THE LOVERS.
"Oh, thou shalt be all else to me,
That heart can feel, or tongue can feign;
I'll praise, admire, and worship thee,
But must not, dare not, love again."
--MOORE.
While the solitary wagon was driving, through wind and rain, along the
lonely north road, bearing its three strangely-contrasted inmates--the
gruff, avaricious driver, the simple, kind-hearted youth, and the dark,
fierce, stern woman--a far different scene was passing in another
quarter of the city. At that same hour the town mansion of Hugh
Seyton--Earl De Courcy--was all ablaze with lights, music and mirth.
Gorgeous drawing-rooms, fretted with gold and carving, dazzling with
numberless jets of light from the pendant chandeliers, odorous with the
heavy perfume of costly exotics, the very air quivering with softest
music, were thrown open, and were filled with the proud, the high-born,
the beautiful, of London. Peers and peeresses, gallant nobles and ladies
bright, moved through the glittering rooms, and with singing, talking,
flirting, dancing, the night was waning apace.
Two young men stood together within the deep shadow of a bay-window, in
the music-room, watching a group assembled round a young lady at the
piano, and conversing in low tones.
One of these was decidedly the handsomest man present that night. In
stature he was tall, somewhat above the common height, and faultless in
form and figure, with a certain air of DISTINGUE about him that stamped
him as one of noble birth. His clear, fair complexion, his curling
chestnut hair, and large blue eyes, betrayed his Saxon blood. His face
might have seemed slightly effeminate; but no one, in looking at the
high, kingly brow, the dark, flashing eyes, and firm-set mouth, would
have thought that long. A dark mustache shaded his upper lip, and a
strange, nameless beauty lit up and softened his handsome face whenever
he smiled. Adored by the ladies, envied by the men, Lord Ernest
Villiers, only son of Earl De Courcy, seemed to have nothing on earth
left to wish for.
And yet, at times, over that white, intellectual brow a dark shadow
would flit; from the depths of those dark, handsome eyes the bright
light of a happy heart would pass; the mouth would grow stern, and a
look of troubled care would darken his young face.
His companion, a good-looking young man, with a certain air about him as
if he were somebody and knew it, with a listless look, and most
desirable curling whiskers, leaned against a marble Hebe, and listened
languidly to the singing. He wore the undress uniform of an officer, and
being interpreted, was no other than Captain George Jernyngham, of the
Guards.
"What a wonderful affair this is of Germaine's--eh, Villiers?" said
Captain Jernyngham, carressing his mustache. "Just like a thing in a
play, or a story, where everybody turns out the most unexpected things.
The Duke of B---- is going crazy about it. He had invited Germaine to
his house, and the fellow was making the fiercest sort of love to his
pretty daughter, when all of a sudden, it turns out that he is a robber,
a gipsy, a burglar, and all sorts of horrors. How the deuce came it to
pass that he entered Eton with us, and passed himself off as a
gentleman?"
"I cannot tell; the whole affair is involved in mystery."
"You and he were pretty intimate--were you not, my lord?"
"Yes, I took a fancy to Germaine from the first; and I don't believe,
yet, he is guilty of the crime they charge him with."
"You don't, eh? See what it is to have faith in human nature! How are
you to get over the evidence."
"It was only circumstantial."
"Granted; but it was most conclusive. There is not another man in London
has the slightest doubt of his guilt but yourself."
"Poor Germaine!" said Lord Villiers, in a tone of deep feeling; "with
all his brilliant talents, his high endowments, and refined nature, to
come to such a sad end! To be obliged to mate with the lowest of the
low, the vilest of the vile--men degraded by every species of crime,
below the level of the brute! And this for life! Poor Germaine!"
The young guardsman shrugged his shoulders.
"If refined men _will_ steal--oh, I forgot! you don't believe it," he
said, as Lord Villiers made an impatient motion, "Well, I confess, I
thought better things of Germaine myself. There was always something of
the dare-devil in him, and he was reckless and extravagant to a fault;
but upon my honor, I never thought he could have come to this. Have you
seen him since his trial?"
"No, I had not the heart to meet him. Death would be preferable to such
a fate."
"There was a devil in his eye, if there ever was in any man's, when he
heard his sentence," observed the young captain. "No one that saw him is
likely to forget, in a hurry, the way he folded his arms and smiled in
the judge's face, as he pronounced it. By Jove! I'm not given to
nervousness, but I felt a sensation akin to an ague-shiver, as I watched
him."
"With his fierce, passionate nature, it will, turn him into a perfect
demon," said Lord Villiers; "and if ever he escapes, woe to those who
have caused his disgrace! He is as implacable as death or doom in his
hate--as relentless as a Corsican in his vengeance."
"Has he any friends or relatives among the gipsies?"
"I don't know, I think I heard of a mother, or brother, or something. I
intend paying him a last visit to-night, and will deliver any message he
may send to his friends."
"Will your rigorous father approve of such a visit, since it was he that
prosecuted Germaine?"
"Certainly, Jernyngham. My father, believing in his guilt, thought it
his duty to do so; but he bears no feeling of personal anger toward
him," said Lord Villiers, gravely.
"Well, I wish Germaine a safe passage across the ocean," said Captain
Jernyngham, as he listlessly admired his hand in its well-fitting glove.
"He was a confoundedly good-looking fellow; cut me completely out with
that pretty little prize widow of old Sir Rob Landers; but I'll be
magnanimous and forgive him now. Oh, by Jove! Villiers, there goes Lady
Maude Percy!" cried the guardsman, starting suddenly up, all his
listlessness disappearing as if by magic. "Ye gods! what a perfectly
dazzling beauty! Ah! my lord, I thought you would find the subject more
interesting than that of poor Germaine," he added, with a mischievous
smile at his companion's look of intense admiration.
Lord Villiers laughed, and his clear face flushed.
"The handsomest girl in London, and the greatest heiress," said the
guardsman, resuming his half-drawl and languid caressing of his
whiskers. "What an intensely enviable fellow you are, Villiers, if rumor
is true."
"And what says rumor?" said Lord Villiers, coldly.
"Why, that you are the accepted lover of the fair Lady Maude."
Before the somewhat haughty reply of Lord Villiers was spoken, a young
lady, suddenly entering the room, caught sight of them, and coming over,
she addressed the guardsman with:
"George, you abominably lazy fellow, have you forgotten you are engaged
for this set to Miss Ashton? Really, my lord, you and this idle brother
of mine ought to be ashamed to make hermits of yourselves in this way,
while so many bright eyes are watching for your coming. Lady Maude is
here, and I will report you."
And, raising her finger warningly, Miss Jernyngham tripped away.
"'Fare thee well--and if forever!'" said Captain Jernyngham, in a tragic
tone, as he turned away.
"'Why, forever fare thee well!'" said Lord Villiers laughing as he
finished the quotation, and turned in an opposite direction.
The dancing was at its height as he passed from the music-room. Standing
a little apart, his eyes went wandering over the fair forms tripping
through the "mazy dance," while they rested on one form fairer than all
the rest, and his handsome face brightened, and his fine eyes lit up, as
a man's alone does, when he watches the woman he loves.
Standing at the head of one of the quadrilles was the object of his
gaze--the peerless, high-born Lady Maude Percy. Eighteen summers had
scarce passed over her young head, yet a thoughtful, almost sad,
expression ever fell like a shadow on her beautiful face. Her form was
rounded, exquisite, perfect; her oval face perfectly colorless, save for
the full, crimson lips, her eyes large, dark and lustrous as stars, and
fringed by long, silken-blacken lashes; her shining hair fell in soft,
glittering, spiral curls, like raveled silk, round her fair, moonlight
face; and her pallor seemed deepened by its raven hue. Her dress was of
white brocade, fringed with seed-pearls; and her snowy arms and neck
gleamed through misty clouds of point-lace. Pale, oriental pearls,
wreathed her midnight hair, and ran in rivers of light around her neck.
Queenly, peerless, dazzling, she moved through the brilliant train of
beauties, eclipsing them all, as a meteor outshines lesser stars.
Drinking in the enchanting draught of her beauty to intoxication, Lord
Ernest Villiers stood leaning against a marble pillar until the dance
was concluded; and then moving toward her, as she stood for an instant
alone, he bent over her, and whispered, in a voice that was low but full
of passion:
"Maude! Maude! why have you tried to avoid me all the evening? I must
see you! I must speak to you in private! I must hear my destiny from
your lips tonight!"
At the first sound of his voice she had started quickly, and the
"eloquent blood" had flooded cheek and bosom with its rosy light; but as
he went on it faded away, and a sort of shiver passed through her frame
as he ceased.
"Come with me into the music-room--it is deserted now," he said, drawing
her arm through his. "There, apart from all those prying eyes, I can
learn my fate."
Paler still grew the pale face of the lady; but, without a word, she
suffered herself to be led to the shadowy and deserted room he had just
left.
"And now, Maude--my own love--may I claim an answer to the question I
asked you last night?" he said, bending over her.
"I answered you then, my lord," she said, sadly.
"Yes; you told me to go--to forget you; as if such a thing were
possible. Maude, I cannot, I will take that for an answer. Tell me, do
you love me?"
"Oh, Ernest--oh, my dear lord! you _know_ I do!" she cried,
passionately.
"Then, Maude--my beautiful one--will you not be mine--my wife?"
"Oh, I cannot! I cannot! Oh, Ernest, I cannot!" she said, with a
convulsive shudder.
"_Cannot!_ And _why,_ in Heaven's name?"
"My lord, that is my secret. I can never, _never_ be your wife. Choose
some one worthier of you, and forget Maude Percy."
She tried to steady her voice, but a stifled sob finished the sentence.
For all answer he gathered her in his strong arms, and her head dropped
on his shoulder.
"My poor little romantic Maude, what is this wonderful secret?" he said,
smiling. "Tell me, and we will see if your mountain does not turn out a
molehill after all. Now, why cannot you be my wife?"
"You think me weak and silly, my lord," she said, raising her head
somewhat proudly, and withdrawing from his retaining arms; "but there is
a reason, one sufficient to separate us forever--one that neither you
nor any living mortal can ever know!"
"And you refuse to tell this reason? My father and yours are eager for
this match; in worldly rank we are equals; I love you passionately, with
all my heart and soul, and still you refuse. Maude, you never loved me,"
he said, bitterly.
Her pale sweet face was bent in her hands now, and large tears fell
through her fingers.
"Maude, you will not be so cruel," he said, with sudden hope. "Only say
I may hope for this dear hand."
"No, no. Hope for nothing but to forget one so miserable as I am. Oh,
Lord Ernest! there are so many better and worthier than I am, who will
love you. I will be your friend--your sister, if I may; but I can never
be your wife."
"Maude, is there guilt, is there crime connected with this secret of
yours?" he demanded, stepping before her.
She rose to her feet impetuously, her cheeks crimsoning, her large eyes
filling and darkening with indignation, her noble brow expanded, her
haughty little head erect.
"And you think me capable of crime, Lord Villiers?--of guilt that needs
concealment?" she said, with proud scorn.
"You, Maude? No; sooner would I believe an angel from heaven guilty of
crime, than you. But I thought there might be others involved. Oh, Lady
Maude! must this secret, that involves the happiness of my whole life,
remain hidden from me?"
The bright light had died out from the beautiful eyes of Lady Maude; and
her tone was very sad, as she replied:
"Some day, my lord, I will tell you all; but not now. Let us part here,
and let this subject never be renewed between us."
"One word, Maude--do you love me?"
"I do! I do! Heaven forgive me!"
"Now, why, 'Heaven forgive me?' Maude! Maude! you will drive me mad! Is
it such a crime to love me then?"
"In some it is," she said, in her low, sad voice.
"And why, fairest saint?"
"Do not ask me, my lord. Oh, Ernest! let me go, I am tired and sick, and
very, very unhappy. Dearest Ernest, leave me, and never speak of this
again."
"As you will, Lady Maude," he said, with a bow, turning haughtily away.
But a light touch, that thrilled to his very heart, was laid on his arm,
and the low, sweet voice of Lady Maude said:
"I have offended you, my lord; pray forgive me."
"I am not offended, Lady Maude Percy; neither have I anything to
forgive," he said; but his fine face was clouded with mortification.
"You have rejected me, and I presume the matter ends there."
"But you are offended, I can hear it in your voice. Oh, Lord Villiers,
if you knew how unhappy I am, you would forgive me the pain I have
caused you."
Her tone touched him, and taking her hand gently, he said:
"It is I who should ask forgiveness, Lady Maude. Yes, I will accept the
friendship you offer, until such time as I can claim a better reward.
Notwithstanding all you have said, I do not despair still."
He pressed her hand to his lips and was gone.
"Excuse me, your lordship," insinuated a most aristocratic footman in
his ear, at that moment, "but there is an individual downstairs who
persists on seeing the earl, and won't take no for an answer."
"Who is it?" inquired Lord Villiers, impatiently.
"A gipsy, my lord, a desperate-looking old tramper, too."
"What's that about gipsies?" said the unceremonious little Miss
Jernyngham, passing at that moment. "You must know, my lord, I fairly
dote on gipsies, ever since I saw that charming young man they are going
to transport."
"How I wish I were a gipsy!" said Lord Villiers, gayly, "for such a
reward."
"Pray spare your pretty speeches for Lady Maude Percy, my lord," lisped
Miss Jernyngham, giving him a tap with her fan; "but about this
gipsy--is it a man or woman?"
"A woman, Miss, they call her the gipsy queen, Ketura."
"A gipsy queen! oh, delightful!" cried the young lady, clapping her
hands; "my lord, we must have her up, by all means. I insist on having
my fortune told."
"Your slave hears but to obey, Miss Jernyngham," said Lord Villiers,
with a bow. "Jonson, go and bring the old lady up."
"Yes, me lud," said Jonson, hurrying off.
"George--George! do come here!" exclaimed the young lady, as her brother
passed; "I want you!"
"What's all this about?" said the guardsman, lounging up. "My dear
Clara, the way you do get the steam up at a moment's notice is perfectly
astonishing. What can I do for you?"
"Do you want to have your fortune told?"
"If any good sibyl would predict for me a rich wife, who would pay my
debts, and keep me provided with kid gloves and cigars, I wouldn't
object; but in any other case--"
His speech was cut short by the sudden appearance of the footman with
the gipsy queen, of whom he seemed considerably afraid. And truly not
without reason; for a lioness in her lair might have looked about as
safe an animal as the dark, fierce-eyed gipsy queen. Even the two young
men started; and Miss Clara Jernyngham stifled a little scream behind
her fan.
"I wish to see Earl De Courcy," was her abrupt demand.
"And we wish our fortune told, good mother," said Lord Villiers; "my
father will attend to you presently."
"Your father!" said the woman, fixing her piercing eyes on his handsome
face, "then you are Lord Villiers?"
"You have guessed it. What has the future in store for me?"
"Nothing good for your father's son," she hissed through her clenched
teeth. "Give me your hand."
He extended it, with a smile, and she took it in hers, and peered into
it. What a contrast they were! his, white, small, and delicate; her
hand, bronzed and rough.
"Well, mother, what has destiny in store for me?"
"Much good or more evil. This night decides thy destiny; either thou
shalt be blessed for life, or if the scale turns against thee--then woe
to thee! Stand aside--the earl comes."
A tall, distinguished-looking man, of middle-age, approached, and looked
with grave surprise on the group before him.
"A word with you, lord-earl," said the gipsy, confronting him.
"Speak out, then."
"It must be in private."
"Who are you?" said the earl, surprised and curious.
"I am called the gipsy queen, Ketura," said the woman, drawing herself
up.
"And what do you want of me, woman?"
"I tell you I must speak in private. Is your time so precious that you
cannot grant ten minutes of it to me?" said the woman, with a
fiercely-impatient flash of her black eyes.
"This way, then," said the earl, impressed by the woman's commanding
look and tones, as he turned and led the way across a wide, lighted hall
to a richly-furnished library.
Seating himself in a softly-cushioned lounging-chair, he waited for his
singular visitor to begin.