The Arlingtons had a grand ball in honor of Miss Arlington's
twenty-first birthday, which Rose said wasn't fair, as Everard didn't
have one on his. Mrs. Arlington, always celebrated for the taste and
elegance displayed at her parties, has almost surpassed all former
occasions in the magnificent arrangement of everything.
Isabel wore a plain white dress, and jet ornaments. A single flower
adorned her hair; and the usual, rather sad expression of her
countenance, was exchanged for one of greater animation. The excitement
of the occasion had given an unwonted glow to her cheeks. She did,
indeed, look lovely, as she stood engaged in lively conversation with
Emily, while they were waiting in the drawing-room to receive the
guests; and so Everard thought, who stood talking with his father, while
his eyes rested admiringly upon Isabel's sweet face.
After the greater part of the guests had arrived, and the dancing fairly
commenced, Isabel, who had been waltzing, returned to the drawing-room.
She was scarcely seated, when, to her utter amazement, she saw Louis
Taschereau enter. Oh, how her heart throbbed at the unexpected meeting!
Here was Louis, her own Louis, actually in the room. It was annoying,
that after being parted so long, they should first meet in a crowded
ball-room.--Never mind; she was only too glad to have him there. He
looked so well, so bright and happy, as he made his way through the
crowd, with the proud bearing and haughty mien in which she delighted.
How long would it be before he reached her?--Oh, that the room were
smaller, or that she had been nearer the door. It seemed an age while he
was shaking hands with Mrs. Arlington. But who is that pretty girl on
his arm? Could it be his cousin Marie? He has taken her to a seat, and
is moving down the room. The hot blood rushed to her cheeks. Someone
asked her to dance. "Oh, not yet," she replied, scarcely heeding who it
was that asked her. Louis sees her, and is coming towards her. How her
heart bounded, her joy and happiness was so great. She hid her glowing
face behind her fan, to conceal her confusion. Another moment and he was
by her side, greeting her cordially. "Oh, Louis," and she smiled upon
him, O so sweetly. "You did not expect to see me to-night," he said,
looking very contented and triumphant. But there was something in the
expression of his face which she did not like--something that seemed to
freeze up all the warmth of her feelings in an instant. Was it that he
thought she was too ready to show what she felt, with so many present
who might observe any unusual degree of pleasure on her part. Oh, surely
not, for she had been so careful--as careful as it was in human nature
to be.
"Was that your cousin," she asked, "that you brought with you?"
"No! that--is--my wife--" he said, with a look of triumph.
"Your wife! Why, what do you mean?" she inquired, thinking he was
jesting.
"Just what I say," he replied. Then, with insufferable insolence, he
hissed in her ear, "Louis Taschereau never forgives."
"Indeed," she answered, assuming an air of indifference that surprised
even herself; for she had felt the hot, indignant blood, coursing
through her veins.
"Really," he said, with cool effrontery, "that assumption of
indifference is sublime. But I am not deceived," he continued, with a
scornful laugh; "my revenge is most complete, my plans have been
entirely successful," and making her a low bow, he retired. And Isabel
was left to her own thoughts. But this would not do; she must not--dare
not--think; she must have excitement until she could be quite alone.
Fortunately, Harry now claimed her as his partner. "Oh, Harry," she
said, "I am so tired of sitting here."
"Why, I asked you for the last dance, and you wouldn't come," answered
Harry, laughing.
"I didn't think it would have lasted so long," she returned.
"Do you know that Louis is here?" he inquired.
"Yes."
"Don't you think his wife pretty?"
"Very."
Harry knew that Louis had always been a favorite with Isabel, but the
remotest idea of the real state of the case never for a moment occured
to him.
When the dance was over, they went out on the glass extension room.
Presently Harry said abruptly:
"Isabel, I really thought that you would have been Mrs. Taschereau."
"Harry!"
"I did, indeed."
"Harry, don't," she said imploringly.
Just then Everard and Emily came in, and at the next dance they
exchanged partners. As they passed under the hall lamp, Everard remarked
the extreme palor of her countenance. "You are ill, Miss Leicester," he
said. You should not have remained so long in that cold place. Let me
get you a glass of wine."
"Oh no, thanks. I shall soon get warm with dancing."
"I don't think that you should attempt this galop. You look too ill;
indeed you do."
"I intend to dance it, Mr. Arlington; but if you do not wish too, I can
have another partner." Everard looked so sad and reproachful as she said
this, that she felt sorry for the hasty words. She knew they had been
harsh, and he had said nothing but what was kind--nothing to deserve
anything so severe. But then she dare not sit during a single dance; she
could not, would not, rest a moment. She was making a great effort to
'keep up,' and it was only by a continual struggle that she could
succeed. However, Everard had no more cause for uneasiness on account of
her looking ill, as they had scarcely entered the ball-room before her
brilliant color had returned. Isabel was decidedly the belle of the
evening; and for this, Grace Arlington never forgave her. Everard saw
that Isabel's gaiety was assumed, and he would have given much to know
the cause. Harry was not so keen an observer, and only thought how much
she was enjoying herself, and how much he had been mistaken in thinking
that she cared anything about Louis.
Oh the weary, weary length of that dreadful evening. Isabel thought that
it would never end. But she kept up splendidly. Once she unexpectedly
found Louis her _vis a vis_--then came the master-piece of the evening.
She looked superb, as with graceful dignity she glided through the
quadrille. She avoided touching his hand, except when it was inevitable;
but she did it so naturally, that to others it did not appear
premeditated. He spoke to her, but she passed on as though she did not
hear. Once again, before the dance was ended, he ventured to address
her; but she replied with grave dignity, "We must meet as strangers:
henceforth I shall not know you, Dr. Taschereau."
Louis foamed with rage at the cool contempt conveyed in these words.
He ground his teeth, and swore to be revenged. At last the guests all
departed, and Harry too had taken leave (for as this was his last day at
Elm Grove, he was going by the three o'clock train to keep his promise,
for Harry was very strict, and would not have remained another day on
any pretext). Then Isabel had to listen to the praises bestowed on her
by all the Arlington family, who complimented her upon the sensation
she had made, and to force herself to join in an animated conversation
regarding the events of the evening; so that she was truly glad when Mr.
Arlington dismissed the 'conclave,' saying that they could discuss the
party next day.
When Isabel gained her own room, and sat down to think of her trouble,
she began to realize the full extent of her misery. She had scarcely
known 'till now, how much his love had supported her through all her
trials; or how the thought of one day being his, had softened the ills
she had been called upon to endure since her father's death. Now she
must think of him no more--he was hers no longer. But worse than this,
was the pain and grief of knowing that he was unworthy of the love and
admiration that she had bestowed upon him. She knew that he was proud,
passionate and exacting, yet she loved him; for these very
characteristics, mingled as they were with more endearing qualities, had
a peculiar charm for her. How happy she had been to feel that he loved
her; and oh! the pain, the agony, of knowing that he did so no longer.
Why, why had he written that letter? Oh it was cruel, cruel. And then
to think that it had all been planned, premeditated, with the express
design of making her suffer more acutely, was bitter in the extreme. To
lose his love was misery; but to know that he was deceitful, cruel and
revengeful, was agony beyond endurance. She did not weep: her grief was
too stony for tears. "Oh, Louis, Louis," she moaned in her agony, "what
have I done, to deserve such cruel treatment?" She leaned her head upon
her arm, and pressed her hand upon her throbbing temples, for the tumult
of her thoughts became intolerable. She pictured to herself Louis, as
she loved to see him; old scenes recurred to her mind, and the days when
she had been so happy in his love--nor had a wish beyond. Even this very
night, how inexpressibly happy had it made her to see him in the room.
And oh, to have all her dreams of happiness crushed in a moment. Again
she thought how different it might have been had he been faithful and
true; but he was false--he did not love her, and what had she to live
for now? A sense of oppression, which almost amounted to suffocation,
distressed her, until at length a fearful sensation of choking forced
her to rise to get some water; but ere she could do so, a crimson stream
flowed from her mouth, down her white dress, and she fell upon the
floor.