Two days after these events, the lady portion of visiters quitted
Uplands--some went one way, some another. Lady Lysson's chaperonage was
over, so she, too, quitted her bachelor nephew's, and left him to his
male companions, dogs and horses, for a while longer. Dalby remained,
and a worse than himself returned--Marmaduke Burton; worse too, that he
was more on an equality with their host than Dalby. He could work
openly; yet, too, the coward trembled lest Tremenhere should ever
discover his share in the nefarious plot--which plot we shall now permit
to work itself out, without further explanation.
Lady Dora's better genius triumphed when she quitted Uplands. Something
remained painfully on her mind after her conversation with Miles. His
indignant pride debased her to her true littleness of conduct, and the
really good-nature, had it not been biased by a worldly mother,
triumphed; and one day her quiet, well-appointed brougham, which she
chose in preference to their britscha, as being less ostentatious, and
in better taste for her expedition, drove up to Tremenhere's pretty
cottage at Chiswick. Minnie was alone; he had gone to town on business.
She, all affection and forgiveness, had a singular memory in these times
of heartlessness and calculation; she always forgot the bad, and held a
bright sunny spot for the good deeds of all. In an instant she was in
Dora's arms, her own round the other's neck, and her bright face,
dimpling like a child's, and as innocent, held upwards for the kiss of
peace.
"Dear, dear, Dora!" she cried, while on the setting of fringe which we
have spoken of round her soft eyes, hung gems of tears, like May morning
dew on hawthorn, "I knew you would come some day and see me." Here the
joyous tears burst forth. "And Miles thinks so too, I know; for,
whenever he returns, he always asks has any one called? well knowing no
one would so, unless it were you; and when I say, 'No one, dear,' he
takes me to his arms, and says, embracing me, 'Never mind, Minnie, I
always come back to you--never mind the world, dear child!' Oh! he is
_so_ kind, dearest Dora!" exclaimed the loving wife, "and I am so _very_
happy!"
"Long may it last, dear Minnie," said her cousin, as she returned the
caress; "I have been very cruel not to come sooner, but--but----"
"Don't speak of it, dear Dora," cried Minnie, ever anxious to save
another any pain; "I know it was not your fault--my aunt wouldn't let
you; but, now you are here, _do_ stay all day, Miles will return at
five, 'tis scarcely two yet," and she drew her beside her on an ottoman,
and encircled her with her arms.
"I cannot Minnie, mamma does not know I have come; I shall have to tell
her cautiously, for----"
"Oh! I know, I know, I've been a very naughty girl, but why did they
lock me up? and why was my uncle going to take me to that odious Miss
Burton's? If he had confided in my honour, I _never_ should have ran
away."
"Are you sure, Minnie--quite sure? Mr. Tremenhere is very persuasive, I
make no doubt, and handsome too; I think him much improved since his
marriage," she spoke constrainedly.
"How do you know?" asked her cousin, amazed; "when did you see him--and
where?"
"Did he not tell you," inquired the other, much confused, "I met him at
Uplands. Oh! I have perhaps done wrong in telling you." A strange
sensation, half triumph, half pleasure, shot through her heart; it was
one of those involuntary promptings of the evil one, which we cannot
always master. "Why," prompted this fiend, "did Tremenhere deceive his
wife? Dares he not trust himself to name me?"
"Oh! I see it all!" cried that pure-hearted wife; "it is just like my
own dear Miles--he feared to pain me." She was sincere in this thought
_then_.
"Come, Minnie," cried Lady Dora, hastily rising, "put on your bonnet, we
will have a quiet drive, we can then speak of all; I love a nice chat in
a cosy, half-sleepy, jog-trot pace--my country pace, I call it. Come, we
will go out for half an hour." She wished to break the thread of the
conversation, and have a little time to recover herself.
"And then you will return with me, and remain?"
"I don't promise; we shall see."
The delighted Minnie was soon shawled and bonneted. It was a fine, clear
day, almost frosty; they drove on till they arrived at Kensington
Gardens; Minnie had told all, her flight, how accomplished--of her
happiness she needed not to speak; it breathed in every glance, every
tone, when his name fell from her lips. Dora more than once checked a
sigh--this might have been hers but for her pride; the soul whispered
this, the woman disavowed the thought; yet she had never loved him, or
she would have sacrificed all, and even then have sighed over the
poverty of the all she had to give. To check these thoughts, she drew
the check-string at Kensington Gardens.
"Let us have a walk, Minnie," she cried suddenly; "the air is
refreshing."
In an instant they were side by side, walking at a brisk pace through
the walks. Lady Dora turned off towards the Palace, to avoid any
rencontres. We often turn to avoid meeting something which is following
us.
By chance, it so happened that Lord Randolph was riding down the road;
he recognized Lady Dora's brougham, inquired, and in less than five
minutes overtook her and her companion. What was to be done? Lady Dora
was scarlet; nothing could more have annoyed her than this. Introduce
her cousin she could not, as Mrs. Tremenhere; it would betray all. Had
she had time to think, it would have been infinitely better to have said
nothing than what she said. Pressing Minnie's arm, who, poor child,
thought all Dora did must be right, she said, "Miss Dalzell, Lord
Randolph Gray." Nevertheless, Minnie did start, and visibly; then a deep
flush rose, and added still more to her extreme beauty. He was perfectly
paralyzed. In overtaking Lady Dora, he expected in her companion to see
some familiar face. Here he met a person whose name even was unknown to
him; her confusion did not escape him either. Had they met before? Was
she an humble companion? But, no: he assuredly must have then seen her
before. And, to confirm him in the certainty of this not being the case,
this fair girl called the proud daughter of Lady Ripley "Dora," and
"dear Dora." She stood far below this latter in stature, though above
middle height; but there was a fairy grace, lightness, and exquisite
beauty about her, even his far-travelled eye had never before seen
equalled; and when she smiled, or laughed with her light, joyous,
modulated laugh, the face lit up so strangely bright, that she looked
like some inspired spirit.
When a man or woman tries to be pleasant, he or she generally, not
_always_, is constrained, and seen to disadvantage. What with her
beauty, the surprise of the meeting, and curiosity about her, Lord
Randolph, never too brilliant, became downright enigmatical in speech,
which, together with her embarrassment, so annoyed Lady Dora, that,
hastily turning, she said--
"It is later than I imagined; let us return."
"Return!" thought he; "but whither? I would give worlds to know. Oh! I
shall find out; doubtless she will often accompany Lady Dora; 'tis some
young friend, not 'out' yet. Shall I escort you?" he asked, after
handing them to the brougham.
"'Tis useless--I thank you," answered Lady Dora, coldly; "we have a call
to make." He bowed, and they drove off. He sat round on his horse,
watching them out of sight; politeness forbade his following. It was an
immense relief to his half-affianced wife when they drove off; every
instant she had dreaded to hear Minnie talk of Miles: he was ever on her
lip. But though much pained and astonished at first at the untruth Dora
had told; afterwards, though still reprehending it, she felt assured her
cousin had done it for some good motive, so she held her tongue about
her husband. Miss Dalzell could not acknowledge one.
"I thought it better to say you were a Miss Dalzell," said Lady Dora;
"men are so inquisitive. Who would have dreamed of meeting Lord Randolph
in Kensington Gardens? It was a fatality; I thought him still at
Uplands."
"He said he was only in town for a day," suggested her cousin.
"So much the better; he will forget all about you, and no one will know
you by that name, unless indeed----" She paused, looking greatly
annoyed, as Dalby and Marmaduke Burton crossed her mind. Minnie
questioned her; but turning the subject, they conversed about something
else until they reached home. Lady Dora had taken the precaution of
ascertaining whether they were followed. Minnie could not prevail upon
her to remain; she left her compliments for Tremenhere, and promised her
delighted cousin to return again soon. Lord Randolph had been found on
that road not without motive; he was going to Tremenhere's cottage on an
excuse, intending to see the reputed beauty, if possible. After the
meeting with Minnie, he changed his mind: "I will not go to-day," he
thought; "I shall be disgusted with any woman I could possibly see,
after this beautiful girl. I must find out who she is; she realized all
one's ideas of a fairy." Thus thinking, he turned his horse-homewards.
When Tremenhere returned to his cottage, he was assailed by a variety of
feelings on hearing the events which had occurred during his absence. Of
Lady Dora's coming, he was pleased; it gratified Minnie, but he would
rather it had been done with her mother's cognizance, and in her
company. There was something galling in this secret visit, but he
forbore to say so to his little wife, she looked so joyous and happy;
not one word of annoyance that her cousin had so long deferred it, not a
harsh thought for even her aunt. All was forgiveness and sunshine in her
sweet face.
"Verily, Minnie," said her enraptured husband, bending his fine eyes in
fondest love upon her, "you are not fit for this cold world; you must
live on a sunbeam, dearest, and be enwrapped at eve in the gorgeous
clouds fringed with gold, in which the day-god sinks to rest."
"No, Miles," she answered laughing, her whole bright soul in his face,
robed in smiles and dimples; "_you_ shall be the day-god, rising at peep
of day, higher and higher until you arrive at meridian splendour, and
_then_ I will be the dial to mark your course, and live in your rays."
"I will accept that position, darling, for then I shall know you only
live by my light. Minnie, Minnie, it would kill me to think any one even
approached your heart, where I must reign alone!"
"How could that ever be possible?" she said, fondling his hand in both
her own, and then kissing it almost with reverence.
"Now, tell me all about your drive," he inquired after a pause. Minnie
had reserved this for the last; somehow her woman's unerring wit told
even her unsophisticated nature, that it would pain Miles, and it
grieved her so much to see a cloud on his brow. Even with this
foresight, she was ill prepared for the annoyance which assailed him; he
was most indignant at Lady Dora's introducing Minnie as Miss Dalzell.
"In your position," he cried, "she should have been doubly guarded;
better not have named you at all, and to Lord Randolph Gray, of all
persons, I am sorely perplexed how to act."
She tried as much as possible to soothe him, but there was a sting in
his heart--a sting of anticipated trouble arising out of this. He knew
Lord Randolph so well, that he felt convinced he would seek every
possible means of discovering who Minnie was: she was not a creature to
be passed in a crowd--her beauty was too rare and remarkable. He thought
at first of seeking him, and confiding the truth to him and his honour
for secresy. Well would it have been had he done so; this would have
shown the affair, when well explained, in a different light to the one
in which the other now viewed it. Had he known Marmaduke Burton and
Dalby were guests at Uplands, he would not have hesitated; but in
ignorance of much, he at last grew calmer under the erroneous idea that
perhaps Lord Randolph would think no more about her; besides, how could
he trace her--how hear any thing of her? And, to crown all, he knew the
other was leaving England on a tour in a month; so he resolved to let
matters take their natural course, and, comforted by Minnie's assurance
that his Lordship had not followed them, he dropped the subject, on her
promising to go out no more with Lady Dora, at present.
Poor Tremenhere little imagined how much Lord Randolph really thought of
Minnie; that evening he called at Lady Ripley's, and to his surprise was
requested to enter a boudoir solely belonging to Lady Dora, where even
he had seldom been admitted. He found her sitting alone, evidently
awaiting his arrival.
"Lord Randolph," she said with more cordiality than was usual on her
part, "I have a favour to solicit at your hands."
"At mine?" he said, gallantly kissing the fair one she extended towards
him. "Thus let me thank the lovely messenger pleading to its companions.
I shall indeed esteem myself happy in obliging you in any way."
"Thank you. Will you then do so by not naming to my mother, or indeed
any one, our rencounter to-day? I mean so far as regards Miss----"
"Miss Dalzell?" he interrupted her in increased surprise.
"I see you have a retentive memory," she answered, with slight
annoyance. She had hesitated at the name, hoping he might have forgotten
it. "The fact is, for the present, I do not wish even my mother to know
that I have seen Miss Dalzell."
"Is the fair lady some fairy, destined to take the whole world by
surprise, in an unexpected, unannounced _début_ shortly?" he asked.
"Decidedly not," she replied, vexed at the evident interest he
displayed; not from jealousy of the man, but fear, lest this interest
might lead to research. "Miss Dalzell," she continued, "will be shortly
leaving town for the Continent with her--friends."
"Indeed! 'tis a pity; she would have been a constellation of the highest
order in our spherical circle, where so few beauties are seen, next
season."
"She seems to have captivated you, Lord Randolph."
"Captivated! no, my heart is not free," and he bowed conventionally to
the fair speaker; "but I thought her of rare beauty. By Heavens!" he
exclaimed, as a sudden idea struck him, "that dilatory fellow,
Tremenhere, complains that he cannot meet with a model for his
'Aurora'--I wish he could see Miss Dalzell! I wonder whether she would
sit to him? Pray, ask her, dear Lady Dora: does she live in town? I'll
speak to Tremenhere about it." He was forgetting every thing she had
been asking him. Lady Dora felt dreadfully embarrassed--her colour
rose.
"Pray," she cried, "my lord, do not do a thing which would pain and
annoy me excessively. I have requested you to forget all about Miss
Dalzell, and you talk of her sitting for some foolish picture, and of
all men on earth to Mr. Tremenhere."
Her last words awoke other thoughts in his mind. "I am very forgetful,"
he answered. "Rest assured, Lady Dora, no one shall hear her name or the
meeting from me; but may I in return ask, why less to Mr. Tremenhere
than any other person?"
"Oh!" she answered, evasively, "artists will dare any thing for a face
which exactly meets their wants and wishes. I _particularly_ desire all
which passed to-day, forgotten by you."
"You shall be obeyed."
"Some day possibly, you may know all; 'tis now a most painful mystery."
"You may rely upon me," he replied. "And now, may I ask, as one _much_
interested in you, Lady Dora, have you not recently met Mr. Tremenhere
in the country? I do not mean at Uplands--in Yorkshire?"
In an instant her face became extremely pale, even to the lips, which
quivered; then indignant pride at his questioning drove back the blood
in flushing bounds. "Pardon me, my lord, I do not see the right you have
to question. I was in Yorkshire with my mother."
"I too crave pardon," he replied, "for presuming too much on hopes for
the future. I see you did meet him; the rest is no stranger to my
knowledge--I am satisfied."
There was a calm dignity about him which she had never before seen. She
would have given worlds to know what he alluded to--what he had heard.
But she durst not do so, even _her_ pride scarcely restrained her from
questioning; her mind was in a complete maze of fears. What could he
mean? Individually, his opinion was of not the slightest importance to
her, but, as transmitted perhaps by him to the world, it was altogether
different; yet what could she say? Already she felt humbled at having
been forced to ask so great a favour as silence from him; what was still
more remarkable in this interview was, that he made no attempt whatever,
beyond the most commonplace gallantry, to hint at his own suit, he
seemed absorbed in other thoughts, and these were occasioned by her
painful confusion at the mention of Tremenhere's name; and a bitter
feeling in consequence arose in his mind against him, for his supposed
impertinent presumption. There was a silence of a few minutes, broken at
last by her coldly saying, "I believe we may now abridge this meeting,
Lord Randolph--I have your promise of silence. You proposed visiting my
mother, I think? Allow me to have you announced. I will rejoin you in
the drawing-room shortly." So saying, she rang the bell.
"You may rely upon my discretion," he said, partially recovering
himself. "And we will leave all to old Time, he unravels wonders and
mysteries; you will not deprive me a long time of the pleasure of your
society?"
She merely bowed, and smiled constrainedly as the servant followed him
to the drawing-room, and announced him to Lady Ripley, who little
imagined all the events of that day.
Man is a changeable, versatile animal, ever forgetful of the old for the
new, more perfectly comprehending the fable of "sour grapes," than any
other.
"I dare say," said Lord Randolph to himself next day, "that this very
mysterious Miss Dalzell would not have proved half so pretty on second
sight; there must be something strange about her, or why this mystery?
There are days our eyes create beauty every where--yesterday was
doubtless one of these; were she really so lovely, and a friend of Lady
Dora's, some one must have seen and spoken of her, whereas I never heard
the name even in my life until yesterday. That fellow Tremenhere," he
continued after a thoughtful pause, "I should like to be revenged on his
insolence; it won't do to cut him without an excuse, he has given me
none, and he is a favourite in many circles where these artists hold a
certain sway. I always thought it bad taste to give them too much
liberty, and the event proves my just judgment." It will be seen that
Lord Randolph was rather _arrière_ in the more genial liberality of
opinion, generally prevalent. He was of the Lady Dora school, which
fosters absurd prejudices and deformities of mind, in the shape of
circumscribing and false pride, reminding one of a village, somewhere in
the Landes, whose inhabitants are all from birth afflicted with goîtres,
which hideous swelling of the throat becomes from habit a beauty in
their eyes; so much so, that 'tis told of them, that one day a healthy
person appearing among them in church, their minister bade them thank
God they were as they were, and not like that afflicted creature before
them!
Lord Randolph's pride was in arms against the painter fellow, who had
dared raise a thought, as he imagined, towards Lady Dora; it was not
from any excessive love for her, but adherence to _caste_. In her
confusion, though it puzzled him at first, he finally thought he read
only indignation, and he awarded to himself the right, to lower his
presumption in some way. What fools we are to undertake perilous
journeys in the dark!
The new idea banished the old: he almost forgot Miss Dalzell, and
resolved to go whither he had been going yesterday, as he mounted his
horse next morning--a fashionable morning--about two o'clock; so he
turned his horse's head towards Chiswick, where he knew Tremenhere
resided. He had never had occasion to call there before, having always
met him either at his club, in society, or his own (Lord Randolph's)
house. He was not quite certain of the cottage, but he inquired, and at
last a pretty little villa was pointed out to him as the one he sought.
"I think the gentleman is not at home," said his informant, who looked
like a tradesman; "for I know him well, and I saw him walking towards
town an hour ago."
This suited the other's views exactly; so, leaving his horse in charge
of a man who was loitering about, he walked quietly up to the cottage.
The front gate stood open; he walked through a prettily arranged
garden, filled with autumnal flowers, to the hall door, and rapped
gently. He came, like a good general, to surprise, not storm the
capital. A neat-looking girl answered the door. "Is Mr. Tremenhere at
home?" inquired the visiter.
"No, sir," was the reply. "He will not return till this evening."
"Very provoking!" exclaimed he; "I am leaving town, and wished
particularly to leave a message, or see him."
The girl made no reply; she was not evidently accustomed to see many
visiters there.
"Could I see any one to leave it with, or write a note?" he asked.
"If you would please to step in, sir; I dare say you can write to
master," she said, drawing back. Lord Randolph wanted no further
invitation. In an instant he was following the girl down the passage.