“Have you heard the news, Mr. Forrester?” exclaimed Mrs. Dale, as, two
days after the confidential disclosure of the piazza, he entered the
saloon; “Ah, I see by your look of innocent surprise, you are still in
blissful ignorance.”
“What has happened?” asked Cecil carelessly, “any thing which serves to
break the monotony of a seaside existence must be a blessing.”
“I do not know whether you will think it so,” said the lady laughing,
“Miss Oriel has eloped with Mr. Beauchamp.”
“I am glad of it—from my very soul I rejoice at it,” exclaimed Cecil
Forrester, while a dark, vindictive smile gave a most disagreeable
expression to his usually fine face.
“Why, how strangely you look at me,” replied Mrs. Dale, “what is the
matter?”
“Nothing—nothing—when did it all happen?”
“Did you not see her go out with him to ride last evening? Well, it
seems Mr. Beauchamp’s servant had been privately despatched to the city
with their baggage, and instead of returning the lovers rode directly to
the next town and were married.”
“Why did they give themselves so much trouble? If Beauchamp had asked
the old woman she would have dropped a curtsy and thanked him for the
offer.”
“There is the mystery of the whole affair; Mrs. Oriel pretends to be
very indignant, but it is easy to see she is secretly pleased. Miss
Oriel has written a letter to Miss Grey in which she entreats her to
‘break the tidings tenderly to poor Mamma;’ excuses herself on the plea
of irresistible affection; talks of Mr. Beauchamp’s ardor and her fear
of maternal opposition, and finishes by requesting Ellen to ‘allow his
favorite Mrs. Dale to acquaint Mr. Forrester with her regret at having
been the cause of disappointment and sorrow to him.’”
“What the devil does she mean by that?”
“Why to make Ellen jealous of me and distrustful of you, and thus
disappoint both your love and revenge,” said Mrs. Dale.
“She shall not attain her ends,” exclaimed Forrester impetuously, “I
will tell Ellen the whole story. I am glad she is actually married to
Beauchamp, and I know the reason he did not want to ask her mother; he
was afraid of inconvenient inquiries.”
“What do you know about him?”
“Only this morning I met here a person who knows him well. His history
is soon told. He was originally bred a tailor, but, having a soul above
buttons, he cut the shop, and has since been hanging on the skirts of
society in a manner very different from that intended by his honest old
father. His bank stock and sugar plantation may exist in the regions of
the moon, where all things which unaccountably disappear from earth are
said to be collected, his negroes are still on the coast of Guinea, and
he really lives by his wits. A run of luck at the gaming-table or a
lucky bet on the race-course enables him every now and then to pay old
debts, and live for a time like a gentleman until his funds are
exhausted, when he again betakes himself to his vocation.”
“Can this be possible?”
“There is no doubt of it; he is a mere adventurer, and as Miss Oriel is
something very similar, they are ‘matched as well as paired.’”
Cecil Forrester afforded another proof of the truth of the poet’s line,
“Full many a heart is caught in the rebound.”
The following winter saw him the happy husband of Ellen Grey; while all
trace of Mr. and Mrs. Beauchamp was lost to their view. About two years
later, when business had compelled Mr. Forrester to visit one of our
southern cities, he strolled into the theatre to get rid of an idle
evening, and as he gazed with listless curiosity on the gorgeous
spectacle of Indian life which occupied the stage, he was suddenly
struck with a familiar tone in the voice and a familiar expression in
the countenance of the stately queen of the Zenana. He looked again, the
resemblance seemed to grow upon him; he went round to the stage box, and
in that near proximity to the actress all doubt vanished. He looked upon
the still resplendent beauty of Laura Oriel.
* * * * *