"I HAVE PERJURED MYSELF."
Lady Lanswell was triumphant; she lost no time; before noon of the day
following she had sent to the Duke of Lester saying that they were
staying at Granada, and that important family business awaited him
there. She knew that he would lose no time in going there. In the days
that intervened she managed her son most cleverly; she said little or
nothing to him of Lady Marion. If he broached the subject, she changed
it at once, saying: "Let the matter rest for awhile;" she was so sorely
afraid he would draw back. She was kind to him in her way; if she saw
his handsome face looking distressed, pained, or anxious, she would
cheer him up with bright words, with laughter, or anything that would
take the weight of thought or care from him.
The Duke of Lester was soon there. Anything in which his niece was
interested was of vital consequence to him; he had no particular liking
for Lady Cambrey, and always regretted that the young heiress had been
given into her charge rather than in that of his amiable wife. He went
to Granada, delighted with the news; he had heard so much of the talents
of Lord Chandos that he was charmed with the idea of his belonging to
the family. It had been a sore and heavy trial to the duke that he had
no son, that so many honors and such great offices should die with him.
It was from that motive that he had always felt an especial interest in
the marriage of his beautiful young niece.
"If she marries well," he had said to himself more than once, "her
husband must stand to me in the place of a son."
If he had to choose from the wide world, he would prefer Lord Chandos
from his singular talent, activity, and capability for political life.
He knew, as every one else did, that there had been some little drawback
in the young lord's life, some mysterious love-affair, and he had not
interested himself in it; he never did take any interest in matters of
that kind. Evidently if, at any time, there had been a little _faux
pas_, it was remedied, or so worldly-wise a woman as Lady Lanswell would
never have introduced him to his niece.
So the Duke of Lester, all amiability and interest, gave the finishing
touch to Lord Chandos' fate. When he had once spoken of the matter,
there was no receding from it without a scandal that would have
horrified all England. The duke's first words settled the whole matter;
he held out his hand in frankest, kindliest greeting to Lord Chandos.
"I hear very pleasant intelligence," he said; "and while I congratulate
you, I congratulate myself that I am to have the good fortune of an
alliance with you."
Lady Lanswell stood by, and there was a moment's pause; perhaps she
never suffered such intensity of suspense as she did during that moment,
for her son's face grew colorless, and he looked as if he were going to
draw back. The next minute he had recovered himself, and returned the
duke's greeting: then, and only then, did the countess give a great sigh
of relief; there could be no mistake, no drawing back from anything
which the duke sanctioned.
That same day there was a family meeting; the earl and countess, Lord
Chandos, the Duke of Lester, Lady Marion Erskine, and Lady Cambrey; they
all dined together, and the duke discussed with the countess the time of
the marriage.
There was little said, but that little was binding; there could be no
retreat. In the autumn, about September, the countess thought; and she
suggested that they should not return to England for the marriage; it
could take place at the Embassy at Paris. There would be plenty of time
for discussing these details; the thing now was to settle the
engagement. It gave great delight; the earl, it is true, had some little
scruple, which he ventured to express to his wife.
"I ought to add my congratulation," he said; "but I am in doubt over it.
This seems a very suitable marriage, and Lady Marion is a most charming
girl. But what about that other girl, my lady?"
"That has nothing to do with us," she replied, haughtily. "I am prepared
to be very liberal; I shall not mind a thousand a year; she shall have
nothing to complain of."
Lord Lanswell did not feel quite so sure, but as he never had had any
management of his own affairs, it was too late to begin now. My lady
would probably bring a hornet's nest about her ears--that was her own
business; if he were any judge, either of looks or character, that young
girl, Leone, would not be so lightly set aside.
However, he said nothing. Lord Lanswell had learned one lesson in his
life; he had learned that "Silence was golden."
The matter was settled now; the duke had given his sanction, expressed
his delight; several of the highly connected and important families
belonging to the Lanswells and the Lesters had sent in their
congratulations; everything was in trim.
There was no need for the duke to remain; he would join them in Paris
for the wedding. No word was spoken on the subject between Lady Lanswell
and himself, but there was a certain tacit understanding that the
wedding must not take place in England, lest it should be disturbed.
The duke returned to England, taking back with him a sincere liking and
a warm admiration for Lord Chandos; he was impatient for the time to
come when he should be able to claim him as a relation of his own. The
remainder of the party stayed at Granada; there was plenty to interest
them in and about that charming city.
Some few days after his departure, Lord Chandos sought his mother. She
had felt anxious over him of late. He looked like anything but a happy
lover; he was thin, worn, and the face that had been so bright had grown
shadowed and careworn. My lady did not like it. Any man who had won such
a prize as Lady Erskine ought to feel delighted and show his pleasure.
So argued my lady, but her son did not seem to share her sentiments. She
sat on this morning, looking very stately and beautiful, in a dress of
moire antique, with a morning-cap of point lace--a woman to whom every
one involuntarily did homage.
Lord Chandos looked at her with wonder and admiration; then he sighed
deeply as he remembered why he had sought her. He sat down near her, the
very picture of dejection and misery.
"Mother," he said, abruptly, "I have behaved like a villain and a
coward. In what words am I to excuse myself?"
My lady's face darkened.
"I have not the pleasure of understanding you," she said. "Will you
explain yourself?"
"I have perjured myself. I have broken the most solemn vows that a man
could make. I have forsworn myself. Tell me in what words am I to tell
my guilt, or excuse it?"
A contemptuous smile stole over the face of my lady.
"Are you troubling yourself about that tempestuous young person, Leone?
Shame on you, when you have won the sweetest woman and the wealthiest
heiress in England for your wife!"
His voice was broken with emotion as he answered her:
"I cannot forget that I believed her to be my wife once, and I loved
her."
My lady interrupted him.
"My dear Lance, we all know what a boy's first love is. Ah, do believe
me, it is not worth thinking of; every one laughs at a boy's love. They
take it just as they take to whooping-cough or fever; it does not last
much longer either. In another year's time you will laugh at the very
mention of what you have called love. Believe me," continued her
ladyship, proudly, "that Lady Marion is the wife Heaven ordained for
you, and no other."
The handsome young head was bent low, and it seemed to my lady as though
a great tearless sob came from his lips. She laid her hand on his dark,
crisp waves of hair.
"I do sympathize with you, Lance," she said, in a kind voice; and when
Lady Lanswell chose to be kind no one could rival her. "You have,
perhaps, made some little sacrifice of inclination, but, believe me, you
have done right, and I am proud of you."
He raised his haggard young face to hers.
"I feel myself a coward and a villain, mother," he said, in a broken
voice. "I ought to have gone back to that poor girl; I ought not to have
dallied with temptation. I love Leone with the one love of my heart and
mind, and I am a weak, miserable coward that I have not been true to
her. I have lost my own self-respect, and I shall _never_ regain it."
My lady was patient; she had always expected a climax, and, now it had
arrived, she was ready for it. The scorn and satire gave place to
tenderness; she who was the most undemonstrative of women, caressed him
as though he had been a child again on her knees. She praised him, she
spoke of his perfidy as though it were heroism; she pointed out to him
that he had made a noble sacrifice of an ignoble love.
"But, mother," he said, "I have broken my faith, my honor, my plighted
word," and her answer was:
"That for a great folly there could only be a great reparation; that if
he had broken his faith with this unfortunate girl he had kept it, and
his loyalty also, to the name and race of which he was so proud, to
herself and to Lady Marion."
Like all other clever women, she could argue a question until she
convinced the listener, even against his own will, and she could argue
so speciously that she made wrong seem right.
He listened until he was unable to make any reply. In his heart he hated
and loathed himself; he called himself a coward and a traitor; but in
his mother's eyes he was a great hero.
"There is one thing I cannot do," he said; "I cannot write and tell her;
it seems to me more cruel than if I plunged a dagger in her heart."
Lady Lanswell laughed.
"That is all morbid sentiment, my dear Lance. Leave the matter with me,
I will be very kind and very generous; I will arrange everything with
her in such a manner that you will be pleased. Now promise me to try and
forget her, and be happy with the sweet girl who loves you so dearly."
"I will try," he said, but his young face was so haggard and worn that
my lady's heart misgave her as she looked at him.
"I have done all for the best," she murmured to herself. "He may suffer
now, but he will thank me for it in the years to come."