of faith in me, Marion?" he said. "I hope you have all faith." + +Then, remembering, he stopped, and his face flushed. + +"I have need of faith," she said, "for I have heard a strange story +about you. I denied it, I deny it now, but I should be better pleased +with your denial also." + +"What is the story?" he asked, anxiously, and her quick ear detected the +anxiety of his voice. + +"Lady Ilfield has been here this afternoon, and tells me that last +Tuesday you were with Madame Vanira at Ousely, that you rowed her on the +river, and that Captain Blake spoke to you there. Is it true?" + +"Lady Ilfield is a mischief-making old----" began Lord Chandos, but his +wife's sweet, pale face startled him. + +"Lance," she cried, suddenly, "oh, my God, it is not true?" + +The ring of pain and passion in her voice frightened him; she looked at +him with eyes full of woe. + +"It is not true?" she repeated. + +"Who said it was true?" he asked, angrily. + +Then there was a few minutes of silence between them; and Lady Marion +looked at him again. + +"Lance," she said, "is it true?" + +Their eyes met, hers full of one eager question. His lips parted; her +whole life seemed to hang on the word that was coming from his lips. + +"Is it true?" she repeated. + +He tried to speak falsely, he would have given much for the power to say +"No." He knew that one word would content her--that she would believe it +implicitly, and that she would never renew the question. Still with that +fair, pure face before him--with those clear eyes fixed on him--he could +not speak falsely, he could not tell a lie. He could have cried aloud +with anguish, yet he answered, proudly: + +"It is true, Marion." + +"True?" she repeated, vacantly, "true, Lance?" + +"Yes, the gossips have reported correctly; it is quite true." + +But he was not prepared for the effect of the words on her. Her fair +face grew pale, her tender arms released their hold and fell. + +"True?" she repeated, in a low, faint voice, "true that you took Madame +Vanira out for a day, and that you were seen by these people with her?" + +"Yes, it is true," he replied. + +And the poor child flung her arms in the air, as she cried out: + +"Oh, Lance, it is a sword in my heart, and it has wounded me sorely." + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +A GATHERING CLOUD. + + +It was strange that she should use the same words which Leone had used. + +"I cannot bear it, Lance," she said. "Why have you done this?" + +He was quite at a loss what to say to her; he was grieved for her, vexed +with those who told her, and the mental emotions caused him to turn +angrily round to her. + +"Why did you take her? What is Madame Vanira to you?" she asked. + +"My dear Marion, can you see any harm in my giving madame a day's +holiday and rest, whether on water or on land?" + +She was silent for a minute before she answered him. + +"No," she replied, "the harm lay in concealing it from me; if you had +told me about it I would have gone with you." + +Poor, simple, innocent Lady Marion! The words touched him deeply; he +thought of the boat among the water-lilies, the beautiful, passionate +voice floating over the water, the beautiful, passionate face, with its +defiance as the words of the sweet, sad song fell from her lips. + +"Lance, why did you not tell me? Why did you not ask me to go with you? +I cannot understand." + +When a man has no proper excuse to make, no sensible reason to give, he +takes refuge in anger. Lord Chandos did that now; he was quite at a loss +what to say; he knew that he had done wrong; that he could say nothing +which could set matters straight; obviously the best thing to do was to +grow angry with his wife. + +"I cannot see much harm in it," he said. "I should not suppose that I am +the first gentleman in England who has taken a lady out for a holiday +and felt himself highly honored in so doing." + +"But, Lance," repeated his fair wife, sorrowfully, "why did you not take +me or tell me?" + +"My dear Marion, I did not think that I was compelled to tell you every +action of my life, everywhere I went, everything I did, every one I see; +I would never submit to such a thing. Of all things in the world, I +abhor the idea of a jealous wife." + +She rose from her knees, her fair face growing paler, and stood looking +at him with a strangely perplexed, wondering gaze. + +"I cannot argue with you, Lance," she said, gently; "I cannot dispute +what you say. You are your own master; you have a perfect right to go +where you will, and with whom you will, but my instinct and my heart +tell me that you are wrong. You have no right to take any lady out +without telling me. You belong to me, and to no one else." + +"My dear Marion, you are talking nonsense," he said, abruptly; "you know +nothing of the world. Pray cease." + +She looked at him with more of anger on her fair face than he had ever +seen before. + +"Lord Chandos," she said, "is this all you have to say to me? I am told +that you have spent a whole day in the society of the most beautiful +actress in the world, perhaps, and when I ask for an explanation you +have none to give me." + +"No," he replied, "I have none." + +"Lance, I do not like it," she said, slowly; "and I do not understand. I +thought Madame Vanira was so good and true?" + +"So she is," he replied. "You must not say one word against her." + +"I have no wish; but if she is so good why should she try to take my +husband from me?" + +"She has not done so," he replied, angrily. "Marion, I will not be +annoyed by a jealous wife." + +"I am not jealous, Lance," she replied; "but when I am told such a +story, and it proves to be true, what am I to do?" + +"Say nothing, Marion, which is always the wisest thing a woman can do," +he replied. + +His wife gazed at him with proud indignation. + +"I do not like the tone in which you speak of this; tell me frankly, is +it with Madame Vanira you spend all the time which you pass away from +home?" + +"I shall say nothing of Madame Vanira," he replied. + +She drew nearer to him; she laid one white hand on his shoulder and +looked wistfully into his face. + +"Lance," she said, "are we to quarrel--over a woman, too? I will not +believe it. You have always been honest with me; tell me what Madame +Vanira is to you?" + +"She is nothing to me," he replied. + +Then the remembrance of what she had been to him came over him and froze +the words on his lips. His wife was quick to notice it. + +"You cannot say it with truth. Oh, Lance, how you pain me." + +There was such absolute, physical pain in her face that he was grieved +for her. + +"Say no more about it, Marion," he cried. "I did ask madame to let me +row her on the river; I know she loves the river; I ought to have asked +you to go with us, or to have told you about it," he said; "I know that; +but people often do imprudent things. Kiss me and say no more about it." + +But for the first time that sweet girl looked coldly on him. Instead of +bending down to kiss him, she looked straight into his face. + +"Lance," she said, "do you like Madame Vanira?" + +His answer was prompt. + +"Most decidedly I do," he answered; "every one must like her." + +"Lady Ilfield says that you are her shadow. Is that true?" + +"Lady Ilfield is a gossip, and the wife who listens to scandal about her +husband lowers herself." + +She did not shrink now from his words. + +"I have not gossiped about you, Lance," she said; "but I wish you +yourself to tell me why people talk about you and Madame Vanira." + +"How can I tell? Why do people talk? Because they have nothing better to +do." + +But that did not satisfy her; her heart ached; this was not the manner +in which she had expected him to meet the charge--so differently--either +to deny it indignantly, or to give her some sensible explanation. As it +was, he seemed to avoid the subject, even while he owned that it was +true. + +"I am not satisfied, Lance," she said; "you have made me very unhappy; +if there is anything to tell me tell it now." + +"What should I have to tell you?" he asked, impatiently. + +"I do not know; but if there is any particular friendship or +acquaintance between Madame Vanira and yourself, tell me now." + +It would have been better if he had told her, if he had made an open +confession of his fault, and have listened to her gentle counsel, but he +did not; on the contrary, he looked angrily at her. + +"If you wish to please me, you will not continue this conversation, +Marion; in fact, I decline to say another word on the subject. I have +said all that was needful, let it end now." + +"You say this, knowing that I am dissatisfied, Lance," said Lady Marion. + +"I say it, hoping that you intend to obey me," he replied. + +Without another word, and in perfect silence, Lady Chandos quitted the +room, her heart beating with indignation. + +"He will not explain to me," she said; "I will find out for myself." + +She resolved from that moment to watch him, and to find out for herself +that which he refused to tell her. She could not bring herself to +believe that there was really anything between her husband and Madame +Vanira; he had always been so good, so devoted to herself. + +But the result of her watching was bad; it showed that her husband had +other interests; much of his time was spent from home; a cloud came +between them; when she saw him leaving home she was too proud to ask him +where he was going, and if even by chance she did ask, his reply was +never a conciliatory one. + +It was quite by accident she learned he went often to Highgate. In the +stables were a fine pair of grays; she liked using them better than any +other horses they had, and one morning the carriage came to the door +with a pair of chestnuts she particularly disliked. + +"Where are the grays?" she asked of the coachman. + +"One of them fell yesterday, my lady," said the man, touching his hat. + +"Fell--where?" asked Lady Chandos. + +"Coming down Highgate Hill, my lady. It is a terrible hill--so steep and +awkward," replied the man. + +Then she would have thought nothing of it but for a sudden look of +warning she saw flash from the groom to the coachman, from which she +shrewdly guessed that they had been told to be silent about the visits +to Highgate. Then she remembered that Madame Vanira lived there. She +remembered how she had spoken of the hills, of the fresh air, and the +distance from town; she watched again and found out that her husband +went to Highgate nearly every day of his life, and then Lady Chandos +drew her own conclusions and very miserable ones they were. + +The cloud between them deepened--deepened daily; all her loving +amiability, her gentle, caressing manner vanished; she became silent, +watchful, suspicious; no passion deteriorates the human mind or the +human heart more quickly than jealousy. If, during those watchful days, +Lord Chandos had once told his wife the plain truth, she would have +forgiven him, have taken him from the scene of his danger, and all might +have gone well; as it was, all went wrong. + +One day a sense of regret for her lost happiness came over her, and she +determined to speak to him about it. She would destroy this shadow that +lay between them; she would dispel the cloud. Surely he would do +anything for her sake--she would have given up the world for him. He was +alone in his study, in the gloaming of a bright day, when she went in to +him and stood once more by his side. + +"Lance," she said, bending her fair, sweet face over his, "Lance, I want +to speak to you again. I am not happy, dear--there is a cloud between +us, and it is killing me. You love me, Lance, do you not?" + +"You know that I do," he said, but there was no heartiness in his voice. + +"I want to tell you, dear, that I have been jealous. I am very unhappy, +but I will conquer myself. I will be to you the most loving wife in all +the world if you will give up Madame Vanira." + +He pushed the outstretched hand away. + +"You do not know what you are asking," he said, hoarsely, and his manner +so alarmed her that she said no more. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +A QUARREL. + + +From that hour all pretense of peace was at an end between them. Lady +Chandos was justly indignant and wounded. If her husband had trusted her +all might, even then, have been well, but he did not; he said to himself +that she would forget the story of her annoyance in time, and all would +be well; he did not give his wife credit for the depth of feeling that +she really possessed. Fiercest, most cruel jealousy had taken hold of +the gentle lady, it racked and tortured her; the color faded from her +face, the light from her eyes; she grew thin and pale; at night she +could not sleep, by day she could not rest; all her sweetness, grace and +amiability, seemed to have given way to a grave sadness; the sound of +her laughter, her bright words, died away; nothing interested her. She +who had never known a trouble or a care, now wore the expression of one +who was heart-broken; she shrunk from all gayety, all pleasures, all +parties; she was like the ghost of her former self; yet after those +words of her husband's she never spoke again of Madame Vanira. The sword +was sheathed in her heart and she kept it there. + +There is no pain so cruel as jealousy; none that so quickly deteriorates +a character; it brings so many evils in its train--suspicion, envy, +hatred of life, distrust in every one and in everything; it is the most +fatal passion that ever takes hold of a human heart, and turns the +kindest nature to gall. There was no moment during the day in which Lady +Chandos did not picture her husband with her rival; she drove herself +almost mad with the pictures she made in her own mind. All the cruel +pain, the sullen brooding, the hot anguish, the desolation, the jealousy +seemed to surge over her heart and soul like the waves of a deadly sea. +If she saw her husband silent and abstracted, she said he was thinking +of Madame Vanira; if she saw him laugh and light of heart she said he +was pleased because he was going to see Madame Vanira. She had sensible +and reasonable grounds for jealousy, but she was unreasonably jealous. + + "Trifles light as air + Are to the jealous confirmation strong + As proofs of holy writ." + +It was so with Lady Marion, and her life at last grew too bitter to be +borne. There was excuse for Lord Chandos, the mistake was in renewing +the acquaintance; a mistake that can never be remedied. + +People were beginning to talk; when Lord Chandos was mentioned, they +gave significant smiles. Against Madame Vanira there had never been even +the faintest rumor of scandal; but a certain idea was current in +society--that Lord Chandos admired the queen of song. No one insinuated +the least wrong, but significant smiles followed the mention of either +name. + +"Madame Vanira was at Lady Martyn's last night," one would say. + +And the laughing answer was always: + +"Then Lord Chandos was not very far away." + +"La Vanira sung to perfection in 'Fidelio,'" would remark one. + +Another would answer: + +"Lord Chandos would know how to applaud." + +Madame Vanira was more eagerly sought after than other women in London. +She reigned queen, not only over the stage, but over the world of +fashion also. + +The Countess of Easton gave a grand ball--it was the most exclusive of +the season. After much praying Madame Vanira had promised to go, and +Lady Chandos was the belle of the ball. They had not met since the +evening madame had sung for her, and Lord Chandos had many an anxious +thought as to what their next meeting would be like. He knew that Leone +would bear much for his sake, yet he did not know what his wife would be +tempted to say. + +They met on the night of Lady Easton's ball; neither knew that the other +was coming. If Lady Chandos had dreamed of meeting Leone there she would +not have gone. As it was, they met face to face in the beautiful +ante-room that led to the ballroom. + +Face to face. Leone wore a superb dress of pale amber brocade, and Lady +Chandos a beautiful costume of pale-blue velvet, the long train of which +was fastened with white, shining pearls. + +It was like the meeting of rival queens. Leone's face flushed, Lady +Marion's grew deadly pale. Leone held out her hand; Lady Marion declined +to see it. They looked at each other for a brief space of time, then +Leone spoke. + +"Lady Marion," she said, in a low, pained voice, "have I displeased +you?" + +"Yes, you have," was the brief reply. + +"You will not touch my hand?" said Leone. + +"No, I decline to touch your hand," said Lady Marion; "I decline to +speak to you after this." + +"Will you tell me why?" asked Leone. + +Lady Marion's face flushed crimson. + +"Since you ask me, I will tell you. You have been seeking my husband, +and I do not approve of it. You spent a day with him on the river--he +never told me about it. I am not a jealous wife, but I despise any woman +who would seek to take the love of a husband from his wife." + +Conscience, which makes cowards of us all, kept Leone silent. + +Lady Chandos continued: + +"What is there between my husband and you?" + +"True friendship," answered Leone, trying to speak bravely. + +"I do not believe it," said Lady Chandos; "true friendship does not hide +itself, or make mystery of its actions. Madame Vanira, I loved you when +I first saw you; I take my love and my liking both from you. Now that I +find that you have acted treacherously I believe in you no more." + +"Those are strong words, Lady Chandos," said Leone. + +"They are true; henceforth we are strangers. My friends are honorable +women, who would seek to steal my jewels rather than seek to steal from +me my husband's love." + +Leone could have retaliated; the temptation was strong; she could have +said: + +"He was my husband, as I believed, before he was yours; you stole him +from me, not I from you." + +The temptation was strong, the words leaped in a burning torrent from +her heart to her lips; she repressed them for his sake and bore the +crushing words without reply. + +"I have always heard," she said, "that there was ample reason that +singers, even though they be queens of song, should not be admitted into +the heart of one's home; now I see the justice of it; they are not +satisfied with legitimate triumphs. You, Madame Vanira, have not been +contented with my liking and friendship, with the hospitality of my +home, but you must seek to take my husband's interest, time, affection." + +"Are you not judging me harshly, Lady Chandos?" asked the singer. "You +bring all these accusations against me and give me no opportunity of +clearing myself of them." + +"You cannot," said Lady Chandos; "I have no wish to hear your defense, +you can neither deny nor explain the fact that you spent a day with my +husband on the river; all the sophistry in the world cannot deny that +fact, and that fact condemns you." + +"Would you say the same thing to any of your former friends?" asked +Leone--"to Lady Caldwell or Lady Blake?" + +"Neither of them would do such a thing," cried Lady Chandos. "Ladies of +the class to which I belong do not spend whole days on the river with +gentlemen unknown to their wives. Madame Vanira--you and I are strangers +from this time." + +"You are very hard on me," said Leone; "the day may come when you will +admit that." + +"The day will never come in which I will mistake good for evil, or right +for wrong," said Lady Chandos. "Others may applaud you, you may continue +your sway over the minds and hearts of men, but I shall protest against +you, and all those like you, who would come between husbands and wives +to separate them." + +It was such a satire of fate, such a satire of her own life, that +Leone's beautiful lips curled with a bitter smile. It was she who had +been parted from her husband by a quibble of the law, and this fair, +angry woman had taken him for herself. + +Lady Chandos saw the smile and misunderstood it. She bowed, and would +have passed, but Leone tried to stop her. + +"Will you not say one kind word to me before you go, Lady Chandos?" she +asked. + +"I have not one kind word to say," was the brief reply. + +She would have passed on, but fate again intervened in the person of +Lord Chandos, who was walking with his hostess, the Countess of Easton. +They stopped before the two ladies, and Lord Chandos saw at once that +something was wrong. Madame Vanira, after exchanging a few words with +the countess, went away, and as soon as he could, Lord Chandos rejoined +his wife. + +"Marion," he said, curtly, "you have had some disagreeable words with +Madame Vanira. I know it by the expression of your face." + +"You are right," she said; "I have told her that henceforth she and I +shall be strangers." + +"You have dared!" he cried, forgetting himself at the thought of Leone's +face. + +She turned her fair face proudly to him. + +"I have dared," she replied; "I refuse to speak or see Madame Vanira +again--she must not cross the threshold of my door again." + +Lord Chandos grew deadly pale as he heard the words. + +"And I say that you wrong a good and blameless woman, Marion, when you +say such words." + +"My lord, am I or am I not at liberty to choose my friends?" she asked, +haughtily. + +"Certainly you are at liberty to do just as you please in that respect," +he replied. + +"Then among them I decline to receive Madame Vanira," she said. + +"As you refuse to see my friends, I must go to meet them," said Lord +Chandos. + +And then between husband and wife began one of those scenes which leave +a mark on both their lives--cruel, hard, unjust and bitter words--hard +and cruel thoughts. + +Then Lady Chandos had her carriage called and went home. + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +A MOTHER'S APPEAL. + + +"She would not bear it--she could not bear it," this was Lady Marion's +conclusion in the morning, when the sunbeams peeping in her room told +her it was time to rise. She turned her face to the wall and said it +would be easier to die--her life was spoiled, nothing could give her +back her faith and trust in her husband or her love for him. + +Life held nothing for her now. It was noon before she rose, and then she +went to her boudoir. Lord Chandos had gone out, leaving no message for +her. She sat there thinking, brooding over her sorrow, wondering what +she was to do, when the Countess of Lanswell was announced. + +Lady Marion looked up. It was as though an inspiration from Heaven had +come to her; she would tell Lady Lanswell, and hear what she had to say. + +"You have been crying," said the countess, as she bent over her +daughter-in-law. "Crying, and how ill you look--what is the matter?" + +"There is something very wrong the matter," said Lady Marion. "Something +that I cannot bear--something that will kill me if it is not stopped." + +"My dearest Marion," said the countess, "what is wrong? I have never +seen you so distressed before. Where is Lance?" + +"I never know where he is now," she said. "Oh, Lady Lanswell, I am so +miserable, so unhappy that I wish I were dead." + +This outbreak from Lady Marion, who was always so calm, so high-bred, so +reticent in expressing her feelings, alarmed Lady Lanswell. She took the +cold, trembling hands in her own. + +"Marion," she said, "you must calm yourself; you must tell me what is +the matter and let me help you." + +Lady Chandos told her all, and the countess listened in wondering amaze. + +"Are you quite sure?" she said. "Lady Ilfield exaggerates sometimes when +she repeats those gossiping stories." + +"It must be true, since my husband acknowledged it himself, and yet +refused to give me any explanation of it. Some time since, I found that +he passed so much of his time away from home I asked you if he had any +friends with whom he was especially intimate, and you thought not. Now I +know that it was Madame Vanira he went to see. She lives at Highgate, +and he goes there every day." + +"I should not think much of it, my dear, if I were you," said the +countess. "Madame Vanira is very beautiful and very accomplished--all +gentlemen like to be amused." + +"I cannot argue," said Lady Chandos; "I can only say that my own +instinct and my own heart tell me there is something wrong, that there +is some tie between them. I know nothing of it--I cannot tell why I feel +this certain conviction, but I do feel it." + +"It is not true, I am sure, Marion," said the countess, gravely. "I know +Lance better than any one else; I know his strength, his weakness, his +virtues, his failings. Love of intrigue is not one, neither is lightness +of love." + +"Then if he cares nothing for Madame Vanira, and sees me unhappy over +her, why will he not give her up?" + +"He will if you ask him," said Lady Lanswell. + +"He will _not_. I have asked him. I have told him that the pain of it is +wearing my life away; but he will not. I am very unhappy, for I love my +husband." + +"And he loves you," said the countess. + +"I do not think so. I believe--my instinct tells me--that he loves +Madame Vanira." + +"Marion, it is wicked to say such things," said the countess, severely. +"Because your husband, like every other man of the world, pays some +attention to the most gifted woman of her day, you suspect him of +infidelity, want of love and want of truth. I wonder at you." + +Lady Marion raised her fair, tear-stained face. + +"I cannot make you understand," she said slowly, "nor do I understand +myself. I only know what I feel, what my instinct tells me, and that is +that between my husband and Madame Vanira there is something more than I +know. I feel that there is a tie between them. He looks at her with +different eyes; he speaks to her with a different voice; when he sung +with her it was as though their souls floated away together." + +"Marion," interrupted the countess, "my dear child, I begin to see what +is the matter with you--you are jealous." + +"Yes, I am jealous," said the unhappy wife, "and not without cause--you +must own that. Ah, Lady Lanswell, you would be sorry for me if you knew +all. See, it is wearing me away; my heart beats, my hands tremble, and +they burn like fire. Oh, my God, how I suffer!" + +The Countess of Lanswell, in her superb dress of black velvet, sat by in +silence; for the first time in her life she was baffled; for the first +time in her life she was face to face with a human passion. Hitherto, in +her cold, proud presence all passion had veiled itself; this unhappy +wife laid hers bare, and my lady was at a loss what to say. In her calm, +proud life there had been no room for jealousy; she had never known it, +she did not even understand the pain. + +If her husband had gone out for a day with the most beautiful woman on +earth, she would either have completely ignored the fact, or, with a +smiling satire, have passed it by. She did not love the earl well enough +to be jealous of him; she did not understand love or jealousy in others. +She sat now quite helpless before the unhappy wife, whose grief annoyed +her. + +"This will not do, Marion," she said, "you will make yourself quite +ill." + +"Ill," repeated Lady Marion, "I have been ill in heart and soul for many +days, and now I am sick unto death. I wish I could die; life has nothing +left for me." + +"Die, my dear, it seems such a trifle, such a trifle; one day spent +together on a river. Is that anything for you to die about?" + +The sweet blue eyes raised wistfully to hers were full of pain. + +"You do not see, you do not understand. Only think how much intimacy +there must have been between them before he would ask her to go, or she +consent to go. If they are but strangers, or even every-day friends, +what could they find to talk about for a whole day?" + +The countess shrugged her shoulders. + +"I am surprised," she said, "for I thought Madame Vanira so far above +all coquetry. If I were you, Marion, I would forget it." + +"I cannot forget it," she cried. "Would to God that I could. It is +eating my heart away." + +"Then," said my lady, "I will speak to Lance at once, and I am quite +sure that at one word from me he will give up the acquaintance, for the +simple reason that you do not like it." + +And with this promise the countess left her daughter-in-law. Once +before, not by her bidding, but by her intrigues, she had persuaded him +to give up one whom he loved; surely a few words from her now would +induce him to give up her whom he could not surely love. It never +occurred to her to dream that they were the same. + +She saw him as she was driving home, and, stopping the carriage, asked +him to drive with her. + +"Lance, I have something very serious to say to you. There is no use +beating about the bush, Marion is very ill and very unhappy." + +"I am sorry for it, mother, but add also she is very jealous and very +foolish." + +"My dear Lance, your wife loves you--you know it, she loves you with all +her heart and soul. If your friendship with Madame Vanira annoys her, +why not give it up?" + +"I choose to keep my independence as a man; I will not allow any one to +dictate to me what friends I shall have, whom I shall give up or +retain." + +"In some measure you are right, Lance," said the countess, "and so far +as gentleman friends are concerned, I should always choose my own; but +as this is a lady, of whom Lady Marion has certain suspicions, I should +most certainly give her up." + +"My wife has no right to be jealous," he said angrily; "it does not add +to my love for her." + +"Let me speak seriously to you, Lance," said the countess. "Marion is so +unhappy that I should not wonder if she were really ill over it; now why +not do as she wishes? Madame Vanira can be nothing to you--Marion is +everything. Why not give her up?" + +A certain look of settled determination that came to her son's face made +the countess pause and wonder. She had seen it there for the first and +last time when she had asked her son to renounce his young wife, and now +she saw it again. Strange that his next words should seem like an answer +to her thoughts. + +"Mother," he said, "do not ask me; you persuaded me to give up all the +happiness of my life, years ago--do not try me a second time. I refuse, +absolutely refuse, to gratify my wife's foolish, jealous wish. I say, +emphatically, that I will not give up my friendship for Madame Vanira." + +Then my lady looked fixedly at him. + +"Lance," she said, "what is Madame Vanira to you?" + +He could not help the flush that burned his handsome, angry face, and +that flush aroused his mother's curiosity. "Have you known her long? Did +you know her before your marriage, Lance? I remember now that I was +rather struck by her manner. She reminds me forcibly of some one. Poor +Marion declares there is some tie between you. What can it be?" + +She mused for some minutes, then looked into her son's face. + +"Great Heaven, Lance, it can never be!" she cried. "A horrible idea has +occurred to me, and yet it is not possible." + +He made no answer, but a look of more dogged defiance came into his +face. + +"It can never be, and yet I think it is so. Can it be possible that +Madame Vanira is the--the dairy-maid to whom you gave your young +affections?" + +"Madame Vanira is the girl I loved, mother, and whom I believed to be my +wife--until you parted us." + +And my lady fell back in her carriage with a low cry of "Heaven have +mercy on us!" + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +"WAR TO THE KNIFE." + + +Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, was in terrible trouble, and it was the +first real trouble of her life. Her son's marriage had been rather a +difficulty than a trouble--a difficulty that the law had helped her +over. Now no law could intervene, and no justice. Nothing could exceed +her surprise in finding Madame Vanira, the Queen of Song, the most +beautiful, the most gifted woman in England, positively the +"dairy-maid," "the tempestuous young person," the artful, designing girl +from whom by an appeal to the strong arm of the law she had saved her +son. She paused in wonder to think to herself what would have happened +if the marriage had not been declared null and void. In that case, she +said to herself, with a shrug of the shoulders, in all probability the +girl would not have taken to the stage at all. She wondered that she had +not sooner recognized her. She remembered the strong, dramatic passion +with which Leone had threatened her. "She was born an actress," said my +lady to herself, with a sneer. She determined within herself that the +secret should be kept, that to no one living would she reveal the fact +that the great actress was the girl whom the law had parted from her +son. + +Lord Chandos, the Duke of Lester, the world in general, must never know +this. Lord Chandos must never tell it, neither would she. What was she +to do? A terrible incident had happened--terrible to her on whose life +no shadow rested. Madame Vanira had accepted an engagement at Berlin, +the fashionable journals had already announced the time of her +departure, and bemoaned the loss of so much beauty and genius. Lord +Chandos had announced his intention of spending a few months in Berlin, +and his wife would not agree to it. + +"You know very well," she said, "that you have but one motive in going +to Berlin, and that is to be near Madame Vanira." + +"You have no right to pry into my motives," he replied, angrily; and she +retorted that when a husband's motives lowered his wife, she had every +reason to inquire into them. + +Hot, bitter, angry words passed between them. Lord Chandos declared that +if it pleased him to go to Berlin he should go; it mattered little +whether his wife went or not; and Lady Chandos, on her side, declared +that nothing should ever induce her to go to Berlin. The result was just +what one might have anticipated--a violent quarrel. Lady Chandos +threatened to appeal to the duke. Her husband laughed at the notion. + +"The duke is a great statesman and a clever man," he replied; "but he +has no power over me. If he interfered with my arrangements, in all +probability we should not meet again." + +"I will appeal to him," cried Lady Marion; "he is the only friend I have +in the world." + +The ring of passionate pain in her voice startled him; a sense of pity +came over him. After all, this fair, angry woman was his wife, whom he +was bound to protect. + +"Marion, be reasonable," he said. "You go the wrong way to work; even +supposing I did care for some one else, you do not go the way to make me +care for you; but you are mistaken. Cease all these disagreeable +recriminations, and I will be the kindest of husbands and the best of +friends to you. I have no wish, believe me, Marion, to be anything +else." + +Even then she might have become reconciled to him, and the sad after +consequences have been averted, but she was too angry, too excited with +jealousy and despair. + +"Will you give up Madame Vanira for me?" she said, and husband and wife +looked fixedly at each other. "You say you will be a loving husband and +a true friend: prove it by doing this--prove it by giving up Madame +Vanira." + +Lord Chandos was silent for a few minutes; then he said: + +"I cannot, for this reason: Madame Vanira, as I happen to know, has had +great troubles in her life, but she is thoroughly good. I repeat it, +Marion, thoroughly good. Now, if I, as you phrase it, 'give her up,' it +would be confessing that I had done wrong. My friendship is some little +comfort to her, and she likes me. What harm is there in it? Above all, +what wrong does it inflict on you? Answer me. Has my friendship for +Madame Vanira made me less kind, less thoughtful for you?" + +No answer came from the white lips of the trembling wife. + +He went on: + +"Why should you be foolish or narrow-minded? Why seek to end a +friendship pure and innocent? Why not be your noble self, Marion--noble, +as I have always thought you? I will tell you frankly, Madame Vanira is +going to Berlin. You know how lonely it is to go to a fresh place. She +happened to say how desolate she should feel at first in Berlin. I +remarked that I knew the city well, and then she wished we were going. I +pledge you my honor that she said 'we.' Never dreaming that you would +make any opposition, I said that I should be very glad to spend the next +few weeks in Berlin. I cannot tell how it really was, but I found that +it was all settled and arranged almost before I knew it. Now, you would +not surely wish me to draw back? Come with me to Berlin, and I will show +you how happy I will make you." + +"No," she replied; "I will share your heart with no one. Unless I have +all I will have none. I will not go to Berlin, and you must give up +Madame Vanira," she continued; "Lance, you cannot hesitate, you must see +your duty; a married man wants no woman friend but his wife. Why should +you spend long hours and whole days _tete-a-tete_ with a stranger? Of +what can you find to speak? You know in your heart that you are wrong. +You say no. Now in the name of common sense and fairness, let me ask, +would you like me to make of any man you know such a friend as you have +made of Madame Vanira?" + +"That is quite another thing," he replied. + +Lady Chandos laughed, sadly. + +"The usual refuge of a man when he is brought to bay," she said. "No +words, no arguments will be of any use to me; I shall never be really +friends with you until you give up Madame Vanira." + +"Then we will remain enemies," he replied. "I will never give up a true +friend for the caprice of any woman," he replied, "even though that +woman be my wife." + +"Neither will I consent to go to Berlin," she answered, gravely. + +"Then I must go alone," he said; "I will not be governed by caprices +that have in them neither reason nor sense." + +"Then," cried Lady Marion, "it is war to the knife between us!" + +"War, if you will," said Lord Chandos; "but always remember you can put +an end to the warfare when you will!" + +"I shall appeal to Lady Lanswell and to the Duke of Lester," said Lady +Marion, and her husband merely answered with a bow. + +With them it was indeed "war to the knife." Such was the Gordian knot +that Lady Lanswell had to untie, and it was the most difficult task of +her life. + +On the same evening when that conversation took place, Lord Chandos went +to the opera, where Leone was playing "Anne Boleyn." He waited until she +came out and was seated in her carriage; then he stood for a few moments +leaning over the carriage door and talking to her. + +"How you tremble, Leone," he said. "Your face is white and your eyes all +fire!" + +"The spell is still on me," she answered. "When I have thrown my whole +soul into anything, I lose my own identity for many hours. I wish," she +continued, "that I did not so thoroughly enter into those characters. I +hardly realize this moment whether I am Anne Boleyn, the unhappy wife of +bluff King Hal, or whether I am Leone, the singer." + +"I know which you are," he said, his eyes seeking hers with a wistful +look. "All King Hal's wives put together are not worth your little +finger, Leone. See how the stars are shining. I have something to say to +you. May I drive with you as far as Highgate Hill?" + +The beautiful face, all pale with passion, looked into his. + +"It is against our compact," she said; "but you may if you wish." + +The silent stars looked down in pity as he took his place by her side. + +"Leone," he said, "I want to ask you something. A crisis is come in our +lives; my wife, who was told about that day on the river, has asked me +to give up your acquaintance." + +A low cry came from the beautiful lips, and the face of the fairest +woman in England grew deadly pale. + +"To give me up," she murmured; "and you, Lord Chandos, what have you +said?" + +"I said 'No,' a thousand times over, Leone; our friendship is a good and +pure one; I would not give it up for any caprice in the world." + +A great, tearless sob came from her pale lips. + +"God bless you a thousand times!" she said. "So you would not give me +up, and you told them so?" + +"Yes; I refused to do anything of the kind," he replied; "why should I, +Leone? They parted us once by stratagem, by intrigue, by working on all +that was weakest in my character; now we are but friends, simply honest +friends; who shall part us?" + +She clasped his hand for an instant in her own. + +"So you will not give me up again, Lance?" she said. + +"No, I will die first, Leone. There is one thing more I have to say. I +said that I would go to Berlin, and I have asked my wife to go with me; +she has refused, and I have said that I would go alone. Tell me what you +think?" + +"I cannot--I think nothing; perhaps--oh, Heaven help me!--perhaps as +your wife has told you she will not go with you, your duty is to stay +with her." + +"My duty," he repeated; "who shall say what a man's duty is? Do you +think I have no duty toward you?" + +"Your first thought should be--must be--your wife. If she would have +countenanced our friendship, it would have been our greatest pride and +pleasure; if she opposes it, we must yield. She has the first right to +your time. After all, Lance, what can it matter? We shall have to part; +what can it matter whether it is now or in three months to come? The +more we see of each other the harder it will be." + +A flush as of fire came over his face. + +"Why must we part?" he cried. "Oh, Heaven, what a price I pay for my +folly!" + +"Here is Highgate Hill," said Leone; "you go no further, Lord Chandos." + +Only the silent stars were looking on; he stood for a few minutes at the +carriage door. + +"Shall I go to Berlin?" he whispered, as he left her, and her answer was +a low, sad: + +"Yes." + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +AN APPROACHING TEMPEST. + + +The Countess of Lanswell was in despair. Any little social difficulty, +the exposing of an adventuress, the setting aside of a marriage, +intrigues, or a royal invitation, "dropping" people when it was +convenient to do so, and courting them when she required them, to all +and each of these deeds she was quite equal; but a serious case of cruel +jealousy, a heart-broken, desolate wife on the one hand, an obstinate +husband on the other, was past her power of management. Lady Chandos had +written to ask her to come to Stoneland House that day. + +"I have something of the greatest importance to say to you," she wrote. +"Do not delay; to-morrow may be too late." + +Lady Lanswell received this urgent note just as she was sipping her +chocolate, luxuriously robed in a dressing-gown of silk and softest +velvet, a pretty morning-cap of finest Mechlin lace on her head. Her +handsome, haughty face grew pale as she read it. + +"It is a wretched piece of business from beginning to end," she said to +herself. "Now here is my peace of mind for the day gone. I was to have +seen Madame Adelaide soon after noon about my dresses, and the dentist +at three. I know absolutely nothing which I can say to a jealous wife, I +know nothing of jealousy. Most of the wives whom I know are pleased +rather than otherwise when their husbands are away from home. Marion +takes things too seriously. I shall tell her so." + +But any little speech of that kind she might have tried to make was +forgotten when she caught the first glimpse of Lady Marion's white, +tragic face. + +"My dear child, what is the matter? What a face! why, you have been +crying for hours, I am sure," said the countess. "Marion, you should not +go on in this way, you will kill yourself." + +"Lady Lanswell, I wish that I were dead; my husband has ceased to love +me. Oh, God, let me die!" cried poor Lady Marion, and the countess was +seriously alarmed. + +"My dear child, pray be reasonable," she cried; "how can you say that +Lance has ceased to love you?" + +"It is true," said the unhappy wife; "he refused to give up Madame +Vanira, and what seems to me more dreadful still, she is going to +Berlin, and he insists on going also. I cannot bear it, Lady Lanswell!" + +"We must reason with him," said the countess, grandly, and despite the +tragedy of her sorrow, Lady Marion smiled. + +"Reason with him? You might as well stand before a hard, white rock and +ask roses to bloom on it; you might as well stand before the great +heaving ocean and ask the tide not to roll in, as to try to reason with +him. I do not understand it, but I am quite sure that he is infatuated +by Madame Vanira; I could almost fancy that she had worked some spell +over him. Why should he care for her? Why should he visit her? Why +should he go to Berlin because she is there?" + +The countess, listening, thanked Heaven that she did not know. If ever +that secret became known, it was all over with the House of Lanswell. + +"I have said all that I can say," she continued, rising in great +agitation; "and it is of no use; he is utterly shameless." + +"Hush, woman! I will not have you say such things of my son; he may like +and admire Madame Vanira, but I trust him, and would trust him anywhere; +you think too much of it, and you make more of it than you need. Let me +pray of you to be prudent; want of prudence in a wife at such a juncture +as this has very often occasioned misery for life. Are you quite sure +that you cannot be generous enough to allow your husband the pleasure of +this friendship, which I can certify is a good one?" + +The countess sighed; the matter was indeed beyond her. In her artificial +life, these bare, honest human passions had no place. + +"Over the journey to Berlin," she said, "you are making too much of it. +If he enjoys madame's society, and likes Berlin, where is the harm of +his enjoying them together?" + +So she spoke; but she shrunk from the clear gaze of those blue eyes. + +"Lady Lanswell, you know all that is nonsense. My husband is mine, and I +will not share his love or his affection with any one. Unless he gives +up Madame Vanira, I shall leave him. If he goes to Berlin, I will never +see him again." + +"You are very foolish, my dear. I heard yesterday, on very good +authority, that my son, Lord Chandos, will be offered the vacant Garter. +I believe it is true, I feel sure of it. I would not for the world +anything should happen now, any disgrace of any kind; and these +matrimonial quarrels are disgraceful, Marion. You should trust your +husband." + +"I have done so, but he does not love me, Lady Lanswell; my mind is +quite made up. If he goes to Berlin, I shall never see or speak to him +again." + +"But, my dearest Marion," cried the countess, "this is terrible. Think +of appearances, think of the world--what will the world say? And yours +was supposed to be a love-match. It must not be. Have you not the sense +to see that such a course of proceeding would be simply to throw him +into Madame Vanira's hands? You will be your own worst enemy if you do +this!" + +"I shall do what my own heart prompts," she said; "no matter what the +world says; I care nothing for the world's opinion. Oh, Lady Lanswell, +do not look so angry at me. I am miserable; my heart is broken!" + +And the unhappy girl knelt at Lady Lanswell's feet, and laid her head on +the silken folds of her dress. + +If there was one creature in this world whom Lady Lanswell loved more +than another, it was her son's wife, the fair, gentle girl who had been +a most loving daughter to her; she could not endure the sight of her +pain and distress. + +"I have made up my mind," sobbed Lady Marion; "I shall appeal to the +Duke of Lester; he will see that justice is done to me!" + +"My dearest Marion, that is the very thing you must not do. If you +appeal to the duke, it becomes at once a serious quarrel, and who shall +say how such a quarrel may end? If you appeal to the duke, the whole +thing will be known throughout the land; there is an end to all my hopes +of the vacant Garter; in fact, I may say there is an end to the race of +Lanswell. Think twice before you take such an important step!" + +"No one thinks for me!" cried Lady Marion. + +"Yes, I think of you and for you. Give me your promise that for a week +at least you will say nothing to the Duke of Lester. Will you promise me +that, Marion?" + +"Yes," said Lady Chandos, wearily; "I promise you that, but not one day +longer than a week; my heart is breaking! I cannot bear suspense!" + +"I promise you that in a few days there shall be an end of all your +trouble," said the countess, who had secretly made her own resolves. +"Now, Marion, put your trust in me. You have had no breakfast this +morning, I am sure." + +Raising the delicate figure in her arms, the countess kissed the weeping +face. + +"Trust in me," she repeated; "all will be well. Let me see you take some +coffee." + +The countess rang and ordered some coffee; then, when she had compelled +Lady Marion to drink it, she kissed her again. + +"Do you know how it will end?" she said gently, "all this crying and +fasting and sorrow? You will make yourself very ill, and then Lance will +never forgive himself. Do be reasonable, Marion, and leave it all with +me." + +But after the countess had left her, Lady Marion still felt very ill; +she had never felt so ill; she tried to walk from her dressing-room to +her bedroom, and to the great alarm of her maid, she fell fainting to +the ground. + +The doctor came, the same physician who had attended her for some years +since she was a child, and he looked very grave when he heard of the +long deathlike swoon. He sat talking to her for some time. + +"Do you think I am very ill, doctor?" she asked. + +He answered: + +"You are not very well, my dear Lady Chandos." + +"Do you think I will die?" + +"Not of this illness, please God," he said. "Now, if you will promise me +not to be excited, I will tell you something," and, bending down, he +whispered something in her ear. + +A flood of light and rapture came in her face, her eyes filled with joy. + +"Do you mean it? Is it really true?" she asked. + +"Really true; but remember all depends on yourself;" and the doctor went +away, leaving behind him a heart full of emotion, of pleasure, of pain, +hope, and regret. + +Meanwhile, the countess for the second time had sought her son. Her +stern, grave face, her angry eyes, the repressed pride and emotion that +he saw in every gesture, told him that the time for jesting or evasion +had passed. + +"Lance," said my lady, sternly, "you are a man now. I cannot command you +as I did when you were a boy." + +"No, mother; that is quite true. Apropos of what do you say that?" + +"I am afraid the sin of your manhood will be greater than the follies of +your youth," she said. + +"It is just possible," he replied, indifferently. + +"You have heard that you have been mentioned for the vacant Garter, and +that it is highly probable you may receive it?" + +"I have heard so," he answered, indifferently. + +"I want to ask you a straightforward question. Do you think it worth +your while to risk that, to risk the love and happiness of your wife, to +risk your fair name, the name of your race, your position, and +everything else that you ought to hold most dear? Do you think it worth +while to risk all this for the sake of spending three months in Berlin, +where you can see Madame Vanira every day?" + +Lord Chandos looked straight in his mother's face. + +"Since you ask me the question," he replied, "most decidedly I do." + +My lady shrunk back as though she had received a blow. + +"I am ashamed of you," she said. + +"And I, mother, have been ashamed of my cowardice; but I am a coward no +longer." + +"Are tears and prayers of any avail?" asked Lady Lanswell; and the +answer was: + +"No." + +Then my lady, driven to despair between her son and his wife, resolved +some evening to seek the principal cause of the mischief--Madame Vanira +herself. + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +A PROUD WOMAN HUMBLED. + + +The Countess of Lanswell had never in all her life been defeated before; +now all was over, and she went home with a sense of defeat such as she +had never known before. Her son refused not only to obey her, but to +listen to her remonstrances; he would not take heed of her fears, and my +lady saw nothing but social disgrace before them. Her own life had been +so crowned with social triumphs and success she could not realize or +understand anything else. The one grand desire of her heart since her +son's marriage had been that he should become a Knight of the Order of +the Garter, and now, by the recent death of a famous peer, the desire +was on the eve of accomplishment; but if, on the very brink of success, +it were known that he had left all his duties, his home, his wife, to +dance attendance on a singer, even though she were the first singer in +Europe, it would be fatal to him. It would spoil his career. My lady had +carried herself proudly among the mothers of other sons; hers had been a +success, while some others had proved, after all, dead failures; was she +to own to herself at the end of a long campaign that she was defeated? +Ah, no! Besides which there was the other side of the question--Lady +Marion declared she would not see him or speak to him again if he went +to Berlin, and my lady knew that she would keep her word. If Lord +Chandos persisted in going to Berlin his wife would appeal to the duke, +would in all probability insist on taking refuge in his house, then +there would be a grand social scandal; the whole household would be +disbanded. Lady Chandos, an injured, almost deserted wife, living with +the duke and the duchess; Lord Chandos abroad laughed at everywhere as a +dupe. + +My lady writhed again in anguish as she thought of it. It must not be. +She said to herself that it would turn her hair gray, that it would +strike her with worse than paralysis. Surely her brilliant life was not +to end in such a fiasco as this. For the first time for many years hot +tears blinded those fine eyes that had hitherto looked with such +careless scorn on the world. + +My lady was dispirited; she knew her son well enough to know that +another appeal to him would be useless; that the more she said to him on +the subject the more obstinate he would be. A note from Lady Chandos +completed her misery, and made her take a desperate resolve--a sad +little note, that said: + + "DEAR LADY LANSWELL,--If you can do anything to help me, let it be + done soon. Lance has begun to-day his preparations for going to + Berlin. I heard him giving instructions over his traveling trunk. + We have no time to lose if anything can be done to save him." + +"I must do it," said the countess, to herself, with desperation. "Appeal +to my son is worse than useless. I must appeal to the woman I fear he +loves. Who could have imagined or prophesied that I should ever have +been compelled to stoop to her, yet stoop I must, if I would save my +son!" + +With Lady Lanswell, to resolve was to do; when others would have beaten +about the bush she went direct. + +On the afternoon of that day she made out Leone's address, and ordered +the carriage. It was a sign of fear with her that she was so particular +with her toilet; it was seldom that she relied, even in the least, on +the advantages of dress, but to-day she made a toilet almost imperial in +its magnificence--rich silk and velvet that swept the ground in superb +folds, here and there gleaming a rich jewel. + +The countess smiled as she surveyed herself in the mirror, a regal, +beautiful lady. Surely no person sprung from Leone's class would dare to +oppose her. + +It was on a beautiful, bright afternoon that my lady reached the pretty +house where Madame Vanira lived. A warm afternoon, when the birds sung +in the green shade of the trees, when the bees made rich honey from the +choice carnations, and the butterflies hovered round the budding lilies. + +The countess drove straight to the house. She left her carriage at the +outer gates, and walked through the pretty lawn; she gave her card to +the servant and was shown into the drawing-room. + +The Countess of Lanswell would not have owned for the world that she was +in the least embarrassed, but the color varied in her face, and her lips +trembled ever so little. In a few minutes Leone entered--not the +terrified, lowly, loving girl, who braved her presence because she loved +her husband so well; this was a proud, beautiful, regal woman, haughty +as the countess herself--a woman who, by force of her wondrous beauty +and wondrous voice, had placed the world at her feet. + +The countess stepped forward with outstretched hands. + +"Madame Vanira," she said, "will you spare me a few minutes? I wish to +speak most particularly with you." + +Leone rang the bell and gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. +Then the two ladies looked at each other. Leone knew that hostilities +were at hand, although she could not quite tell why. + +The countess opened the battle by saying, boldly: + +"I ought, perhaps, to tell you, Madame Vanira, that I recognize you." + +Leone looked at her with proud unconcern. + +"I recognize you now, although I failed to do so when I first saw you. I +congratulate you most heartily on your success." + +"On what success?" she asked. + +"On your success as an actress and a singer. I consider you owe me some +thanks." + +"Truly," said Leone, "I owe you some thanks." + +The countess did not quite like the tone of voice in which those words +were uttered; but it was her policy to be amiable. + +"Your genius has taken me by surprise," she said; "yet, when I recall +the only interview I ever had with you, I recognize the dramatic talent +you displayed." + +"I should think the less you say of that interview, the better," said +Leone; "it was not much to your ladyship's credit." + +Lady Lanswell smiled. + +"We will not speak of it," she said. "But you do not ask me to sit down. +Madame Vanira, what a charming house you have here." + +With grave courtesy Leone drew a chair near the window, and the countess +sat down. She looked at the beautiful woman with a winning smile. + +"Will you not be seated, madame?" she said. "I find it so much easier to +talk when one is seated." + +"How did you recognize me?" asked Leone, abruptly. + +"I cannot say truthfully that I recognized your face," she said; "you +will not mind my saying that if I had done so I would not have invited +you to my house, neither should I have permitted my daughter-in-law to +do so. It has placed us all in a false position. I knew you from +something my son said about you. I guessed at once that you must be +Leone Noel. I must repeat my congratulations; how hard you must have +worked." + +Her eyes wandered over the magnificent face and figure, over the +faultless lines and graceful curves, over the artistic dress, and the +beautiful, picturesque head. + +"You have done well," said the countess. "Years ago you thought me hard, +unfeeling, prejudiced, cruel, but it was kindness in the end. You have +achieved for yourself fame, which no one could have won for you. Better +to be as you are, queen of song, and so queen of half the world of +fashion, than the wife of a man whose family and friends would never +have received you, and who would soon have looked on you as an +incumbrance." + +"Pray pardon me, Lady Lanswell, if I say that I have no wish whatever to +hear your views on the subject." + +My lady's face flushed. + +"I meant no offense," she said, "I merely wished to show you that I have +not been so much your enemy as you perhaps have thought me," and by the +sudden softening of my lady's face, and the sudden tremor of her voice, +Leone knew that she had some favor to ask. + +"I think," she said, after a pause, "that in all truth, Madame Vanira, +you ought to be grateful to me. You would never have known the extent of +your own genius and power if you had not gone on the stage." + +"The happiness of the stage resembles the happiness of real life about +as much as the tinsel crown of the mock queen resembles the regalia of +the sovereign," replied Leone. "It would be far better if your ladyship +would not mention the past." + +"I only mention it because I wish you to see that I am not so much your +enemy as you have thought me to be." + +"Nothing can ever change my opinion on that point," said Leone. + +"You think I was your enemy?" said the countess, blandly. + +"The most cruel and the most relentless enemy any young girl could +have," said Leone. + +"I am sorry you think that," said my lady, kindly. "The more so as I +find you so happy and so prosperous." + +"You cannot answer for my happiness," said Leone, briefly. + +"I acted for the best," said the countess, with more meekness than Leone +had ever seen in her before. + +"It was a miserable best," said Leone, her indignation fast rising, +despite her self-control. "A wretched best, and the results have not +been in any way so grand that you can boast of them." + +"So far as you are concerned, Madame Vanira, I have nothing to repent +of," said my lady. + +Leone's dark eyes flashed fire. + +"I am but one," she said, "your cruelty made two people miserable. What +of your son? Have you made him so happy that you can come here and boast +of what you have done?" + +My lady's head fell on her breast. Ah, no, Heaven knew her son was not a +happy man. + +"Leone," she said, in a low, hurried voice, "it is of my son I wish to +speak to you. It is for my son's sake I am here--it is because I believe +you to be his true friend and a noble woman that I am here, Leone--it is +the first time I have called you by your name--I humble myself to +you--will you listen to me?" + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +"BEHOLD MY REVENGE!" + + +Even as she spoke the words Lady Lanswell's heart sunk within her. No +softening came to the beautiful face, no tenderness, no kindliness; it +seemed rather as though her last words had turned Leone to stone. She +grew pale even to her lips, she folded her hands with a hard clasp, her +beautiful figure grew more erect and dignified--the words dropped +slowly, each one seeming to cut the air as it fell. + +"You call me noble, Lady Lanswell! you, who did your best to sully my +fair name; you call me your son's best friend, when you flung me aside +from him as though I had been of no more worth than the dust underneath +his feet!" + +Lady Lanswell bent forward. + +"Will you not forget that?" she said. "Let the past die. I will own now +that I was harsh, unjust, even cruel to you; but I repent it--I have +never said as much before--I repent it, and I _apologize_ to you! Will +you accept my apology?" + +The effort was so great for a proud woman to make, that the countess +seemed almost to struggle for breath as she said the words. Leone looked +on in proud, angry scorn. + +"You apologize, Lady Lanswell! You think that a few words can wash away +the most cruel wrong one woman did to another? Do you know what you +did?--you robbed me of my husband, of a man I loved as I shall love no +other; you blighted my fair name. What was I when that marriage was set +aside? You--you tortured me--you broke my heart, you slew all that was +best in me, and now all these years afterward you come to me, and think +to overwhelm me with faint, feeble words of apology. Why, if you gave me +your heart's blood, your very soul, even, it would not atone me! I had +but one life, and you have spoiled it! I had but one love, you trampled +on it with wicked, relentless feet! Ah, why do I speak? Words are but +sound. No, Lady Lanswell, I refuse your apology now or at any time! We +are enemies, and shall remain so until we die!" + +The countess shrunk from the passion of her indignant words. + +"You are right in some measure," she said, sadly. "I was very hard, but +it was for my son's sake! Ah, believe me, all for him." + +"Your son," retorted Leone; "you make your son the excuse for your own +vanity, pride, and ambition. What you did, Lady Lanswell, proved how +little you loved your son; you parted us knowing that he loved me, +knowing that his whole heart was bound up in me, knowing that he had but +one wish, and it was to spend his whole life with me; you parted us +knowing that he could never love another woman as he loved me, knowing +that you were destroying his life, even as you have destroyed mine. Did +love for your son actuate you then?" + +"What I believed to be my love for my son and care for his interests +alone guided me," said Lady Lanswell. + +"Love for your son!" laughed Leone. "Have you ever read the story of the +mother of the Maccabees, who held her twin sons to die rather than they +live to deny the Christian faith? Have you read of the English mother +who, when her fair-haired son grew pale at the sound of the first +cannon, cried, 'Be brave, my son, death does not last one minute--glory +is immortal.' I call such love as that the love of a mother for her +son--the love that teaches a man to be true, if it cost his life; to be +brave, if courage brings him death; to be loyal and noble. True motherly +love shows itself in that fashion, Lady Lanswell." + +The proud head of Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, drooped before this girl +as it had never done before any power on earth. + +"What has your love done for your son, Lady Lanswell?" she asked. "Shall +I tell you? You made him a traitor, a coward, a liar--through your +intrigues, he perjured himself. You made him disloyal and ignoble--you +made him _false_. And yet you call that love! I would rather have the +love of a pagan mother than such as yours. + +"What have you done for him?" she continued, the fire of her passion +rising--"what have you done for him? He is young and has a long life +before him. Is he happy? Look at his face--look at his restless, weary +eyes--listen to the forced bitter laugh! Is he happy, after all your +false love has done for him? You have taken from him the woman he loves, +and you have given him one for whom he cares so little he would leave +her to-morrow! Have you done so well, Lady Lanswell for your son?" + +"No, indeed I have not!" came with a great sigh from Lady Lanswell's +lips. "Perhaps, if it were to be--but no, I will not say that. You have +noble thoughts and noble ideas--tell me, Leone, will you help me?" + +"Help you in what?" she asked, proudly. + +The countess flung aside the laces and ribbons that seemed to stifle +her. + +"Help me over my son!" she cried; "be generous to me. Many people in my +place would look on you as an enemy--I do not. If you have ever really +loved my son you cannot be an enemy of mine. I appeal to the higher and +nobler part of you. Some people would be afraid that you should triumph +over them--I am not. I hold you for a generous foe." + +"What appeal do you wish to make to me?" asked Leone, quite ignoring all +the compliments which the countess paid her. + +Lady Lanswell looked as she felt--embarrassed; it was one thing to carry +this interview through in fancy, but still another when face to face +with the foe, and that foe a beautiful, haughty woman, with right on her +side. My lady was less at ease than she had ever been in her life +before, her eyes fell, her lips trembled, her gemmed fingers played +nervously with her laces and ribbons. + +"That I should come to you at all, Leone, proves that I think you a +noble woman," she said; "my trouble is great--the happiness of many +lives lies in your hands." + +"I do not understand how," said Leone. + +"I will tell you," continued the countess. "You are going to Berlin, are +you not?" + +She saw a quiver of pain pass over the beautiful face as she asked the +question. + +"Yes," replied Leone; "I have an engagement there." + +"And Lord Chandos, my son, has said something about going there, too?" + +"Yes," replied Leone; "and I hope he will; he knows the city well, and I +shall be glad to see a familiar face." + +There was a minute's silence, during which Lady Lanswell brought all her +wit and courage to bear on the situation. She continued: + +"Lady Chandos does not wish my son to go to Berlin. I suppose it is no +secret from you that she entirely disapproves of her husband's +friendship with you?" + +Leone bowed her proud, beautiful head. + +"That is a matter of little moment to me," she said. + +My lady's face flushed at the words. + +"I may tell you," she went on, "that since Lady Chandos heard of this +friendship, she has been very unhappy." + +"No one cared when I was unhappy," said Leone; "no one pleaded for me." + +"I do plead for Lady Marion," said the countess, "whatever you may think +of me. She has done you no harm; why should you make mischief between +her and her husband?" + +"Why did you make mischief between me and mine?" retorted Leone; and my +lady shrunk as she spoke. + +"Listen to me, Leone," she said; "you must help me, you must be my +friend. If my son goes to Berlin against his wife's prayers and wishes, +she has declared that she will never speak to him or see him again." + +"That cannot concern me," said Leone. + +"For Heaven's sake listen, and do not speak to me so heartlessly. If he +goes to Berlin, Lady Chandos will appeal to the Duke of Lester, who has +just obtained for my son the greatest honor that can be conferred on an +English gentleman--the Order of the Garter. In plain words, Leone, if my +son follows you to Berlin, he will lose his wife, he will lose his good +name, he will lose caste, his social position, his chance of courtly +honors, the respect of his own class. He will be laughed at as a dupe, +as a man who has given up all the honors of life to dance attendance on +an actress; in short, if he goes either with you, or after you, to +Berlin, he is, in every sense of the word, a ruined man!" and my lady's +voice faltered as she said the words. + +"Why not tell Lord Chandos all this himself, and see what he says?" +asked Leone. + +Perfect desperation brings about perfect frankness--my lady knew that it +was quite useless to conceal anything. + +"I have said all this and more to my son, but he will not even listen to +me." + +A scornful smile curved those lovely lips. + +"He persists in going to Berlin, then?" said Leone, quietly. + +"Yes," replied my lady, "he persists in it." + +"Then why come to me? If your son persists in a certain course of +action, why come to me?" + +"Because you can influence him. I ask you to be noble beyond the +nobility of women, I ask you to be generous beyond the generosity of +women, I ask you to forget the past and forbid my son to follow you to +Berlin. You know the end must be a bad one--forbid it. I ask you with +the warmest of prayers and of tears!" + +It was then that Leone rose in righteous wrath, in not indignation, in +angry passion; rose and stood erect before the woman who had been her +enemy. + +"I refuse," she said. "Years ago I went to you a simple-hearted, loving +girl, and I prayed you for Heaven's sake to have mercy on me. You +received me with scorn and contumely; you insulted, outraged, tortured +me; you laughed at my tears, you enjoyed my humiliation. I told you then +that I would have my revenge, even should I lose everything on earth to +obtain that revenge. Now it lays in my hands, and I grasp it--I glory in +it. Your son shall follow me, shall lose wife, home, friends, position, +fair name, as I lost all years ago at your bidding. Oh, cruel and wicked +woman, behold my revenge! I repay you now. Oh, God," she continued, with +a passionate cry, "I thank Thee that I hold my vengeance in my hand; I +will slay and spare not!" + +Then she stood silent for some minutes, exhausted by the passion of her +own words. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +USELESS PLEADINGS. + + +"You cannot possibly know what you are saying," said Lady Lanswell; "you +must be mad." + +"No; I am perfectly sane; if I am mad at all it is with delight that the +very desire of my heart has been given to me. Do you forget when you +trampled my heart, my life, my love under your feet that day? Do you +forget what I have sworn?" + +"I have never thought of it since," said the countess, trying to +conciliate still. + +"Then I will remind you," said Leone. "I swore to be avenged, no matter +what my vengeance cost. I swore that you should come and plead to me on +your knees and I would laugh at you. I do so. I swore that you should +plead to me, and I would remind you how I pleaded in vain. You wrung my +heart--I will wring yours, and my only regret is that it is so hard and +cold I cannot make you suffer more." + +"You are mad," said my lady; "quite mad." + +"No," said Leone, "I am sane, but mine was a mad love." + +"You cannot know the consequence to yourself if you persist in this +conduct," said my lady, serenely. + +"Did you think of them for me when you set aside my marriage with your +son, because you did not think me good enough to be a countess?" she +asked. "Lady Lanswell, the hour of vengeance has come and I embrace it. +Your son shall lose his wife, his home, his position, his honors; I care +not what," she cried, with sudden recklessness--"I care not what the +world says of me, I will do that which I shall do, less because I love +your son than because I desire to punish you." + +Lady Lanswell grew very pale as she listened. + +"Yours is a terrible revenge," she said, gently. "I wish that you could +invent some vengeance that would fall on my head--and on mine alone, so +as to spare those who are dear to me. Could you not do that? I would +willingly suffer anything to free my son and his fair, loving wife." + +"No one spared me, nor will I in my turn spare," she said. "You shall +know what it means to plead for dear life and plead in vain." + +"Can I say nothing that will induce you to listen to me?" said the +countess, "will you deliberately persist in the conduct that will ruin +three lives?" + +"Yes, deliberately and willfully," said Leone. "I will never retract, +never go back, but go on to the bitter end." + +"And that end means my son's disgrace," said Lady Lanswell. + +"It would be the same thing if it meant his death," said Leone; "no one +withheld the hand that struck death to me--worse than death." + +"You have nothing but this to say to me," said Lady Lanswell as she rose +with stately grace from her seat. + +"No; if I knew anything which would punish you more, which would more +surely pay my debts, which would more fully wreak my vengeance, I would +do it. As for three lives, as for thirty, I would trample them under my +feet. I will live for my vengeance, no matter what it costs me; and, +Lady Lanswell, you ruined my life. Good-bye. The best wish I can form is +that I may never look on your face again. Permit me to say farewell." + +She went out of the room leaving the countess bewildered with surprise +and dismay. + +"What she says she will do," thought Lady Lanswell; "I may say good-bye +to every hope I have ever formed for my son." + +She went away, her heart heavy as lead, with no hope of any kind to +cheer it. + +Leone went to her room, her whole frame trembling with the strong +passion that had mastered her. + +"What has come over me?" she said; "I no longer know myself. Is it love, +vengeance, or jealousy that has hold of me? What evil spirit has taken +my heart? Would I really hurt him whom I have loved all my life--would I +do him harm? Would I crush that fair wife of his who wronged me without +knowing it? Let me find out for myself if it be true." + +She tried to think, but her head was in a whirl--she could not control +herself, she could not control her thoughts; the sight of Lady Lanswell +seemed to have set her heart and soul in flame--all the terrible memory +of her wrongs came over her, the fair life blighted and ruined, the +innocent girlhood and dawning womanhood all spoiled. It was too +cruel--no, she could never forgive it. + +And then it seemed to her that her brain took fire and she went mad. + +She saw Lord Chandos that same evening; they met in a crush on the +staircase at one of the ducal mansions, where a grand dinner-party +preceded a _soiree_, and the crowd was so great they were unable to +stir. It is possible to be quite alone in a great crowd, as these two +were now. + +Leone had on a dress of white satin trimmed with myrtle, the rich folds +of which trailed on the ground. They shook hands in silence; it was Lord +Chandos who spoke first. + +"I am so glad to see you, Leone; but you are looking ill--you must not +look like that. Has anything happened to distress you?" + +He saw great trouble in the dark eyes raised to his. + +"Is Lady Marion here?" she asked. + +"No," he replied. "She was to have come with my mother, but at the last +moment she declined; I do not know why." + +She was debating in her own mind whether she would tell him about his +mother's visit or not; then she decided it would be better. He bent over +her. + +"I came," he said, "in the hope of seeing you. I heard you say last +night that you should be here." + +In a low tone she said to him: + +"Your mother has been to see me; talk about dramatic scenes, we had one. +Has she told you anything about it?" + +"No," he replied: "she does not speak to me; I am in disgrace; my lady +passes me in silent dignity. She was just going to Lady Marion's room +when I came away, but she did not speak to me. What was the object of +her visit, Leone?" + +"It was about Berlin," she said, in a low voice. + +He started. + +"Has she been to you about that?" he asked. "I thought she had exhausted +all the remarks she had to make on that subject." + +The green foliage and crimson flowers of a huge camellia bent over them. +Lord Chandos pushed aside the crimson flowers so that he might more +clearly see his companion's face. + +"What has my mother said to you about Berlin, Leone?" he asked. + +"She came to beg of me to forbid you to go. She says if you go either +with me or after me you will be a ruined man." + +"It will be a most sweet ruin," he whispered. + +"Lance," said Leone, "do you know that while Lady Lanswell was talking +to me I went mad--I am quite sure of it. I said such dreadful things to +her; did I mean them?" + +"How should I know, my--Leone; but we will not talk about it; never mind +what my mother says, I do not wish to hear it. She came between us once, +but she never will again. She parted us once, she shall never part us +again--never. There can be no harm in my going to Berlin, and there I +shall go--that is, always with your consent and permission." + +"That you have. But, Lance, is it true that Lady Marion does not wish +you to go to Berlin, and threatens to leave you if you do--is it true?" + +"Let us talk about something else, Leone," he said. "We have but a few +moments together." + +"But I cannot think of anything else," she said; "because my heart is +full of it." + +What else she would have said will never be known, for at that moment +there was a stir in the crowd, and they were separated. + +She took home with her the memory of his last look--a look that said so +plainly, "I love you and will go to Berlin for your sake." She took home +with her the memory of that look, and lay sleepless through the whole +night, wondering which of the evil spirits had taken possession of her. + +The countess had gone in search of Lady Marion. She found her in her +boudoir--the beautiful room she had shown with such pride to Madame +Vanira. + +Lady Chandos looked up eagerly as the countess entered. + +"Have you good news for me?" she cried, eagerly. + +And my lady could not destroy the lingering hope she saw in that fair +face. + +"Not yet," she cried, "but you must be patient, Marion." + +"Patience is so difficult when so much is at stake. Tell me--you had +some plan, some resource; I saw that when you left me. Have you tried +it?" + +"Yes, I have tried it," replied Lady Lanswell, sadly. + +"Has it succeeded or failed?" she asked, eagerly. + +"It has failed," answered the countess, dreading to see the effect of +her reply. + +But to her surprise, a tender, dreamy smile came over the fair face. + +"Why are you smiling, Marion?" she asked. + +"Because I, too, have a plan," she replied; "one quite of my own; and I +pray Heaven it may succeed." + +"Will you tell it me?" asked Lady Lanswell. + +And the fair, young wife's answer was a quietly whispered: + +"No." + +Late that night, while the London streets were darkened by the cloud of +sin that seems to rise as the sun sets; while the crowded ballrooms were +one scene of gayety and frivolity; while tired souls went from earth to +Heaven; while poverty, sickness, sorrow and death reigned over the whole +city, Lady Marion, with her golden head bent and her white hands +clasped, knelt praying. There was peace on her face and holy, happy +love. + +"God help me," she said; "I will put all my trust in Him. My husband +will love me when he knows." + +She prayed there until the sun rose in the morning sky, and she watched +the first beams with a tender smile. + +"It will be a day of grace for me," she said, as she laid her fair head +on the pillow to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + +"THIS WOMAN SHALL NEVER KNOW." + + +Leone stood alone in her pretty drawing-room, the room from which she +could see the hills and the trees, and catch glimpses of pretty home +scenery that were unrivaled. She stood looking at it now, her eyes fixed +on the distant hills, her heart re-echoing the words: "In the grave +alone is peace." In her heart and mind all was dross; she seemed to have +lost the power of thinking; she had an engagement to sing in her +favorite opera on the evening previous. Hundreds had assembled to hear +her, and at the last moment they were compelled to find a substitute. +Leone could not sing; it was not that her voice failed her, but to her +inexpressible sorrow, when she began to tell the woes of another her +mind wandered off into her own. In vain she tried to collect herself, to +save herself from the terrible whirl of her brain. "Surely I am not +going mad." She bent her head on her hands, and sighed deeply; if she +could but save herself, if she could but tell what to do. The night +before, only a few hours previous, it seemed to her her heart and brain +had been on fire, first with jealousy, then with love, then with anger. +By accident, as she was going to her wardrobe, her hands fell on a +large, beautiful copy of the Bible. She opened it carelessly, and her +eyes fell on the words: "For the wicked there shall be no abiding-place, +neither shall they find rest forever." + +Rest, that was what she wanted, and if she were wicked she would not +find it for evermore. What was being wicked? People had behaved wickedly +to her, they had taken from her the one love that would have been the +stay of her life; they had made her most solemn vows nothing. She had +been wickedly treated, but did it follow that she must be wicked? + +"I could never be a sinner," she said; "I have not the nerve, I have not +the strength. I could never be a sinner." + +Lightly enough she turned those pages; she saw the picture of Ruth in +the corn-field--simple, loving Ruth, whose words have stood the finest +love-story ever written since she uttered them. There was another +picture of Queen Esther fainting in the awful presence of Ahasuerus the +king; another of a fair young Madonna holding in her arms a little +child; another of the Magdalen, her golden hair wet with tears; another +of a Sacred Head bent low in the agonies of death. She looked long at +that, for underneath it was written, "For our sins." Wickedness meant +sin. Standing there, her hand resting on the page, all the truth seemed +to come home to her. It would be a sin to cause disunion between husband +and wife; it would be a sin to cause the husband of another woman to +love her; it would be a sin to give way to the desire of vengeance that +was burning her heart away, and these words were so pathetic, "For our +sins." She had laid her face on that picture of the Crucifixion, and +burning tears fell from her eyes over it. + +"God have mercy on me," she had prayed, "and save me from myself." + +Then she had slept, and here was the morrow, a lovely summer day with +the air all fragrance, the birds all song, and she was still doing hard +battle with herself, for, as she had said to herself, hers was "a mad +love--a cruel, mad love." + +And as she stood watching the distant hills, wondering if in the blue +sky that hung over them there was peace, a servant once more entered the +room, holding a card in her hand. + +"Lady Chandos," said Leone, wonderingly; "ask her in here." + +She looked in surprise, almost too great for words, at the little card. +Lance's wife, who had refused to speak to her, who had disdained to +touch her outstretched hand--Lance's wife coming to speak to her. + +What could it mean? Were the whole race of the Lanswells coming to her? + +The next moment a fair, sweet face was smiling into hers, a face she had +seen last darkened with anger, but which was fair and bright now, with +the light of a holy love. + +Leone looked at her in amaze. What had happened? It looked as though a +new life, a new soul, had been given to Lady Marion. And hush, she was +speaking to her in a low, sweet voice, that thrilled through the great +singer like the softest cords from an Eolian harp. + +"You are surprised to see me," Lady Marion was saying, "yet I have done +right in coming. All last night, while the stars were shining, I prayed +Heaven to tell me what it was best for me to do, and I shall always +think that the white-winged angels, who they say carry prayers to +Heaven, sent me to you. I refused to touch your hand the other day. Will +you give it to me now? Will you listen to me?" + +Leone's whole heart and soul had risen in hot rebellion and fierce hate +against the Countess of Lanswell. They went out in sweetest love and +compassion to her fair faced rival now. The sweet voice went on: + +"I cannot tell why I have come to you--some impulse has sent me. Another +woman in my place would have looked on you as a successful rival and +have hated you. I cannot. The soul that has stirred other souls cannot +be base; you must be noble and good or you would not influence the +hearts and souls of men. Oh, madame, I have come to you with two lives +in my hands. Will you listen to me?" + +The dark, beautiful head of the gifted singer was bent for a few moments +over the golden head of her rival. Then Leone raised her eyes to +Marion's face. + +"You are trembling," she said; "you shall speak to me as you will, but +you shall speak to me here." + +Some warm, loving irresistible impulse came to her; she could not hate +or hurt this fair, gentle lady whom the countess had put in her place, +and whom her husband did not love; a great impulse of pity came over +her, a sweet and generous compassion filled her heart. + +"You shall speak to me here," she repeated, clasping her arms round the +trembling figure and laying the golden head on her breast. She kissed +the fair, sad face with a passion of love. "There," she said, "Lady +Marion, if I had wronged you even in the least, I should not dare do +that. Now tell me what you have come to say. Do not tremble so," and the +tender arms tightened their clasp. "Do not be afraid to speak to me." + +"I am not afraid, for Heaven sent me," said Lady Marion. "I know that +you will tell me the truth. I am as certain of that as I am of my own +life. I have been very unhappy over you, Madame Vanira, for my husband +seems to have cared more for you than for me." + +"Has your husband ever told you anything about me?" asked Leone, gently. + +And the answer was: + +"No, nothing, except that, like everyone else, he admired you very +much." + +"Nothing more?" asked Leone. + +"No, nothing more." + +"Then," said Leone to herself, "the secret that he has kept I will keep, +and this fair, tender woman shall never know that I once believed myself +his wife." + +Lady Marion wondered why she bent down and kissed her with all the +fervor of self-sacrifice. + +"I have been very unhappy," continued Lady Marion. "I loved and admired +you. I never had the faintest suspicion in my mind against you, until +some one came to tell me that you and my husband had spent a day on the +river together. I know it was true, but he would not explain it." + +"Let me explain it," said Leone, sadly. "I trust you as you trust me. I +have had a great sorrow in my love; greater--oh, Heaven!--than ever fell +to the lot of woman. And one day, when I saw your husband, the +bitterness of it was lying heavily on me. I said something to him that +led him to understand how dull and unhappy I felt. Lady Chandos, he took +me on the river that he might give me one happy day, nothing more. Do +you grudge it to me, dear? Ah, if I could give you the happiness of +those few fleeting hours I would." + +And again her warm, loving lips touched the white brow. + +"I understand," said Lady Marion. "Why did my husband not speak as you +have done? Does he care for you, madame? You will tell me the truth, I +know." + +And the fair face looked wistfully in her own. + +Leone was silent for a few minutes; she could not look in those clear +eyes and speak falsely. + +"Yes," she answered, slowly; "I think Lord Chandos cares very much for +me; I know that he admires and likes me." + +Lady Marion looked very much relieved. There could surely be no harm in +their friendship if she could speak of it so openly. + +"And you, madame--oh, tell me truly--do you love him? Tell me truly; it +seems that all my life hangs on your word." + +Again the beautiful face drooped silently before the fair one. + +"It would be so easy for me to tell you a falsehood," said Leone, while +a great crimson flush burned her face, "but I will not. Yes, I--I love +him. Pity me, you who love him so well yourself; he belongs to you, +while I--ah, pity me because I love him." + +And Lady Marion, whose heart was touched by the pitiful words, looked up +and kissed her. + +"I cannot hate you, since you love him," she said. "He is mine, but my +heart aches for you. Now let me tell you what I have come to say. You +are good and noble as I felt you were. I have come to ask a grace from +you, and it is easier now that I know you love him. How strange it +seems. I should have thought that hearing you say that you loved my +husband would have filled my heart with hot anger, but it does not; in +some strange way I love you for it." + +"If you love him, madame, his interests must be dear to you." + +"They are dear to me," she whispered. "How strange," repeated Lady +Marion, "that while the world is full of men you and I should love the +same man." + +"Ah, life is strange," said Leone; "peace only comes with death." + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +A SACRIFICE. + + +Lady Marion raised herself so that she could look into the face of her +beautiful rival. + +"Now I will tell you," she said; "you are going to Berlin; you have an +engagement at the Royal Opera House there, and my husband wishes to go +there, too. But we all oppose it; his parents for social reasons, and +I--I tell you frankly, because I am jealous of you, and cannot bear that +he should follow you there. I have asked him to give up the idea, but he +refuses--he will not listen to me. I have said that if he goes there, I +will never see him or speak to him again, and I must keep my word. So, +madame, I have come to you; I appeal to you, do not let him go: you can +prevent it if you will." + +Leone's dark eyes flashed fire. + +"There is no harm in our friendship," she said; "would you take from me +the only gleam of happiness I have in the world?" + +But Lady Marion did not seem to hear the wild words; the same raptures +of holy love had come over her face, and she blushed until she looked +like a lovely, glowing rose. + +"Think how I trust you," she said; "I have come to tell you that which I +have told to no one. I have come to tell you that which, if ever there +has been any particular friendship between you and my husband, must end +it. I have come to tell you that which will show that now--now you must +not take my husband from me. + +"Bend down lower," continued the sweet voice, "that I may whisper to +you. I have been married nearly four years now, and the one desire of my +heart has been to have a little child. I love little children so dearly. +And I have always thought that if I could give to my husband children to +love he would love me better. I have prayed as Rachel prayed, but it +seemed to me the heavens were made of brass--no answer came to my +prayers. I have wept bitter tears when I have seen other mothers +caressing their children. When my husband has stopped to kiss a child or +play with it, my heart has burned with envy, and now, oh, madame, bend +lower, lower--now Heaven has been so good to me, and they tell me that +in a few months I shall have a darling little child, all my own. Oh, +madame, do you see that now you must not take my husband from me; that +now there must be no mischief between us; that we must live in peace and +love because Heaven has been so good to us." + +The sweet voice rose to a tone of passionate entreaty; and Lady Marion +withdrew from the clasp of her rival's arms, and knelt at her feet. The +face she raised was bright and beautiful as though angel's wings +shadowed it. + +"I plead with you," she said, "I pray to you. You hold my life in your +hands. If it were only myself I would be glad to die, so that if my +husband loves you best he might marry you, but it is for my little +child. Do you know that when I say to myself, 'Lance's little child,' +the words seem to me sweeter than the sweetest music." + +But the beautiful woman who had been no wife, turned deadly pale as she +listened to the words. She held up her hand with a terrible cry. + +"For Heaven's sake, hush," she said hoarsely, "I cannot bear it!" + +For one minute it was as though she had been turned to stone. Her heart +seemed clutched by a cold, iron hand. The next, she had recovered +herself and raised Lady Marion, making her rest, and trying to still the +trembling of the delicate frame. + +"You must calm yourself," she said. "I have listened to you, now will +you listen to me?" + +"Yes; but, madame, you will be good to me--you will not let my husband +leave me? We shall be happy, I am sure, when he knows; we shall forget +all this sorrow and this pain. He will be to me the same as he was +before your beautiful face dazed him. Ah, madame, you will not let him +leave me." + +"I should be a murderess if I did," she said, in a low voice. + +Her face was whiter than the face of the dead. She stood quite silent +for a few minutes. In her heart, like a death-knell, sounded the words: + +"Lance's little child." + +Whiter and colder grew the beautiful face; more mute and silent the +beautiful lips; then suddenly she said: + +"Kiss me, Lady Marion, kiss me with your lips; now place your hands in +mine. I promise you that I will not take your husband from you; that he +shall not go to Berlin, either with me or after me. I promise +you--listen and believe me--that I will never see or speak to your +husband again, and this I do for the sake of Lance's little child." + +"I believe you," said Lady Marion, the light deepening in her sweet eyes +and on her fair face. "I believe you, and from the depth of my heart I +thank you. We shall be happy, I am sure." + +"In the midst of your happiness will you remember me?" asked Leone, +gently. + +"Always, as my best, dearest and truest friend," said Lady Marion; and +they parted that summer morning never to meet again until the water +gives up its dead. + +Lady Marion drove home with a smile on her fair face, such as had not +been seen there before. It would all come right. + +She believed in Madame Vana's simple words as in the pledge of another. +How it would be managed she did not know--did not think; but madame +would keep her word, and her husband would be her own--would never be +cool to her or seek to leave her again; it would be all well. + +All that day there was a light on her face that did one's heart good to +see; and when Lady Lanswell saw her that evening she knew that all was +well. + +"Lance's little child!" The words had been a death-knell to Leone. She +had seen his wife and lived--she had seen him in his home with that same +fair wife by his side, and she had lived; but at the thought of her +rival's children in his arms her whole soul died. + +Died--never to live again. She sat for some time just where Lady Marion +left her, and she said to herself a thousand times over and over again +those words--"Lance's little child." Only God knows the anguish that +came over her, the piercing sorrow, the bitter pain--the memory of those +few months when she had believed herself to be Lance's wife. She fell on +her knees with a great, passionate cry. + +"Oh, Heaven," she cried, "save me from myself!" + +The most beautiful woman in Europe, the most gifted singer on the stage, +the idol of the world of fashion--she lay there helpless, hopeless, +despairing, with that one cry rising from her lips on which a world had +hung: + +"Heaven have mercy on me, and save me from myself!" + +When she woke, the real world seemed to have vanished from her. She +heard the sound of running water; a mill-wheel turning in a deep stream; +she heard the rush and the foaming of water, the song of the birds +overhead, the rustle of the great boughs, the cooing of the blue and +white pigeons. Why, surely, that was a dream of home. + +Home--the old farmhouse where Robert Noel lived, the kind, slow, stolid +farmer. She could hear him calling, "Leone, where are you?" and the +pigeons deafened her as they whirled round her head. She struggled for a +time with her dazed, bewildered senses; but she could not tell which was +the real life, whether she was at home again in the old farmhouse, and +had dreamed a long, troubled dream, or whether she was dreaming now. + +Her brain burned--it was like liquid fire; and she seemed to see always +a golden-haired child. + +"Lance's little child." Yes, there he was holding mother and child both +in his arms, kissing them, while she lay there helpless and despairing. + +"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself--"a mad love." + +Then she heard a sound of music--softest, sweetest music--floating +through the room, and woke to reason with a terrible shudder to find +that she was singing the old, sweet song: + + "I would the grave would hide me, + For there alone is peace." + +"I have been mad," she said to herself; "those words drove me mad, +'Lance's little child.'" + +She went to her room and bathed her head in ice-cold water. The pain +grew less, but not the burning heat. + +The idea became fixed in her mind that she must go back to the old +mill-stream; she did not know why, she never asked herself why; that was +her haven of rest, by the sound of rushing waters. Within sight of the +mill-wheel, and the trees, and the water lilies, all would be well, the +cloud would pass from her mind, the fire from her brain, the sword from +her heart. + +She had two letters to write, one to the manager with whom her +engagement expired in two nights, telling him she was ill and had gone +away for her health, and that he would not probably hear of her for some +time; and another to Lord Chandos. It was simple and sad: + + "Good-bye. I am going--not to Berlin--but away from Europe, and I + shall never return; but before I leave I shall go to the + mill-stream to look at and listen to the waters for the last time. + Good bye, Lance. In heaven you will know how much I have loved you, + never on earth. In heaven you will know why I have left you. Be + kind, and true, and good to all who are dear to you. Lance, if I + die first, I shall wait inside the golden gates of heaven for you." + +She did one thing more, which proved that her reason was still clear. +She paid off all her servants, and to the most trusted one left power to +give up her house in her name, as she was leaving it. + +And far off the mill-wheel turned in the stream, and the water-lilies +stirred faintly us the white foam passed them by. + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +"THE GRAVE ALONE GIVES PEACE." + + +The sun was setting--the western sky was all aflame, great crimson +clouds floated away with vapors of rose and orange--crimson clouds that +threw a rosy light on the trees and fields. In the distance stood the +old farmhouse, the light falling on the roof with its moss and lichen, +the great roses and white jasmine that wreathed the windows, the tall +elms that stood on either side of the fertile meadows, the springing +corn, the ricks of sweet-smelling hay. The light from the western sky +fell on them all. From beneath the tall elms with the trailing scarlet +creepers came a tall, graceful woman, whose face was covered with a +thick veil; she stood for some time watching the farmhouse, her +beautiful face white and set as the face of the dead; she threw back her +veil as though she was gasping for breath, and then she stood still and +motionless as a marble statue. + +The blue and white pigeons were cooing loudly, as though they would tell +each other it was time to rest, the birds were singing their vesper +hymn, the cattle had all been driven to rest, the laborers had ceased +their toil, in the garden the white lilies had opened their cups to +catch the dew; it was all so sweet and still, as though a blessing from +Heaven lay on it. + +The silent watcher stirred when she heard the baying of a hound. + +"That is Rover," she said to herself, "and he would know me. What would +Uncle Robert say if he knew his lady lass was so near?" + +She walked on through the green lane, where the hedges were one mass of +wild rose bloom, through the fields where the clover lay so sweet and +fragrant, until she came to the mill-stream. Her heart gave one bound as +she saw it. + +The picturesque old mill, half hidden in foliage, and the great round +wheel, half hidden in the clear stream. There were the water-lilies +lying quite at rest now; there were the green reeds and sedges; the +nests of blue forget-me-nots; the little water-fall where the white rock +rose in the middle of the stream, and the water ran over it; the same +green branches dipped in the water, the same trees shaded it. She sat +down in the same spot where she had last sat with him. She remembered +how the ring had fallen into the little clear pool and he had found it. +The same, and yet how different. And sitting there, with the wreck of +her life round her, she sung in a low voice the words that to her had +been so full of prophecy: + + "In sheltered vale a mill-wheel + Still sings its tuneful lay. + My darling once did dwell there, + But now she's far away. + A ring in pledge I gave her, + And vows of love we spoke; + These vows are all forgotten, + The ring asunder broke." + +How true and how cold the prophecy had been. As she sat there she saw a +light in the mill, and the wheel began slowly to turn. + +Foaming, laughing, singing, the water ran away shining in the red light +of the setting sun, golden in the little wavelets that kissed the banks. +Slowly the falling water set itself to music, and the rhythm was always: + + "I would the grave could hide me, + For there alone is peace." + +Shine on, setting sun. Sing on, falling water. There is no peace save in +death and in heaven. Sing on, little birds, throw your sweet shadows, +dewy nights; there is no peace but in death. + +She lay down on the green bank and the water foaming by sung to her--it +was all so sweet, so silent, so still. One by one the little birds +slept, one by one the flowers closed their eyes, the roseate clouds +faded, and the gray, soft mantle of night fell on the earth. + +So sweet and still--the stars came out in the sky, in the wood a +nightingale began to sing; the fire went out in her brain; the pain +ceased; she grew calm as one on whom a dread shadow lies. + +The lovely, laughing water, with the gleam of golden stars in it, +falling with the rhythm of sweetest music. She drew nearer, she laid one +hand on the little wavelets, and the cool, sweet touch refreshed her. + +The night, so sweet and still, with the gray shade of the king of +terrors rising from the mill-stream. The water-lilies seemed to rise and +come near to her, a thousand sweet voices seemed to rise from the water +and call her. + +"There alone is peace," sung the nightingale; "There alone is peace," +sung the lilies; "There alone is peace," sung the chiming waters. She +drew nearer to them. Heaven only knows what ideas were in that +overbalanced brain and distraught mind. Looking in the clear waters she +saw the golden stars shining; perhaps she thought she was reaching to +them. A little low cry fell on the night air. A cry that startled the +ring-doves, but fell on no mortal ear. + +"Mine was always a mad love," she said to herself; "a mad love," and the +voice that had gladdened the hearts of thousands was heard on earth no +more. + +A mad love, indeed; she went nearer to the gleaming waters; they seemed +to rise and infold her; the water-lilies seemed to hold her up. It +seemed to her rather that she went up to the stars than down to the +stream. There was no cry, no sound, as the soft waters closed over her, +as the water-lilies floated back entangled in the meshes of a dead +woman's hair. + +In the grave alone was peace. So she lay through the long, sweet, summer +night, and the mill-stream sung her dirge. + +Was it suicide, or was she mad? God who knows all things knew that she +had suffered a heavy wrong, a cruel injustice, a martyrdom of pain. She +had raised herself to one of the highest positions in the world and +there she had met her old love. + +Only Heaven knew what she endured after that, when she saw his wife, +when she saw him in his daily life, yet knowing that he was lost to her +for evermore. + +Then the climax came when his wife spoke of "Lance's little child." If +those words drove her to her death who shall wonder? + +She saw the stars in the water and thought she was going to them; and +perhaps, on the Great Day, that thought, that imagination may plead for +her. + +It was a mad love, a cruel, mad love. + +Some instinct came to Lord Chandos when he read that letter that all was +not well. He started at once for Rashleigh. + +The morning sun was high in the heavens when he reached there. Going at +once to the mill-stream, he had seen the body of the woman he loved +floating there, her long hair tangled in the water-lilies, a smile such +as comes from perfect peace on her face. + +He did the wisest thing he could have done--he brought Farmer Noel to +the spot, and told him the story, while she lay with her face raised to +the morning skies--the story of a mad love. + +Farmer Noel uttered no reproaches. + +"I never thought she would live a happy life or die a happy death," he +said--"it was written so in her face." + +They two kept the secret. In a small place like Rashleigh such an +occurrence is a nine days' wonder; every one believed that the hapless +lady had fallen into the stream as she was passing to the woods. +Although the farmer grieved sorely after her, he never told any one that +she was his niece, and no one recognized her. + +There was a verdict of found drowned, and every one thought the farmer +very generous because he undertook the funeral expenses. + +How Lord Chandos grieved, no words could tell--it was as though the +light of his life had disappeared; he never spoke of his sorrow, but it +made him old in his youth and killed the best part of his life in him. + +No one, even ever so faintly, connected the inquest at Rashleigh with +the disappearance of Madame Vanira. The world went mad at first with +anger and disappointment, then a rumor was spread that madame had gone +to America, and had married a millionaire there. + +The world recovered its good temper and laughed; then another grand +singer appeared on the scene, and Leone was forgotten. The only person +to whom Lord Chandos ever told the truth was the Countess of Lanswell, +and it shocked her so greatly that she gave up all society for a few +days, and then, as the world had done before her, forgot it. + +Lord Chandos never forgot; the world was never the same to him. His +wife's words came true; he was kindness itself to her, and she was very +happy. She never even heard of Madame Vanira's untimely end, nor did she +ever know who Madame Vanira was. She always respected her, because she +had kept her word, and had gone out of her husband's way. As time passed +on she, too--forgot. + +Lord Chandos never forgot. + +Fair daughters and stalwart sons grew around him; he was kind, cheerful, +even gay, but in the depths of his heart he mourned over her. To please +him Lady Chandos gave to one of her daughters the name of Leone, and it +was pitiful to hear the pathos with which he used the name. + +Of all his children he loves Leone best. In his dreams he sees the +golden gates of heaven, and the other Leone watching for him there. + +While she sleeps in peace by the mill-stream, and as the water runs by, +it sings: + +"A mad love--a mad love." + +But "the mill will never grind again with the waters that are past." + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Mad Love, by Bertha M. 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