LEONE'S PROPHECY.
No words could do justice to the state of mind in which Lord Chandos
found himself after that interview at Cawdor. He rushed back to London.
Of the three previous days remaining he spent one in hunting after the
shrewdest lawyers in town. Each and all laughed at him--there was the
law, plain enough, so plain that a child could read and understand it.
They smiled at his words, and said, half-contemptuously, they could not
have imagined any one so ignorant of the law. They sympathized with him
when he spoke of his young wife, but as for help, there was none.
The only bright side to it was this, he could remarry her on the day he
came of age. Of that there was and could be no doubt, he said, but he
was bent on finding some loop-hole, and marrying her at once, if it were
really needful for the ceremony to be performed again. It could not be,
and there was nothing for it but to resign himself to the inevitable. He
did not know that Leone had heard the terrible sentence, and he dreaded
having to tell her. He was worn out with sorrow and emotion. In what
words was he to tell her that she was not his wife in the eyes of the
law, and that if they wished to preserve her character unspotted and
unstained she must leave him at once?
He understood his mother's character too well to dare any delay. He was
sure that if Leone remained even one day under his roof, when the time
came that he should introduce her to the world as his wife, his mother
would bring the fact against her, and so prevent her from even knowing
people.
There was no help for it--he must tell her. He wrote a letter telling
her he would be at River View for luncheon on the following day; he knew
that he must leave that same evening for the Continent.
He would have given the world to have been able to renounce the royal
favor, of which he had felt so proud, but he could not. To have done so
would have been to have deprived him not only of all position, but to
have incurred disgrace. To have refused a favor so royally bestowed
would have been an act of ingratitude which would have deprived him of
court favor for life.
He must go; and when the first pain was over, he said to himself it was,
perhaps, the best thing that could have happened. He could not have
borne to know that Leone was near him, yet not see or speak to her.
It was all for the best, painful as it was. If for these long months
they must be parted, it was better for him to be abroad--he dare not
have trusted himself at home. He loved Leone so well that he knew his
love would have broken down the barriers which the law had placed
between them. He would go to River View, and, let it pain him as it
would, he would tell her all, he would leave her as happy as was
possible under the circumstances. He would stay away until the time was
over; then, the very day he came of age, he would return and remarry
her. He laughed to scorn his mother's prophecy. He prove untrue to his
darling! The heavens must fall first. Not for him the mill-wheel
story--not for him the broken ring.
How happy they would be, then, when the time had passed, and he could
introduce Leone as his beloved wife to the whole world. He would try and
think of that time without dwelling more than he could help on the
wretched present. He went home to River View, but the first glance at
Leone's face told him that she knew all.
It was not so much that the beauty had gone from it, that the beautiful
eyes were dim with long, passionate weeping, or that the lips trembled
as she tried to smile. Her whole face had changed so completely; its
tragic intensity, the power of its despair, overmastered him.
Lord Chandos clasped her in his arms, and covered the sad young face
with kisses and tears.
"My darling," he said, "you know all; I can see you know all."
The ring of happy music had quite died from her voice--he hardly
recognized it.
"Yes," she answered him, "I know all."
"My darling," he cried, "it is not my fault. You will think I ought to
have known it; but I swear to Heaven that I never even thought or
suspected it. I would rather have been dead than have put you in a false
position, Leone--you know that."
She laid her fair arms on his neck, and hid her white face on his
breast.
"I am sure of it," she said, gently; "I have never thought of that: I
know that you intended to make me your wife."
"So you are my wife, let who will say to the contrary--you are my
beloved, revered, honored wife, Leone. Why, my darling, all the strength
has left you! Look up, Leone. They have done the worst they can do, and
what is it? They have parted us for a few months. When the parting is
ended we shall be together for life."
She tightened the clasp of her fair arms around his neck.
"I know; I have faith in you, but it is so hard to bear, Lance. We were
so happy, and you were all the world to me. How shall I live through the
long months to come? Lance, perhaps you will be angry with me--I have
done something that perhaps you will not like."
"That would not be possible, Leone. I must always like everything you
do. Why, my darling, how you tremble! Sit down, there is nothing in all
the world to fear."
"No; let me tell you what I have to say with my head here on your
breast. You must not be angry with me, Lance. When I had seen Mr.
Sewell, I felt that I could not bear it. I went down to Cawdor and saw
Lady Lanswell."
He started with surprise. She raised her face to his, longing to see if
he were angry, yet half afraid.
"You went to Cawdor to see my mother," he repeated. "My darling, it was
a strong measure. What did she say or do?"
"You are not angry with me for it, Lance?" she asked, gently.
"I angry, my darling? No, a thousand times no. I could not be angry with
you. Why did you go--for what purpose?"
"I went to ask her to have pity on us; not to enforce this cruel
sentence; to be pitiful to me, because I love you so dearly."
"And her answer?" asked Lord Chandos, eagerly.
"Her answer was everything that was cruel and wicked. Ah, forgive me,
Lance, she is your mother, I know, but she has taken in her cruel hands
a divine power. She has parted us and I prayed her to be merciful. I
told her how dearly we loved each other, but she had no pity--no
mercy--no woman's kindness, no sympathy. She was cold, cruel, proud,
haughty. She insulted, humiliated and outraged me. She refused to hear
one word, and when I left her, I swore to be revenged on her."
The slender form trembled with passion. He drew her even more closely to
his breast.
"My darling, you need not think of vengeance," he said. "I am grieved
that my mother was unkind to you. Had you consulted me, I should most
certainly have said do not go. Mind, I am not angry or annoyed, only so
far as this, that I would not have you irritated for the world. I must
say that I had always felt that if my mother could see you our cause was
won. I did not believe that any creature living could resist that face."
She looked up at him with unutterable love.
"Do you really care so much for it, Lance? Have you never seen a face
you like as well?"
"No, and never shall see one, my darling; when we are parted it will
live in my heart bright and fair until we meet again."
Then the tender arms clung more tightly to him.
"Must we be parted, Lance?" she whispered. "We were married in the sight
of Heaven--must we leave each other? Oh, Lance, it cannot be true; no
one can say that I am not your wife."
Quietly and calmly trying to command himself, he told her then how
inevitable it was that they must submit to the voice of the law during
the next few months, so as to insure their future happiness and fair
name. And then he told her of the favor conferred upon him, and how he
was compelled to accept it or never to hope for court favor again.
She listened with a face that seemed turned to stone. Slowly the tender
arms unwound themselves and fell by her side; slowly the beautiful eyes
left his and filled with despair. He tried to console her.
"You see, my darling," he said, "that in any case we must have parted.
Though this appointment is a mark of royal regard, still it is quite
imperative. I could not have refused it without ruin to my future
career, and I could not have taken you with me, so that for a time we
must have parted."
"I see," she said, gently, but her hands fell, and a shudder that she
could not control passed over her.
"Leone," said Lord Chandos, "we have not long to be together, and we
have much to arrange. Tell me, first, what you thought of my mother?"
"She is very beautiful, very proud, very haughty, cold and cruel--if not
wicked," said the young girl, slowly.
"That is not very flattering," said Lord Chandos.
"I could have loved and worshiped her if she had been kind to me," said
Leone; "but she was cruel, and some time or other I shall have my
revenge."
He looked gravely at her.
"I do not like to hear that, my darling. How can you be revenged?"
A light came over her face.
"I do not know. I have a prophetic insight at times into the future. As
I stand here, I know that a time will come when your mother will weep to
me as bitterly as I wept to her, and just as much in vain."
"I hope not," he answered. "All will be well for us, Leone. But revenge,
my darling, is a horrible word, and does not suit those sweet lips at
all. Let me kiss away the sound of it."
He bent his handsome head and kissed her lips with love that seemed
stronger than death and true as eternity.