DISCORD ENDS; HEART'S-EASE AT LAST.
With quick steps and eager glances at the groups of gay revellers,
whom he passes with a few hurried words of greeting and thanks for
their congratulations on his "hidden wife," he looks in vain for
Vaura. At last, and his handsome face and mesmeric eyes are lit with
happiness, her voice comes to him from a music-room. He pushes his way
through the crowds, for poor Chancer has been doomed to disappointment
in his wish to have this fair woman sing to him alone, for when the
now full rich notes, now sweet to intoxication, of her mezzo-soprano
voice fell on the air, the languid, sentimental or gay stayed their
steps to listen.
Lionel has now reached the piano, and stands beside Lord Rivers, who
leans on his arms, noting with critical and admiring eye Vaura's
unequalled charms.
"Yes," was his mental verdict, "never saw more lovely bust and
shoulders; then her throat, poise of her head, like a goddess,
glorious eyes, lips full and velvety as a peach."
A warmer light comes to the large dark eyes and tender curves to the
lips as the sweet singer meets the gaze of her betrothed husband. One
look and he feels that the words are for him: "Thou can'st with _thy_
sunshine _only_ calm this tempest of my heart."
More than one man were at one with Lord Rivers and Chancer in feeling
the advent of Trevalyon to be extremely inopportune, when at the
closing words he drew nearer, and Vaura, with her own bewildering
smile, allowed him to carry her off. Just as they move away Everly
hurried towards them, handing to Vaura a tiny three-cornered note,
with a whispered "from Blanche," and he was gone. The recipient,
glancing in the direction, sees in the distance the pink eyes and wee
mouse-face peering through the crowd and gesticulating distinctly to
Vaura to "read at once." Her written words were:
"Bid Sir Lionel take you to the north tower instanter; it's all O.K.,
warm as toast and lighted, so the ghosts won't have a show; but you
will. Such a picnic! As soon as I can tire out, Sir Peter in our waltz
I'll be on hand. B. EVERLY."
"Well, darling, what say you?" and the handsome Saxon head is bent for
her reply.
"Yes, Lion, dear, and at once. It just occurs to me it may throw some
light on a mysterious conversation I overheard in the library, and
which the excitement of the night had well nigh caused me to forget."
"Indeed; then we shall hasten, love."
And turning their steps in the direction of the tower, first through
corridors bright with the light from myriads of gas jets, which lit
up Vaura's warm beauty and the brown sheen of her hair, followed
by admiring, loving, or envious eyes, they now reach the more
dimly-lighted halls, and turn into one at the foot of the spiral
staircase, which they ascend slowly, Lionel's arm around his fair
companion, her trail skirts thrown over her left arm. The stairway is
lighted as Blanche had said.
"Not even a ghost, my own," and his face is bent to hers.
"Only one of a past longing, dearest; how I longed for you in the
tower of St. Peter's. Oh! the view from the top, Lion."
"I know it well, love; but say you missed me, my love, ascending with
yours, even this arm supporting you."
"I did dearest, even there, and you know it well, as also I longed for
the sympathy of heart to heart, soul to soul in a view which lifts one
to the heavens, and would take a poet to describe."
"My own feelings, love; the majesty of the view, and from such a
height, overpowers one. Yes, sweet; dual solitude, as now, is
paradise. Do the stairs fatigue you, my own?"
"No, Lion," and for a moment they stand still, his arm around her. The
soft white hands draw his face near her own, "no, darling," and the
sweet tones are a whisper, "'tis only the languor of intense
happiness; in ecstatic moments, as now, one feels so."
For answer his lips press hers in a long kiss, and she is taken up in
his strong arms and not loosed until the ascent is made and the
octagon room reached; there he leads her to a seat, and throws himself
on a cushion at her feet.
"What a Hercules I am about to bestow my fair person upon," she said,
gaily, "for I am no light weight for a maiden. Ah! poor Guy; that
reminds me, darling, I have something to tell you which--"
"Which will have to wait until you are my own dear wife, for," and his
head is wearily laid on her knees, "I can wait no longer. You know,
Vaura, dear, what my life has been, since as a little fellow in jacket
and frilled collar, a child of about seven, my father was deserted by
her to whom he had trusted his name and the honour of our house. But I
cannot speak of it, it brings my poor half-crazed father back to
earth, and I see him again before me, a victim to his trust in a
woman. Then, my storm-tossed life; living now wholly for a pleasure
that palled upon me, again, losing myself in dreams of what my life
might have been with a loving wife, part of myself, making me a more
perfect man by her sympathy in a oneness of thought, for you know,
beloved, I could never have loved a woman who, for love of me, or
because I had moulded her character, had adopted my views of life. No,
woman is too fickle for that. I, in meeting your inner self, for we
nearly all have those inner thoughts, life, and aspirations, in you, I
know, our natures are akin, we can when we will, and just as our mood
is, talk or be silent; look into life more closely, or only at its
seeming; discuss and try to solve old, deep, and almost insoluble
questions that, in our inner life, have puzzled us more than once, my
own, or my bright twin-spirit of the morn," he added, brightening. "We
can only see and look no further (when our mood is so) than from the
cloudless sky to the sunbeams or starlight reflected in our own eyes.
Yes, beloved, I have earned my rest; my spirit has at last found its
mate. You will make my life perfect, love, by giving yourself to me.
To-morrow, come down quietly to the rectory, our old friend will make
us one. My place at the north is lonely without us; say yes, sweet?"
"In one little week, Lion, I shall have you here all the time. It will
be bliss for us, after your unrest and mine; for you if you were
obliged to leave here for any reason that may develop," and a look of
startled anxiety comes to the lovely face, "but, no; she would never
leave him; another flash of thought comes to me, darling, of the
'mysterious conversation' I spoke to you of, but it cannot have had
any real meaning. I shall again banish the dreadful thought."
"Do, beloved; it has been a trying night for all of us," and he rises
from the cushioned seat, and seating himself beside her draws the dear
head to his chest.
"It has, Lion; and now I must tell you of an episode in my life in
days of yore, in which poor Guy Travers took a prominent part. Poor
fellow, he is dead, and, perhaps, as the poet hath it, sees me 'with
larger other eyes,'" and a slight pallor comes to the sweet face.
"Thank God, he has taken him, darling, whatever it is you have to tell
me; for it is not cruel in me to say so, as had you loved him you
would have wed, and had he lived he would have eaten his heart out in
loneliness, for I have been told he loved you. Say on, my own, though
I care not to know, save that you wish to speak. I am in a perfect
rapture of bliss, and shall listen, if only to hear your voice, the
sweetest music I have ever known."
"You will remember, Lion, when I was about fifteen, you came here from
the east, expecting to meet uncle Eric. But, alas! as you are aware,
he was held in the fascinations at Baden-Baden, with debts
accumulating, the place going to ruin. He wrote saying, unless he
married money he would have to shut up the Hall, but for my sake he
was willing to enter an unloved alliance. Ah, how long ago these days
seem; and now, in this rest, dearest, pillowed so, I almost lose
myself in the dear present."
"Do, love, forget all about the past, tell me no more."
"I must, and in a few words, for, hark! the clocks tell the last
quarter before midnight, Blanche, whom we have forgotten, will be with
us, and so, to hasten; you left me sorrowfully to go to him and see
what could be done. Poor Guy was guest of the Douglas family. You are
perhaps aware that from Guy's French mother came all their wealth;
but, to hasten, Guy was nearly eighteen, a handsome boy, and in love
with my child self. I liked him, as I did Roland Douglas, though I can
never remember the time, darling, that those magnetic eyes of yours
and dear, kind face didn't haunt me. Guy never left my side, and
Roland being of same mind there were many battles over the
proprietorship of my small person. At last Gay triumphed, in this
wise; I had confided my troubles to him, when he persuaded me to elope
(nay, don't start, darling, 'twas only a two days' trip), in this, way
(as he said) I would be a heroine, and save the Hall for my dear
uncle, else he would wed for my sake some _outree_ manufacturer's
daughter and make himself wretched in a _mesalliance_. I could _save_
my uncle. What joy! With no thought of self we went to Gretna Green
and were married, and not by the blacksmith, but by a dissenting
clergyman; the next day we, as conquering heroes, were on our return
to the Hall, when Guy's mother, with Uncle Eric, to whom she had
telegraphed, met us, not with smiles, but frowns. In short, dearest,
our marriage was declared null and void. Guy's mother, whom it
appeared, wished him on coming of age to wed a Parisian heiress,
declared she would stop his allowance, but, as a matter of course,
with no legal tie binding us, we were again in our old position. And
so my dream to free Haughton was frustrated by a woman, but, oh, Lion,
my love, for my eventual good; for try as I have I could never have
given my woman heart to poor Guy. He loved me throughout his life, and
with wealth poured his all at my feet. But no more, dearest, I hear
Blanche."
"How wretched the poor fellow must have been, beloved; and how blest
am I."
"Hush, dear, here they are;" and Vaura is at one of the windows as
Everly says:
"Here we are again."
"Guess you're just about tired out waiting; but I see you hav'nt been
here long enough to read this," said the white mouse, taking a card
from a stand; "it says 'if you miss supper, down stairs.'"
"Here it is, Blanche, all right."
"We were, I suppose, to rise to it," said Vaura.
"And something worth mounting for, and not to be sneezed at either,"
cried Lady Everly, as her husband rolled a small table from a recess.
"If this is the picnic you promised us, Blanche, commend me to your
choice of dishes," said Vaura, inwardly hoping nothing unpleasant
would transpire relative to Mrs. Haughton.
"And now that we are comfortably placed," said Blanche, excusing
herself to fly to the window giving a view of Rose Cottage. "Now," she
said cheerfully, "we shall each propose a toast; mine being, success
to the plans and plots of this evening."
"Amen," said Trevalyon, thinking of Vaura and himself.
"Excepting one," said Vaura earnestly.
"Excepting one!" echoed Everly.
"No, I shan't be left," cried Blanche quickly, and in a low tone to
her spouse, "you cannot refer to the one we are here to witness."
There was no reply.
"Miss Vernon, your exception has nothing to do with Mrs. Haughton?"
continued _la petite_ inquiringly.
"It has; but I am imaginative; tell me, did Mrs. Haughton appear in
the supper-room?"
"I should just say so, and as gay as a lark, with Lord Rivers."
"But, Blanche, you know you only looked in, and Mrs. Haughton may have
done likewise."
"You're a goose, Tilton; Capt. Stuart and I had gone through a dish or
two before you all came in; I was born hungry."
"Believe you," laughed her husband.
"My poppa's pet name for me at dinner was ostrich," said wee mouse,
rapidly discussing breast and wing of duck, etc. "Sir Lionel, here's a
conundrum for you; what is the thirstiest animal?"
"Man," he answered demurely.
"One for you; you are placed, Tilton," and the pink eyes peered at a
window.
"I hope you feel comfortable in your niche, Sir Tilton," laughed
Vaura; "ask another, Blanche, and place Mrs. Haughton _a present_; I
cannot get her off my mind."
"All O.K.; I only have waited until you had refreshed the inner man."
"Women never eat," said Vaura, with an amused glance at the little
one.
"One didn't just now," said the small Baronet.
"How observant you are, Tilton; and now for Mrs. Haughton, did she
remain long in the supper-room, Baronet?"
"No, she excused herself just as you and Stuart made your exit; one
plea, finger hurt; some point of her jewellery entered."
"Which she made a point of and didn't return, eh?"
"No."
"Excuse me," she said quickly, and going to a window giving an open
view down into Rose Cottage, and throwing the heavy curtains behind
her; the windows of the cottage being all aglow with lights, the
interior of parlour and dining-room could be distinctly seen.
"Sir Lionel, come quick! look over there," she cried, giving him the
field-glass.
"Great heavens, what does it mean?" he exclaimed. "Move, Blanche,
Lion, one of you, and make room for me quick," cried Vaura,
breathlessly.
"No, darling; you had better stay where you are," he said excitedly,
forgetting at such a time their companions were ignorant of their
engagement.
"Poor Haughton, surely, Lady Everly, you do not consider yonder scene
a fitting subject to make game of?"
"Yes and no; if you knew how the poor dear Colonel has been sold, and
my poppa before him, you'd say 'tis best. She has been too many for
them; yes, it's better ended by an elopement."
"Then my worst fears are realized; and their words were no idle
seeming, as I half hoped," said Vaura in quick, nervous tones. "You
may as well gratify me, Lion dear, by giving me a glance at how a blot
is put upon the escutcheon of a heretofore stainless name," she said
despairingly, yet haughtily.
"It will be too much for you, darling; let me take you down stairs; I
must go to poor Haughton. We should prevent this."
"You can't and I am glad; I've known it for hours, but I wouldn't let
any one know; if you stop them now, what do you gain?"
"Quite a scandal," said small Everly, regretfully, for Vaura's sake,
whom, as she stands helpless to prevent, wishing to fly to her uncle,
yet dreading the scandal, shall fall without warning, and the house
full of guests, upon his dear head. In proud despair she looks
pleadingly at Lionel for sympathy, and Everly, his heart beating,
longs to do something for her.
"Can I help you in any way, dear Miss Vernon? Shall I ring the great
alarm bell, rouse the village and the Hall. Only let me be of use to
you," he says hurriedly.
"I thank you, Sir Tilton, make room for me at the window. Ah, heavens!
It is too true. Go down at once, Lion. Though I don't know for what,
still go. But don't go near that man, darling; tell Mr. Claxton and
the old butler, as well as my uncle's man; see what they say," she
cried, breathlessly.
"I cannot bear to leave you, love; will you be brave?"
"I will! I am!" but her voice trembled.
"Sit down and rest; you tremble," and leading her to the window, he
brings her to a cushioned seat, pressing the hand on his arm to his
side, whispering,
"Be brave, darling; remember your poor uncle was not happy, so he is
spared much. Come down when you feel calm enough to face Mrs. Grundy."
He is gone and bounds down one hundred and seventy-five steps between
his heaven and a lower sphere.
Vaura throws herself face downwards, making every effort to meet the
inevitable with calmness.
"I'll read off their movements, Miss Vernon," said wee Blanche, "and
so keep you from going to sleep. Melty enters with furs, Mrs. Haughton
stands as you saw, her red robes thrown off, the D---rose laughingly
assists the maiden fastening a dark travelling robe, evidently in
haste, consulting his watch; points to the table, showing his teeth,
meaning he is laughing; he, I expect, gives the feast as a reason of
their delay; and he's about right, for thereon stand long-necked
bottles and dishes. Melty leaves the room; he tells Mrs. Haughton
something that astonishes and pleases her, for she gives him a hug;
goes to a side-table puts yellow money, cannot tell the coin from
here, in a sort of pattern. "Can you see what it means, Tilton, my
eyes are tired," and the pink eyes are rubbed red. "No, I cannot
decipher the words. Yes, the last is, 'cousin;' stay, I've got
another, 'my,' that's all I can make out, the other words are in the
shadow.""
"What does it mean? 'my cousin,'" said the young detective; "oh! I
have it, he said he was going to marry a cousin. I thought he romanced
when be said so, but I suppose they are the cousins. Well, pity to
spoil two houses with them say I, but they are off. Both hug Melty,
Mrs. Haughton waves hand in the direction of the dollar. By-by,
step- momma. By the shade of Lincoln, how Melty claps her hands in
glee on seeing her wages in gold; she hastily pockets; one or two
pieces roll to the floor. Ellen, the cook, enters, lamp in hand,
unsteady of gait; Melty stoops to conquer the gold, picks up a shower-
stick to get it from a corner, knocks with one end the lamp out of the
shaky hand of the maid."
"Jove, what a blaze!" exclaimed Everly, who had been alternately
flattening his nasal organ against the window pane, or gazing around
at Vaura, who, at his last words, starts to a sitting posture, and
says, controlling herself to speak calmly:--"
"I am going down stairs at once; what a terrific blaze. Are you
coming, Blanche, or Sir Tilton?"
"Yes, yes; come, Blanche."
"I wonder what is known by the guests and household, and if Sir Lionel
has had them pursued?" cried Vaura brokenly, as they rapidly descend
the stairs.
"Some of the men In the house guessed what Delrose's game was," said
Everly, "and we thought the only women in the secret were Mrs.
Meltonbury and Mason, the maid, but Blanche seems to have been aware
of their plot."
"I am surprised at you, Blanche, seeming to be _au fait_ in the
matter, and keeping it secret; but I forget, you thought it best they
should fly."
"Yes, it was for the best, Miss Vernon, and the small white mouse can
keep dark when she chooses; the tongues of the other women were
bought," she said cunningly.
"Yes, tied by a gold bit. Sir Tilton, you are tied to a born
detective, said Vaura.
"He is," says the wee creature laconically.
Here they meet Trevalyon, out of breath and racing up for Vaura.
"How do you feel now, darling?" he says pantingly.
"Rest a minute, Lion, you are out of breath; Sir Tilton, kindly open
that casement."
"There is no way of opening this one; bad fix. Trevalyon is very short
of breath."
"Unloose his collar," she said hastily, and taking a diamond solitaire
off her finger, handing it to Everly, said quickly, "cut the pane."
Trevalyon had sank on to a step; Vaura drew his head to her knee while
Blanche held her vinaigrette to his nose; in a minute or two his
breathing came naturally and he said:
"Too bad to have frightened you, darling, and you too Lady Everly, but
really, it was scarcely my fault," with a half smile, "you must blame
the stairs, they seemed all at once to become too cramped and
stifling. Ah! I thank you Everly, that air is refreshing; I am quite
myself again," and he would have stood up.
"No, no; rest a minute," said Vaura gently.
"Yes, sit still; you are our patient, and all the patience we have
till we hear from you all about Melty's fire-works," said Blanche
eagerly.
"Rather Lucifer's bonfire over the old Adam in that woman," said
Vaura, contemptuously.
"Clayton was dreadfully shocked when I told him, and we decided not to
name their flight until to-morrow; he and I, with my man and the
butler (trump of an old fellow he is), fairly ran to Rose Cottage and
succeeded in getting out, unharmed, Mrs. Meltonbury and a maid; we
sent my man to the village to hurry up the firemen, and then I flew
back to you, dearest, knowing you would be anxious as to your uncle. I
left him looking more like himself than I have seen him for years,
quietly talking to Lady Esmondet and Mrs. Claxton; in my haste to be
with you I out-ran breath and then had to wait her pleasure to catch
up to me. No fear of the revellers suspecting anything; the ball is at
its height and the hells were not rung. They took the midnight express
through to Liverpool; thence they sail to New York."
"Did you compel Melty to own up to that much?" said the little
detective, her tiny, white race full of interest.
"We did; and pursuit would he useless."
"When a Haughton weds and is dishonoured, divorce, not pursuit, will
lie his action," said Vaura, her beautiful head erect; and now for our
revenge, a sweeter strain than that of grief; we shall descend and so
cover their retreat by our sparkling wit, and gay smiles, that they
shall not be missed."
"Mrs. Haughton would get left anyway," said Blanche; "for the crowd
all want to stare at you."
"Flashes of light and warm tints in a golden summer sky versus evening
in her red robes sinking to the west," said Trevalyon, pressing Vaura
to his side as they follow their companions.
"One for you, Sir Lionel," cried _la petite_ looking over her
shoulder.
And Lionel bends his handsome head down to the fair woman whose face
is unturned to his. He says, whisperingly, while his face is illumined
with happiness.
"A few days, beloved, and then we shall lead, till I weary my wife
with the intensity of my love, the life of the lotus-eaters."
"Yes, my own tired love, yes; our home, until our world bids us forth,
shall be a very 'castle of indolence,' 'a pleasing land of drowsy
head, 'twill be of dreams that wave before our half-closed eyes, and
of gay castles in the clouds that _pass_ forever flashing round our
summer sky.'"
And the large dark eyes are full of love's warm light, as the ayren
voice dies away to a murmur.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's A Heart-Song of To-day, by Annie Gregg Savigny