DANGER AHEAD.
Meantime the preparations for the theatricals went on rapidly. Mr.
Robinson came down the next day, and found his amateur troupe duly drawn
up for inspection. Not one of them, however, was word-perfect, in spite
of their diligent study, singly or in couples, except Mdlle. Lamien and
Mr. Tremain, to neither of whom did the text present any difficulties.
Much to Philip's surprise, Mdlle. Lamien proved but an indifferent
actress; she recited her lines without a mistake, but that was all that
could be said in praise of her. She was dull, apathetic, heavy, made no
effort to throw life or emotion into her part, and was, indeed, so
studiously indifferent, that Mr. Robinson took no trouble to either
remonstrate with or contradict her, knowing her to be but a substitute,
and feeling perfectly sure of the real impersonator, who had been
trained untiringly by him, and had made her _début_ as his favourite
pupil.
Mdlle. Lamien made it so very apparent that she only appeared in
obedience to Mrs. Newbold's request, that Philip found acting up to her
not only laborious, but ridiculous, and consequently shirked his scenes
with her as much as possible, though not without wondering at the
strange contradictions of which her character seemed formed.
The days were drawing on now, and only three remained before that one
which, as Dick Darling remarked, "they were to so appropriately
celebrate--George's birthday, with George left very much out of it." Now
that Philip knew Patricia was not expected until the very morning of the
all-important day, he put away from him all thought of meeting her,
and, with a suddenly developed gaiety, joined heart and soul in the
frivolities of the hour.
The day before the great event, however, something happened which
threatened to deprive the company of Henri's personation, and which for
the moment, threw even the theatricals in the shade. A letter written by
Mr. Tremain to his one intimate man friend best explains the situation:
"THE FOLLY,
"_April, 188_--.
"DEAR MAINWARING,
"Here I am with a strained wrist and a halo of heroism. The first
is uncomfortable, the second undeserved. No doubt you will receive
a garbled account of what has occurred, and a highly-coloured
report of my 'heroic action and wonderful presence of mind'--the
words are Miss James's, not mine. Well, then, to save your brain a
shock, and your friendship a blow, I send off these somewhat
unintelligible lines. I don't want you repeating the tale, with
mock heroics, at the club and about town, and I know your fondness
for a good story.
"Let me say then, as a premise, that whatever of bravery or heroism
was displayed, at a somewhat critical moment in a commonplace
incident, belongs solely to Mdlle. Lamien, Mimi's governess; and,
by-the-bye, I don't know but that it is just at these commonplace
times that one's nerve and resolution are most often put to the
test.
"Here are the facts: Mrs. Newbold has a pair of new ponies,
George's latest gift, and her last fad; she drove me up with them
the day I arrived, and I didn't care for their style particularly,
they pulled too hard, and had an obstinate trick of catching at the
bit that might prove nasty. Esther's groom on these occasions is
Tony, elected, presumably, because of the smallness of his stature.
You have seen Tony, and therefore know that he is mostly hat.
"Very well, this morning being bright and cool, Mrs. Newbold
decided to take little Marianne and Cissy Beverley for a drive; it
was in vain both George and I pointed out to her that the ponies
had not been exercised for the last two days, and would therefore
be very fresh and too great a handful for her, she would not
listen--her sex never will, you know, when advice runs against
inclination--and woman-like, she must play with her latest toy.
"So off they started, the children tucked in beside Mrs. Newbold,
and Tony perched up behind. The little brutes were fresh enough,
but Esther had them well in hand, and drove off in true workmanlike
style. They had their drive, along the upper road, and round by the
Bay, and so through the town to Beverley's house. Here Mrs. Newbold
got out, letting Marianne hold the reins, with Tony at the ponies'
heads. She lifted Cissy down, and was just turning to give a word
of caution, when a cat, followed by Beverley's setter pup, ran out
from the kitchen garden and flew directly under the ponies' heads.
"Then came a sudden shying movement, the light carriage swayed
dangerously, and then, with tossing heads, the little brutes broke
loose from Tony's hold, took the bits between their teeth, and in a
second were off on a dead run.
"You will admit it was not a pleasant situation for Esther. She has
since told me that her first intimation of danger was the sight of
her darling's bright sunny hair and frightened blue eyes being
borne away in the rocking, swaying carriage, as it sped down the
drive, drawn by horses wild and young.
"They passed the gate safely, and started off down the Terrace at a
full gallop. And now my part comes in. I was walking leisurely up
from the post-office when, as I neared Snug Harbour, I saw the
ponies dashing towards me; in a second I recognised them; in that
second they were past me. I started after them, but with a feeling
of hopelessness, for who could hope to come up with their flying
feet? And though the road was broad and open for several miles,
little Marianne--whose piteous white face caught my eye as she was
borne by me--might at any moment loose her hold and be dashed out,
or dragged in the trailing reins.
"I put on what speed I could, and as I reached a slight curve in
the road, beyond which the ponies would be lost to sight, a woman
flew through an open gate and threw herself directly in front of
the frightened animals.
"Thus checked for a second, I saw her measure the distance with a
glance, then jump and catch the bridle with one hand, flinging all
her weight upon it and never letting go, though the little brutes
dragged her several rods. To reach her side and add my strength to
hers was but the work of a moment; the ponies, easily tired,
submitted to my soothing voice and hand, while little Marianne,
who throughout had behaved like a heroine, now covered herself with
glory, by stepping deliberately out of the carriage and throwing
her arms about the tall, dark figure beside her.
"I turned then to face my brave companion; it was, as I suspected,
Mdlle. Lamien, who stood there, calm and unmoved, the heavy lace of
her veil concealing whatever emotion her face might have revealed.
It was she, and no other, who had risked her own life to save the
child; and yet, Mainwaring, I declare to you solemnly and in all
calmness, it was not of her I thought as we stood together side by
side; it was not her personality that seemed so near me, nor her
spirit that had carried out so brave a rescue. Laugh at me if you
will, suggest hysteria and nerves; so be it, I accept the taunt,
and repeat again, it was not Mdlle. Lamien who made captive my
admiration and esteem--it was Patricia Hildreth. Explain it as best
you can. I do but repeat, it was Patricia who dominated me then;
Patricia who seemingly stood so close, I had but to put out my hand
to touch her,--and yet--it was Mdlle. Lamien who replied coldly to
my inquiries, and who walked swiftly away, leaving me with
Marianne, and the now quiet horses.
"Strange to say, neither she nor the child have received any
injuries, and I have escaped with a strained wrist--my left
one--which will not incapacitate me for to-morrow; indeed, a Henri
de Flavigneul with a sling will be a new departure, and ought to
prove what Miss Darling would call 'very fetching.'
"By the way, you come down, I believe, for the play; did I tell you
Patricia will also be here? I think in many ways this place grows
dangerous, and I shall return to my own den, as soon as the
theatricals are over.
"As ever, old friend, yours faithfully,
"PHILIP TREMAIN."
But if Mr. Tremain was inclined to treat thus lightly his share in
Marianne's rescue, the others refused to look at it in so trivial a
light. Esther, with tears in her eyes, took both his hands and thanked
him with a tremulous smile.
"I shall never forget it, Philip, never," she said, and turned away to
hide the falling drops.
George Newbold, proverbially a man of few words, wrung his friend's hand
in the grip of a giant, and muttered an incoherent "Old fellow, can't
thank you; it was splendidly done."
And then came Dick Darling, her laughing face sobered for a moment, and
a look of true admiration in her eyes, as she said:
"Mr. Tremain, you are a brick; it was awfully tip-top of you! I tell you
what; for downright bravery you 'take the cake!'"
But from no one did Philip receive such delicate and subtle flattery as
from Miss James. That young lady fairly glowed with the magnitude of her
admiration. She went about with raised eyelids and drooped lips, as
though always contemplating, mentally, his past danger, and returning
thanks for his deliverance. She was also always meeting him at odd
times, and in out-of-the-way corners, and asking with solicitude after
his "poor injured wrist," offering to bind it up for him, or write his
letters, or read to him; which last, as Dick said, "was palpably absurd,
since Mr. Tremain's eyes and brains were not injured, or out of working
gear."
Philip, hating all fuss, and especially fuss in which he deserved so
small a share, made the most of his strained wrist and kept in the
smoking-room, or his own chamber, the rest of the day, and there nursed
his rancour against Miss James for being a fool herself, and making him
appear an equal one; and his resentment towards Mdlle. Lamien, who had
passed him by almost without recognition, drawing the falling laces
closer about her face, and not heeding the eager hand he put out to
detain her, or the alert tone in which he asked after her health. She
had paused just one brief instant, as though about to speak, and then,
evidently changing her intention, drew herself up and passed down the
stairs, not once looking back, or replying by a word to his courtesy.
There was a full-dress rehearsal called for that evening, and Philip, as
he sat moodily in his own room, smoking his cigar, felt a half savage
delight in the knowledge that Mdlle. Lamien must appear for it, and
respond in a somewhat less chilling and uncomfortable manner to the
requirements demanded by his rôle.
A little before tea-time he heard voices in the corridor outside, which
he recognised as Dick Darling's and Baby Leonard's.
"Only think; she has actually come," Miss Leonard was saying, "and a day
before she promised!"
To which Dick briefly replied, "Who?"
"Why, Miss Hildreth, of course; who else are we all waiting for?
Really, Dick, you grow very dense!"
"Oh, do I?" returned Miss Darling, unmoved. "And so Patricia has come at
last? Patricia the beautiful, Patricia the inconstant, Patricia the
slayer, Patricia the conqueror! Well, I agree with you, Baby, 'tis
something to be sure of her, for Miss Patty is but kittle cattle at
best!"
Here the two girls walked down the passage, their voices growing fainter
and then sinking into silence. So Patricia was come. For a long time Mr.
Tremain sat very still, not heeding his outward surroundings, immersed
in retrospect; his cigar went out, the fire died on the hearth and fell
into little heaps of white ashes, the day darkened, the hours drew on to
evening, and the shadows came out of their hiding-places in the large
room, creeping up from indistinct corners, and from behind the heavy
furniture, shaking themselves free from the window draperies, and
drawing nearer, nearer, until they wrapped him all about in their
impalpable obscurity, and he became a part of them, as unreal and
intangible as they.
Patty was come! Patty! And he must see her again, must look into her
eyes, and touch her hand, and watch the smile come and go upon her lips,
just as he had known it all, and loved it, ten years ago.
And now a strange thing occurred; at least it seemed strange at the
time, and Philip could never quite shake off the indefinable feeling of
the supernatural that then enveloped him, whenever in after years he
recalled that evening.
His rooms were situated in what was known as the "bachelor wing" of the
Folly, though not separated from the main corridor, as were the other
apartments of that class. He knew that next to his chamber was what was
called the Green Room, occupied by Miss James and Dick Darling, while on
the other side was the dressing-room belonging to his suite, and used by
his man-servant; the remaining rooms beyond were bachelor apartments,
separated from the main part of the house by a heavy baize door, that
cut off all sound. He also knew that the fair occupants of the Green
Room were at that hour sipping tea and scandal in the library, and his
man flirting with the maids in the hall. To all intents and purposes he
was absolutely alone, as no sound of arriving guests could reach him,
the greater spare rooms being situated in the west wing. Marianne and
Mdlle. Lamien's apartments were in the main corridor, but a storey
above. All this flashed across Mr. Tremain's mind in a second, though it
has taken somewhat long to explain.
As he sat brooding in the chill dim shadows, conjuring up the ghosts of
bygone years, and speculating moodily upon the fate that had marred his
life, and the strange, inconsistent, unwilling homage he even yet bore
for the woman who had played the part of a gay mocking Cassandra to him,
and with a dreary pessimist philosophy accepted his destiny as
inevitable, he became suddenly aware of a faint subtle perfume, that
stole over his senses imperceptibly, which he recognised physically to
be the odour of violets. And as this sweet scent swept over him, there
came before him vividly, a sudden sharp remembrance of the past, while
the words of the poet rose unconsciously to his lips:
"--I think of the passion that shook my youth,
Of its aimless love and its idle pains,
And am thankful now for the certain truth
That only the sweet remains."
He was no longer Philip the successful, resting in his easy-chair, the
idol of the hour at the Folly; but he was Philip the ardent, and the
impecunious; Philip in a badly made coat, heated and travel-stained,
hurt and angry; standing in a room that was dainty in its luxury of
flowers and half lights, with a vision of a drawing-room beyond,
brilliantly lighted, softly coloured, and from whence came the echo of
gay laughter, and bright voices.
And now from out that room came slowly, ah, how slowly, to his wildly
beating heart, a tall slight figure, clad in softest silks and laces,
with a breast-knot of violets; and as the vision advanced nearer and
stood half within the shadow of the outer room, he could see the soft
fair face, crowned with its dead-brown hair, and wearing a look half
frightened, half pleading in the sweet eyes, and on the arched and
trembling lips.
Slowly, slowly the figure drew nearer to him; now it was but a few paces
off, he could almost touch it with his hand, he could see the violets
rise and fall with the lace upon her bosom; their scent came to him
strong, and sweet, and pungent. He sprang from his chair, and held out
his hands.
"Patty!" he cried, "Patty, have you come to find me, my little Patty?"
But even as he spoke the vision faded; there came one clear loud
whisper, calling his name, "Philip! Philip!" and then, even as he
looked, the shining lights were gone, the gaily echoed voices silent,
the figure grew indistinct and unreal, and then vanished, and Philip
found himself standing in the middle of the room, gazing on vacancy,
with only the sad perfume of violets left on the air.
He sank back into his chair, bewildered, exhausted, and as he did so, a
strain of saddest music reached his ears, and a voice that was almost a
monotone, and yet that struck an answering chord of misery in his heart,
said, rather than sang, some words that ran in this wise:
"I am a woman,
Therefore I may not
Call to him, cry to him,
Bid him delay not;
Showing no sign to him,
By look of mine to him,
What he has been to me.
Pity me, lean to me,
Philip, my king!"
The voice ceased, and Mr. Tremain, his composure gone, his heart beating
wildly, cried out again, this time with a ring of deepest passion:
"Patricia! Patty, have you come back to me?"
But it was not Patty's sweet voice he knew so well, that made answer, it
was a far higher, lighter treble that cried out, as the door was flung
open impetuously:
"Oh, Mr. Tremain, how very dull and mopy of you! All alone, in the dark,
and no fire!" And Mrs. Esther swept in, trailing her plush tea-gown
after her, followed by Perkins with a lamp, and Long with a silver tray
set with a tea equipage.
"Dear me!" continued Mrs. Newbold, coming nearer, and blinking her eyes
in affected short-sightedness, "how very dismal you look, and how very
cold you feel! Here, Perkins, make up the fire directly. I have come to
give you your tea, Philip, I am sure you need it, for you look as white
as a ghost, and as dazed as a clairvoyant! Put the tray here, Long,"
drawing up a small table, "there, that will do; now tell your master to
come to Mr. Tremain's sitting-room, immediately." Then as the two
servants withdrew, she added with a comical little grimace, "now for
ten minutes, until George can join us, my reputation is at stake! Isn't
it awful? and I who have known you since my days of short frocks and
pig-tails!" Then with a light laugh, "I knew you would be dull, Philip,
I always think it's very trying work posing for a hero, and you know we
all insist upon your personating that most uncomfortable character,
whether you like it or not, so if I were you I'd get all the glory out
of it that's possible! Now then, here's a cup of tea for you," and she
jumped up, carrying it over to him, where he sat, half hidden in his
arm-chair.
The newly kindled fire flashed up as she came to him, and shining full
upon him, revealed the whiteness of his face, and the look of
introspection in his eyes.
"Are you not well, Philip?" she asked; and then before he could reply,
"Why, what a delicious odour of violets! You dear thing, have you got
some for me?"
But Mr. Tremain made no answer; he put out his hand and took the cup
from her, saying as he did so: "Then you, too, perceive it, Esther; it
_is_ the odour of violets, is it not, and yet I have none for you."
"Of course it's violets," replied Mrs. Newbold, positively, "and of
course you are hiding them from me. Ah, well, I don't mind, I dare say
you are keeping them for _some one_," and she smiled a little fine smile
of superiority and knowledge.
After a moment's pause Mr. Tremain asked another question, and in spite
of his attempted carelessness, his voice had a ring of anxiety.
"Esther, who--who was singing, just now, when you came in, or a moment
before?"
"Singing?" queried Mrs. Newbold. "Oh, no one; they are all far too busy
discussing this evening's rehearsal; though, stay a moment--yes, I
remember now, I did hear some one grinding out a melancholy ditty, as I
came down the corridor. Of course, it was Mdlle. Lamien."
"Mdlle. Lamien?" echoed Philip.
"Yes," replied Esther, "she has a little, tiny room in this very wing,
where she keeps a piano and some books; you might hear her here, it's
just possible."
But Mr. Tremain was not heeding her. Once again he was overwhelmed and
confused as the strange spell of this woman's personality crept over
him. He could have sworn the voice was Patricia's, just as the face of
his vision had been Patricia's! Was he always to be haunted by this
strange dual resemblance--which was no resemblance--between the Patricia
of his youth, and this incomprehensible, mysterious stranger?
If the voice was the voice of Mdlle. Lamien, why should it affect him so
strongly, or why should it seem but the fitting adjunct to the face of
his vision, since that vision wore the semblance of Patricia?
"But whether she came as a faint perfume,
Or whether a spirit in stole of white,
I feel, as I pass from the darkened room,
She has been with my soul to-night!"