No more on that night came the cousins together. If by chance they met,
it was to pass one another as strangers unacquainted, exchanging neither
speech nor look. Further attempt at reconciliation Eustace meant not to
make now; he rather regretted having gone so far already.
As for Reginald, he would not have listened to it. A sentiment inspired
hostility to his cousin, far stronger than any vexation at his having
forsaken the King's cause--altogether different. For it was jealousy;
the same he had first felt during that exciting scene at Hollymead, and
since brooded over till it had become an all-pervading passion. Eustace
had replaced him in the affections of Vaga Powell--or he at least
suspected it--that was provocation enough for antipathy, even hatred.
And almost this he now entertained for him.
Whatever the political disagreement among the others assembled at
Montserrat House, there was no open exhibition of it Royalists and
Roundheads stood in groups, or moved about, chatting in a familiar, many
of them friendly, way. Officers who had been face to face on the
battlefield, and done their best to take one another a lives, here met
in mutual good humour, with laughing allusion to the changed
circumstances. And when the dancing commenced, gentlemen might be seen,
noted adherents of the Parliament, some wearing its uniform, with ladies
as their partners strongly affected to the King's cause; while, in the
couples _vis-a-vis_ to them, the political sentiments would be reversed.
But the majority of those who danced, being the gay _jeunesse_, had no
thought of politics, nor care for them one way or the other. They left,
that to their elders, and those more seriously disposed; to themselves
the delights of the dance being the controlling influence of the hour.
Still there were some, even of the youthful, with whom this was but a
secondary consideration. Sabrina Powell preferred strolling about the
grounds with Sir Richard Walwyn, for they had much to say to one
another. Of late their opportunities of meeting had been few and far
between, and they were _fiancee_.
Different with Vaga. She was an ardent worshipper of Terpsichore, and
few equalled her in the accomplishment of dancing--scarce any excelling.
She was up in every set; and, could she have multiplied herself to
count a score, would have found a partner for every unit. A very host
sought, with eagerness, to engage her.
There was one who observed this with a secret vexation--Clarisse. Not
that she was without her share of aspiring partners; she had them in
numbers equalling those of her "country cousin." But even that did not
satisfy her; craving universal incense she wanted all.
Possibly, she would have cared less had the rival belle been any other
than Vaga Powell. But already between the two had sprung up rivalry of
a nature different from any competition as to who should shine brightest
at a ball. In a word, they were both in love with Eustace Trevor, and
each knew, or suspected it, of the other.
On this night Clarisse had the advantage. Though her mother ostensibly
gave the entertainment, she herself was the promoter of it--in a manner
mistress of the ceremonies. As such, commanding the music, the
arrangement of the dances, and, to a certain extent, who should dance
with whom. Not much cared she, however, to exercise this control over
other than Eustace Trevor, which she did so effectually, that the two
danced together oftener than seemed consistent with ballroom etiquette,
and far too frequently to escape observation.
Remarks were made about it, and by the partisans of both sides. "That
explains Madame Lalande's defection from our cause," said the Cavaliers.
"We now know why this entertainment is being given," remarked the
Parliamentarians; "clearly for Captain Eustace Trevor."
And Vaga Powell! What thought she? How did she feel about it? As one
at first perplexed, then sorely pained. She who, on the summit of
Ruardean Hill, had talked so lightly of love--almost boasted of never
having experienced the sentiment--was now within its toils and suffering
its torments.
And but little of its delights had she yet known--nothing beyond hopes
and vague anticipations. For from the hour when Eustace Trevor plucked
the ostrich feathers from his hat, replacing them by those of the egret,
she and he had never another opportunity of taking up the thread of the
dialogue her sister had so inopportunely interrupted. Several
interviews between them since, but all under surveillance or constraint.
This, however, had failed to change or weaken the sentiment with which
he had inspired her; perhaps strengthened it. True to her profession of
constancy, when she said--"If I ever had loved a man, I think I should
love him still," she did love him still; on that night with a passion
burning as it was bitter.
And the very thing that was filling her heart with gloom gave joy to
another. Glad was Reginald Trevor to see his cousin Eustace paying
attentions in the quarter where he seemed paying them--to Clarisse
Lalande. During all the intervening time since he himself had suffered
rebuff, or fancied it, despair had never quite mastered him. As most
young Cavaliers, he believed himself a lady--slaughterer irresistible;
and to the belief of his having made a conquest of Vaga Powell he would
still have confidently clung; but his cousin, of late having better
opportunity, had destroyed his chances. And now, seeing Eustace
apparently neglectful of her, while all attention to Clarisse Lalande,
the old confidence returned to him: he had been labouring under a
misconception, and Vaga Powell loved him after all!
Indeed, but for a lingering belief in this, he would not have been
there. No thought of ball or supper had brought him to Montserrat
House, but the hope of holding speech with her. For, notwithstanding
all that had occurred, he entertained such hope. True, he had offended
her father; but that was in the exercise of his duties, and under some
provocation. Perhaps it was forgotten, or might be forgiven; perhaps
she had more than forgiven it already. This night he would know.
An opportunity of speaking with her soon offered. There was little
difficulty in his obtaining that. Madame Lalande kept no guard over her
nieces, having enough to do in looking after her _chere Clarisse_. And
their father was not with them. If within the house he was not a
partaker in its gaieties. With no relish for such, he had declined
taking part in them. But liberal in this, as in everything else, he
placed no constraint on the inclinations of his girls. They were free
to dance, as to walk, ride, or go hawking.
The two were standing together as Reginald Trevor approached them. He
had but bowed as he was received on entering, and felt gratified at
having his salutation returned. Still more now when permitted to enter
into conversation with them; finding, if not affability, anything but
the distant coldness he had half anticipated. The truth was they had
heard many things about him in the interval; that, though fighting for a
cause they detested, he had fought gallantly, and gained renown. It is
woman's nature to look leniently on the faults of a man who comports
himself with courage; and these girls were both of generous disposition.
Besides, he was now a defeated man; if not humiliated, a prisoner.
Enough that to claim their compassion, and he had it.
Only a few words were exchanged between him and Sabrina--commonplace,
and relating to things of a past time. There was one she more desired
conversing with; and, turning away, left Reginald Trevor alone with her
sister. Long ere then she had learnt where Vaga's predilection lay, and
could trust this young lady to take care of herself.
"I suppose you've quite forgotten me, Mistress Vaga?" he said, when
Sabrina was out of hearing.
"You give me credit for a very short memory, Captain Trevor," she
promptly returned, but in no unkindly tone. "Why should you think I've
forgotten you?"
"Oh! so many matters and events since I last had the pleasure of seeing
you. And you've met so many other people, more interesting than myself,
I could hardly hope for your bearing me in mind."
He spoke in a subdued, humble way, unlike his old swagger; which had the
effect of still farther inclining her to kindness. As yet, however, it
was but sympathy for his misfortunes.
"But, Captain Trevor, all that would not justify me in forgetting a
friend; as I think you were, and would have continued, but for these
troubles that have turned so many friends to foes."
"No one regrets them more than I; and for the best of reasons."
He had a reason for regretting them in the fact of his being a prisoner.
No light matter just then; for, though not kept confined in a prison,
he might at any moment be cast into one, only to be led forth from it to
execution. The King had not yet ceased fulminating his threats of
retaliation; and, should these be carried out, he, in all likelihood,
would be among the foremost of its victims.
He was not speaking the truth, however, in saying he regretted the
troubles. As a soldier of fortune they were bread to him, promising
fame with promotion. He might look to regaining his liberty by
exchange, or otherwise, and once more get upon the ladder of ascent.
Nor had the reasons he spoke of aught to do with his being a prisoner;
though she seemed, or affected, so to understand them.
"Indeed, yes," she rejoined, "you have been very unfortunate, Captain
Trevor. I'm sorry you should have been taken; still more, fighting on
the side you were."
"Oh, thank you!" he returned, encouraged by her kind words, and without
heeding the last clause. "But 'tis not for that I care. What makes me
regret the war is the loss of friendships. And," he added, speaking in
a lower tone, but more impressively, "the fear of having lost yours."
"But you have not, sir--so much as it is worth. My father was angry in
those days; so were we all. But, then, you were not to blame--we could
not think that, did not--knowing you acted under orders."
"Ah! never had I an order to execute so much against my wish, never one
with such disagreeable consequences, separating me so long from--"
He hesitated to say whom or what. But, mistaking her look of simple
inquiry for one of a more interested nature, he completed the speech
with one other word--"yourself."
She started, looking a little confused, but remained silent; which he,
again misinterpreting, took as a permission to go on, which he did, with
increased fervour.
"Yes, Mistress Vaga! that was my chief regret, never out of my mind for
a moment since. Many the night on watch and guard have I thought of
you. Sleepless they would have been, even without duty to keep me
awake."
"But why all this, sir? Why should I be a cause to keep you awake?"
She spoke in a tone that suddenly checked and chilled him. For the
question recalled a fact he seemed to overlook, or had forgotten--that
Vaga Powell had never acknowledged him in the light of a lover; never
before given him permission to address words to her such as he was now
speaking.
"Ah!" he answered, with a disappointed air, "if you do not know why,
'tis not much use my telling you." Then adding, with a sigh, "I had
hopes you would have understood me."
She did understand him perfectly; knew his aspirations and their
hopelessness. And never was she less inclined to give heed to them than
at that moment. For close by she saw her cousin Clarisse by the side of
his cousin Eustace, the two standing up as partners for a dance about to
begin.
If Reginald Trevor suffered the pangs of an unrequited love, Vaga Powell
was in a very torment of jealousy. For the air and attitude of the
other two seemed to speak of something more than the mere indifference
of dancing partners. The Creole had hold of his arm, was hanging upon
it, her eyes upturned to his face with a languishing, loving smile,
which he appeared to reciprocate.
Rather a pleasing sight to Reginald, for reasons that just then
presented themselves. But a painful one to her with whom he was
conversing--torture itself.
All at once a thought occurred to her, which promised something, if not
relief. Anyhow, it gave this and more to Reginald Trevor. For of the
many seeking her hand for the dance, he was the one preferred, and with
an alacrity that somewhat surprised, while delighting him.
His delight would have been less could he have fathomed her motive and
design. Little dreamt he of either, or that he was about to be utilised
solely as a pawn for playing the game of _piques_.