Tremenhere had in nothing deceived Minnie. He told her that in marrying
him she wedded herself to an artist's struggles for fame, wealth, and
position: this home was all he had to offer her, cheered by his devoted
love. He was considered as one rising rapidly in the profession, but he
had much still to achieve before prosperity would crown his efforts.
Hitherto, he had saved every possible farthing for the great object of
his thoughts; now, he would have to toil with double energy, not to lose
sight of that, and support his wife also. But Minnie was so simple in
her tastes, so generous, thoughtful, and loving, that it seemed to her
another Paradise, their quiet little cottage in the out-skirts of town,
which Miles had succeeded in discovering, with a studio attached--or
rather, a large room, which he converted into one. True, the gardens
were not large and beautiful, like those at Gatestone; but then their
very smallness made every flower as a friend. Each morning there was the
matinal visit to be paid, the fresh buds on some favourite tree to be
counted; and as she bent over their stem, a loving eye looked down upon
her, a gentle hand clasped her small, snowy neck, and then she looked
up smiling, and the two went in to work. Her's was not very laborious,
yet she fancied it absolutely necessary to the performance of his task:
she mixed his colours, sorted his pencils, but, more frequently, leaned
over his shoulder, with one tiny hand buried among his raven curls,
which clustered, thick and glossy, in the nape of his neck. Thus she
would watch the progress of his "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night;"
which Aurora was a figure of angel lightness, with outstretched arms and
hands, skimming through the air, her long, wavy hair flying, in the
freshness of the morning breeze, like a cloud behind her; whilst before
her fled Shades, clad in dark robes spangled with fading stars, and
supported upon the clouds. It was a beautiful group, which Miles was
painting to order. We have said Minnie had most lovely hair, like floss
silk; when she unwove the plaits, it fell almost to her heel, not
heavily, but like a vapour; you passed your hand through it, and it
separated and floated in the air like a gossamer web. It was this
magnificent mass which Miles had copied for his Aurora. He loved to look
upon it; to a painter's eye it had an appearance of something spiritual.
In vain he endeavoured to do it justice; for more than once, in despair,
he had set all aside, and clasping his little wife in his arms,
exclaimed, as he embraced it and her, "My child, I never shall
accomplish this! Surely some sprite wove this veil, and will not allow
me to represent it with my poor pencil! Not the best _artiste en
cheveux_ ever known, shall ever distort these fair locks with his vile
grasp. I am almost jealous when the air plays with them! Minnie, 'tis
dreadful to suffer from jealousy! I hope you never may be a mother,
darling; I should almost hate my own child, lying on your breast!"
"Hush, Miles!" she whispered, laying her hand on his mouth. "Do not
speak even of jealousy; 'tis so false a passion, ever leading astray,
ever leading us down some crooked path."
"Why, my pretty reasoner, what do you know of jealousy?" and he drew her
close to his side, and smiled up in her face.
"Oh! I guess it, dear, from all I have read of its influence, it leads
to so much error and bitterness; and----and----I will confess, dear
Miles," she added, looking down, "I felt a pang of it myself, when you
were absent the other day, in Sussex. I was wondering all day with whom
you were walking, talking, amusing yourself; and whether you once, even,
saw my spirit flit before your path!"
Miles looked down thoughtfully, doubtingly, a moment, then, raising his
eyes, said carelessly--"You know, darling, why I went to Uplands Park.
Lord Randolph Gray wished me to come, whilst he was down there, to
choose a good light for my 'Aurora' when I have completed it, and also
to make some other artistic arrangements, which cannot but prove of
great service to me. My Minnie knows I am only an artist, obliged to
follow as a profession what was once only pleasure."
"Well, are we not happy, Miles?--_I_ am--oh! very--very happy--perfectly
so, since my dear aunt Dorcas has been to see her naughty niece; and,
now, tell me all the persons you met at Uplands, for I knew there were
several there, and you have always found something else to talk of, when
I asked you."
"Oh! I paid little attention, I was so much engaged; there were his
aunt, and several ladies, and----"
"I wonder where Dora is?" cried Minnie, hastily, like a child flying
from one subject to another. "She has not answered my letter, and I
wrote as soon as we were married in town, and that is two months
since--'tis very unkind!"
"What an old wife you are, Minnie!" he said fondly, not paying attention
to the other portion of her speech.
"Never mind that, Miles; let us talk of Dora. Do you know, I was half
jealous of her; I thought you admired her; I thought two such could not
meet without loving."
Despite his self-control, he coloured slightly, and merely ejaculated,
"Pshaw!"
"I do declare, Miles, you are colouring! Well, I fancied my aunt Lady
Ripley, and Dora, were perhaps at Uplands."
"What could make you think so?" he asked, slightly embarrassed.
"Because I know my aunt wishes Dora to marry Lord Randolph Gray; and, as
so many ladies were there, I thought it probable she might be one."
"Silly child!--silly little girl!" he said, evasively. "There--get such
foolish thoughts out of your head, and give me one more sitting,
darling, for this Aurorean veil of hair."
All else was cast aside when Miles had to be pleased. She forgot Dora,
and every thing, and stood before him with her hair streaming back from
her fair, innocent face--that face was Miles's greatest torment in his
task. It was the very one he could have desired for his picture; but for
worlds he would not have laid it upon canvass for indifferent eyes to
look upon; in vain model after model sat to him--some were very lovely;
and when he thought his wish accomplished, and but a few finishing
touches were required to complete the face--nothing but the working up,
when no model was of further use, involuntarily--his pencil, faithful to
the memory of his heart, moulded the unfinished face with an imperfect
likeness of his beloved wife; and though he sighed whilst obliterating
it, yet nothing would have tempted him to expose that to a stranger's
gaze; perhaps, a questioning one, which would seek the original of so
perfect a creation. No, she was his--only his. Could he have insisted
upon such a thing without appearing absurd, she should never have
quitted the house, unless closely veiled--his was true, all-absorbing
affection. There was no selfish vain-glory in it; that feeling which
makes a man parade the object of his idolatry before the multitude, to
delight his ears with the hum of praise her beauty might elicit, and
from the pedestal of his exclusive right, look down in pitying
compassion on the multitude doing homage to her charms--nothing of this
could move Tremenhere, except to feel contempt. His was too noble a
nature to be gratified by the injury of others--he only asked to be left
in peace and seclusion with this fair being he had so hardly won. _He_,
for the cold heartless world, to toil for her, and with it--_she_, to
solace his hours of peace and most unworldly love. We will leave them
awhile, and step back to Gatestone. At the moment her successful flight
was no longer a mystery--the only one was, how she had escaped--there
were not wanting those to instil into Juvenal's mind an idea, that he
had an enemy on his hearth; and poor Dorcas was the suspected person.
She had favoured Minnie's escape, and not all her assurances to the
contrary, could remove the impression; and, when she expressed her
determination to visit Minnie, not the slightest shadow of doubt
remained. Little-minded persons must have an imaginary trouble, if they
do not possess a real one--they could not exist without something to
worry them to death. Dorcas was the living source of sorrow to Juvenal
and Sylvia; and, had she not been patience itself, _they_ would
assuredly have driven her into her grave by their unceasing fire of
innuendoes, when they actually abstained from open accusations. However,
she bore all placidly, and finally started, to the deep indignation of
both, for town, accompanied by Mr. Skaife. This latter had become
perfectly reconciled to Minnie's marriage. His love had not been that of
a Tremenhere, but a quiet, placid affection, much more like a _hothouse_
friendship, than actual love, riper than an ordinary out-of-door feeling
of that genus. The moment he heard that she was positively a wife, he
choked down a little sigh, and from that instant she became the wife of
one he called friend--only a being to be much respected, and served in
every way in his power; and it was strange that Tremenhere, with all his
jealousy, so thoroughly read and appreciated the other's character, that
not the slightest feeling of that kind crossed his mind, on his and
Minnie's account. They met as brother and sister might have done; and
Tremenhere looked on and smiled, as Skaife clasped her hands--an action
he could not have borne from any other; for he had the purest, warmest,
Spanish blood in his veins, not one drop of his father's calm
English--he was all his mother's child.
It would be impossible to give an adequate idea of the fury of Juvenal,
when he discovered that he and Dalby had arrived just an hour too late
to prevent Minnie's marriage. Dalby was bitterness itself, and in every
way fostered the feeling against the delinquents. Thus he made himself
agreeable to Juvenal, and _secured_ a footing at Gatestone; as he felt
rather uncertain how Marmaduke Burton might receive him, on his being
made acquainted with the discomfiture of himself and partisans, and the
good generalship of Tremenhere. But Burton could not afford to lose such
a man as Dalby; though he blamed him in no measured terms, still, in his
heart, he knew how difficult it was to daunt or overthrow his cousin. He
accused himself more than any one else, for leaving the spot, and thus
losing so great a battery against the enemy as his own cunning would
have proved. Now this battle was lost, there only remained one thing to
him--revenge; and this pale-faced spectre haunted his every thought.
Great was Minnie's joy when she flung herself into her dear aunt's arms;
all former annoyance was forgotten; she only saw one she loved as a
mother, one whose face was wanting to cheer her home and hearth. As soon
as Tremenhere could so arrange it after their return, they had been
again, and more sacredly, married than in their Border marriage. Nothing
was wanting, then, to Minnie's happiness, but forgiveness; and this
Dorcas promised to lose no opportunity of obtaining. How happy the young
wife was, in showing all the mysteries of her home, her excellence as a
housekeeper, her garden, her fruits, all, to her aunt! Poor child! she
was so inexperienced in all, yet withal so very anxious to save every
possible expense, that the aim of Miles's life might not be lost sight
of. "Only look, dear aunty!" she cried, raising in her pretty fingers
the leaves which partially concealed some mellowing peach on the sunny
wall,--"did you ever see such beauties? We had none so fine at
Gatestone!" Poor child, once more! there was nothing good or fair but
where Miles existed--nothing could prosper unless beneath his eye. Alas,
for the days of sorrow! when the woman shall look back, after her weary
pilgrimage through life, and remember the one sunny spot of childhood,
where winter never came--all the year one summer in her memory, the
fruits and flowers in the gardens of which, were riper, and blossomed
fairer, than any elsewhere! It is the heart--the heart--the heart
beneath which they grow!--the heart all lightness and purity!
Skaife, we have seen, accompanied Dorcas to town; and after the first
lecture on her imprudence had, as a matter of course, been duly
delivered by the latter, all settled down in perfect happiness; for even
Skaife almost ceased to remember that, in the man before him, he saw a
successful rival. Poor Dorcas would fain have remained longer than the
fortnight she had awarded herself; but she received such fulminating
letters from home, that the thing was impracticable; and so she left the
abode of love and peace, perfectly assured of the continuance of
Minnie's happiness, and promising to do all in her power to effect a
reconciliation. This would have been easily accomplished, if she had
only had Juvenal and Sylvia to deal with; but, unhappily, Dalby and the
latter were friends again, and the former had Marmaduke Burton to back
him up in all wickedness; though now, had the uncle and aunt
reasoned--"How could the affair be improved by anger?" they might have
acted differently. But there are some persons who never reason;
decidedly, these were of that class.
We will now take our readers to Uplands Park, the day of Miles's
expected visit there by Lord Randolph Gray. Business in town had
detained this gentleman from that rendezvous of fashionable men, in the
month of August--Scotland. It was near the end of the following month,
and a select few were assembled for shooting, and its accompaniment of
flirtation, in a country-house, where there exists so much more _laissez
aller_ than in town. Lord Randolph's aunt, the Countess of Lysson, took
the head of the lady department at her bachelor nephew's. A word about
this nephew: He was one whose mould had assuredly not been broken when
he was born--there were hundreds like him; he was one in a _cornet_ of
comfits, very nice, but very insipid--the filling up of the world
between the good and bad. A good-natured man, in short, with plenty of
money. Some one persuaded him that he was, or ought to be, passionately
fond of pictures, because he was of yachting and other fashionable
amusements. Now, what possible connection could exist between these two,
except as far as mere fashion went, it would be difficult to define.
However, he was very fond of handsome women, and these are more or less
the subject of the pencil; consequently, on his return to town from
Italy, where he had seen much of Miles in society, as a rising artist,
he sought him out, and engaged his pencil on "The Aurora," before
alluded to. Besides, he had liked the man, and discovering that even at
home, men of talent were warmly received into society, he followed the
reading of others (for he possessed not one single original idea,) and
invited him cordially to his house. But the visit to Uplands was one
more of business than pleasure, else Miles would never have quitted
Minnie. No one was aware, of his mere acquaintances, that Tremenhere was
a man who had lost the position he had lost; he was known as a man of
good family and cultivated understanding--no one inquired beyond:
married or single--who cared to inquire? He was an agreeable companion,
and therefore many sought his society. When he arrived at Uplands, the
first person almost he met was Lady Dora, who was there with her mother.
Not all her self-possession checked the deep glow which over-spread her
cheek. It was half the suddenness of the meeting, and half indignant
pride, that he should have degraded her cousin, as she deemed it, to the
level of a mere artist's wife. They met in the drawing-room before
dinner. There were only two or three persons yet assembled, and these
were dowagers, sitting cosily beside a cheering wood-blaze, before the
lamps were lighted. It was a large comfortable room, and already the
rich crimson curtains fell before the windows. It had been a chilly,
rainy day; and Lady Dora, having passed some hours of it in the
billiard-room, now sat before one of Erard's most brilliant pianos,
playing desultory strains, as they occurred to her memory. Lady Lysson
had not yet appeared, nor Lady Dora's mother. Tremenhere stood an
instant in the doorway; he had been sitting in Lord Randolph's room with
him, ever since quitting the one assigned to him, after changing his
dress for dinner. His arrival had occurred, as those things do in
country houses--a matter of no moment, or object of inquiry to any one.
He came--sat in his host's room--dressed for dinner--descended to the
drawing-room--and, until Lady Dora looked up from her own thoughts, and
saw him at the door, no one knew an addition had taken place to the
circle assembled at Uplands. As he entered, the two dowagers raised
their eyes carelessly, and glanced over him. He was some gentleman, or
he wouldn't be there,--one of the common mould, doubtless. People always
take this for granted, till the lion slips out of the ass's skin in
which their imaginations clothe him, and shows his fangs and claws;
then folks either put themselves into a position of defence, or try to
cut his claws; but this latter is rather a dangerous game, unless, like
the picture of a celebrated artist, Monsieur Camille Roqueplan, the lion
become "_amoureux_," and then any thing may be done with him by the one
loved hand.
We digress--Miles was an ass in the dowagers' eyes--one of their host's
mould; so they glanced him over, and, _sotto voce_, continued their
perforations in somebody's character.
Lady Dora started, and coloured--then her fingers still strolled over
the keys like a breeze among flowers, calling forth sweet odours--or a
child in a garden, culling a single leaf of different buds, and
scattering them carelessly about; for she only played a strain here and
there, nothing through.
"I hope Lady Dora is well?" asked Miles, gently, as he stood beside her.
"Quite so, I thank you," she coldly replied, bowing over her hands,
which did not cease.
Though Miles had keenly felt, without expressing it to Minnie, her
cousin's neglect, still he forbore speaking of it to her, lest it might
aggravate her pain, he was so watchful over this darling wife of his;
still he fancied some engagement, fashionable indolence, or absence from
home, occasioned it; any thing but the truth--wilful slight. He was
therefore not prepared for her reception of him; he stood a moment
silent, looking down on the flying fingers, and many thoughts creeping
over his mind, scarcely leaving a trace, but faintly shadowing an idea,
that this girl had loved him, her change of manner was so extraordinary
since their parting in Italy. "I was not aware," he said at last, in
commonplace phraseology, "that I should have the pleasure of meeting
with your ladyship here." He was working with homely tools to get at a
great truth--this girl's sentiments--they puzzled him; had she replied
in a natural manner, he would have sought no farther, convinced that his
impression had been erroneous. As it was, she answered with stern
pride--
"It must be a matter of perfect indifference to Mr. Tremenhere;" and,
ceasing her playing, she took her gloves, fan, and handkerchief from the
piano, and without condescending to award him one look, walked
majestically to the other end of the large room, and, seating herself on
an ottoman by the fire, commenced conversing with the dowagers. Miles
leaned an instant against the piano. A smile, half of contempt, and half
triumph, played over his proud lip. Servants entered at that instant
with lights. Quietly seating himself on the music-stool, he took up a
book from a side table, and turned its leaves; but his thoughts flew off
from pride and vexation to Minnie, his own quiet little cottage
fireside, and that fairy wife, singing like a joyous bird, to soothe his
weary spirit, when worn by a day's harassing. "Minnie--my own Minnie!"
he whispered to his heart, and the dark flashing eyes of the previous
moment, melted with the loving thoughts of her presence, and he forgot
Lady Dora, all, save herself.