A CHANGE.
Although Lord Chetwynde was always out by day, yet he had always
returned to his rooms at night, and therefore it was a matter of
surprise to Hilda, on this eventful night, that twelve o'clock came
without any signs of his return. In her wild and ungovernable passion
her whole life had now grown to be one long internal struggle, in
which it was with difficulty that she kept down the stormy feelings
within her. This night she had grown more nervous than usual. It was
as though she had attained to the culmination of the long excitements
through which she had passed. His absence filled her with a thousand
fears. The longing of her heart grew intolerable as the hours passed
by without any signs of his return. Weary of calling to her servant
to ask if he had come back, she at last dismissed the servant to bed,
and sat herself at the door of her room, listening for the sound of
footsteps. In that watchful attitude she sat, dumb and motionless;
but the hours passed by her as she sat there, and still he came not.
Through those hours her mind was filled with a thousand fears and
fancies. Sometimes she thought that he had been assassinated. At
other times she fancied that Gualtier might have broken his promise,
and come back from London, full of vengeance, to track the man whom
he hated. These ideas, however, at length left her, and another took
possession of her, which was far more natural and probable, and which
finally became a deep and immovable conviction. She thought that Lord
Chetwynde had at last yielded to his aversion; and unwilling, from
motives of gratitude, to have any formal farewell, he had concluded
to leave her abruptly.
"Yes," she said to herself, as this thought first came to her, "that
is it. He wearies of my perpetual presence. He does not wish to
subject himself to my mean entreaties. He has cut the connection
abruptly, and is this night on his way to Leghorn to take the
steamer. He has gone to India, and left me forever. To-morrow, no
doubt, I shall get a letter acquainting me with the irrevocable step,
and bidding me an eternal farewell."
The more she thought of this the more intense her conviction became,
until at last, from the force of her own fancies, she became as
certain of this as though some one had actually told her of his
departure. Then there came over her a mighty sense of desolation.
What should she do now? Life seemed in that instant to have lost all
its sweetness and its meaning. Again there came to her that thought
which many times during the last few weeks had occurred, and now had
grown familiar--the awful thought of suicide. The life she lived had
already grown almost intolerable from its unfulfilled wishes, and its
longings against hope; but now the last hope had departed, and life
itself was nothing but a burden. Should she not lay it down?
So the night passed, and the morning came, but through all that night
sleep came not. And the dawn came, and the hours of the day passed
by, but she sat motionless. The servants came, but were sent away;
and this woman of feeling and of passion, who once had risen superior
to all feeling, now lay a prey to an agony of soul that threatened
reason and life itself.
But suddenly all this was brought to an end. At about mid-day Lord
Chetwynde returned. Hilda heard his footstep and his voice. A great
joy darted through her, and her first impulse was to fling herself
upon him, and weep tears of happiness upon his breast. But that was a
thing which was denied her--a privilege which might never be hers.
After the first wild impulse and the first rush of joy she restrained
herself, and, locking the door of her room, she sat listening with
quick and heavy breathing. She heard him speak a few careless words
to the servant. She heard him go to his room, where he staid for
about an hour. She watched and waited, but restrained every impulse
to go out. "I have tormented him too much," she said to herself. "I
have forced myself upon him; I have made myself common. A greater
delicacy and a more retiring habit will be more agreeable to him.
Let me not destroy my present happiness. It is joy enough that my
fears are dispersed, and that he has not yet left me." So she
restrained herself--though that self-restraint was the mightest task
which she had ever undertaken--and sat passively listening, when
every feeling prompted her to rush forth eagerly to greet him.
He went away that day, and came back by midnight. Hilda did not
trouble him, and they met on the following morning.
Now, at the first glance which she stole at him, she noted in him a
wonderful change. His face had lost its gloom; there was an
expression of peace and blissful tranquillity which she had never
observed before, and which she had never thought possible to one who
had appeared to her as he always had. She sat wondering as they
waited for breakfast to be served--a meal which they generally took
together--and baffled herself in vain conjectures. A great change had
certainly come over him. He greeted her with a bright and genial
smile. He had shaken her hand with the warm pressure of a
good-hearted friend. He was sprightly even with the servants. He
noticed the exquisite beauty of the day. He had something to say
about many little trifles. Even in his best moods, during the
journey, he had never been like this. Then he had never been
otherwise than reserved and self-contained; his face had never
altogether lost its cloud of care. Now there was not a vestige of
care to be seen; he was joyous; he was even hilarious; and seemed at
peace with himself and all the world.
What had happened?
This was the question which Hilda incessantly asked herself. It
needed something unusual to change so completely this strong nature,
and transform the sadness which had filled it into peace and joy.
What had happened? What thing, of what kind, would be necessary to
effect such a change? Could it be gratified vengeance? No; the
feeling was too light for that. Was it the news of some sudden
fortune? She did not believe that if Lord Chetwynde heard that he had
inherited millions it would give such joy as this, which would make
itself manifest in all his looks and words and acts and tones. What
would be needed to produce such a change in herself? Would vengeance,
or riches, or honor be sufficient? No. One thing alone could do this.
Were she, by any possibility, ever to gain Lord Chetwynde to herself,
then she felt that she would know the same sweet peace and calm joy
as that which she now read in his face. In that event she thought
that she could look upon her worst enemy with a smile. But in him
what could it mean? Could it be possible that he had any one whose
smile would bring him such peace as this? Once before she suspected
that he loved another. Could it be within the bounds of possibility
that the one whom he loved lived in Florence?
This thought filled her with dismay. And yet, why not? Had he not set
out from England for Italy? Had he not dragged himself out of his
sick-room, almost before he could walk, to pursue his journey? Had he
not broken off almost all intercourse with herself after the first
week of their arrival? Had he not been occupied with some engrossing
business all the time since then? What business could have at once so
occupied him and so changed him, if it were not something of this
kind? There was one thing which could at once account for his
coolness to her and his inaccessibility to her advances, for his
journey to Florence, for his occupation all the time, and now for
this strange mood of happiness which had come so suddenly yet so
gently over him. And that one thing, which alone, to her mind, could
at once account for all these things, was Love.
The time passed, and Lord Chetwynde's new mood seemed lasting. Never
had he been so considerate, so gentle, and so kind to Hilda. At any
other time, or under any other circumstances, this change would have
stimulated her mind to the wildest hopes; but now it prompted fears
which filled her with despair. So, as the days passed, the struggle
raged within her breast.
Meanwhile Lord Chetwynde was a constant visitor at the villa of Obed
Chute, and a welcome guest to all. As the days passed the constant
association which he had with Zillah made each better known to the
other than ever before. The tenderness that existed between them was
repressed in the presence of the others; but on the frequent
occasions when they were left alone together it found expression by
acts if not by words, by looks if not by acts. Lord Chetwynde could
not forget that first look of all-absorbing and overwhelming joy with
which Zillah had greeted him on his sudden appearance. A master, to a
certain extent, over himself, he coerced himself so far as not to
alarm Zillah by any tender words or by any acts which told too much;
yet in his face and in his eyes she could read, if she chose, all his
devotion. As for Zillah, the change which she had felt from the dull
monotony of her past to the vivid joy of the present was so great and
so powerful that its effects were too manifest to be concealed. She
could not conceal the glow of health that sprang to her cheek, the
light that kindled in her eye, the resonant tone that was added to
her voice, and the spring that came to her step. Nor could she, in
her girlish innocence, conceal altogether how completely she now
rested all her hopes and all her happiness upon Lord Chetwynde; the
flush of joy that arose at his arrival, the sadness that overspread
her at his departure. But Obed Chute and his sister were not
observant; and these things, which would have been so manifest to
others, were never noticed by them. It seemed to both of them as
though Zillah merely shared the pleasure which they felt in the
society of this Windham, whom Obed loved and admired, and they
thought that Zillah's feelings were merely of the same character as
their own.
Neither Lord Chetwynde nor Zillah cared to disclose the true state of
the case. Lord Chetwynde wished to see her every day, but did not
wish them to know that he came every day. That might seem strange to
them. In point of fact, they would have thought nothing of it, but
would have welcomed him as warmly as ever; but Lord Chetwynde could
not feel sure of this. And if he visited her every day, he did not
wish to let the world know it. How it happened can not be told; by
what mysterious process it occurred can scarcely be related; such a
process is too indefinable for description; but certain it is that a
mysterious understanding sprang up between him and Zillah, so that on
every alternate day when he rode toward the villa he would leave his
horse at a house about a quarter of a mile away, and walk to the
nearest part of the park, where there was a small gate among the
trees. Here he usually entered, and soon reached a small kiosk near
that pond among the woods which has already been spoken of. The
household was so small and so quiet, and the woods were so
unfrequented and so shadowy, that there was scarcely any possibility
of interruption. Even if they had been discovered there by Obed
himself, Lord Chetwynde's presence of mind could have readily
furnished a satisfactory story to account for it. He had already
arranged that in his mind. He would have "happened to meet" Zillah on
the road near the gate, and come in here with her. By this it will be
seen, on the strength of this mysterious understanding, that Zillah
was not averse to this clandestine meeting. In fact, she always was
there. Many times they met there in the weeks which Lord Chetwynde
passed in Florence, and never once did she fail to be there first to
await him.
Perhaps it was because each had a secret belief that this was all
temporary--a happiness, a bliss, in fact, in this part of their
mortal lives, but a bliss too great to last. Perhaps it was this that
gave Zillah the courage and spirit to be at the trysting-place to
receive this man who adored her, and never to fail to be there
first--to think that not to be there first would be almost a sin--and
so to receive his deep and fervent expressions of gratitude for her
kindness, which were reiterated at every meeting. At any rate, Zillah
was always there on the days when Lord Chetwynde wished her to be
there; and on the occasions when he visited the villa she was not
there, but was seated in the drawing-room to receive him. Obed Chute
thought that Lord Chetwynde came three times a week. Zillah knew that
he came seven times a week.
For some time this state of things had continued. Windham was the
chosen friend of Obed, and the favored guest at Obed's villa. Zillah
knew that this could not last, and used to try to check her
happiness, and reason it down. But as the hour of the tryst
approached all attempts of this kind were forgotten, and she was
there watching and waiting.
To her, one day thus waiting, Lord Chetwynde came with a sad smile on
his face, and something in his eyes which threw a chill over Zillah's
heart. They talked a little while, but Lord Chetwynde was melancholy
and preoccupied.
"You do not look well to-day," said Zillah, wonderingly, and in tones
which were full of sympathy. "I hope nothing has happened?"
Lord Chetwynde looked earnestly at her and sighed heavily.
"Miss Lorton," said he, sadly, "something has happened which has
thrown the deepest gloom over me. Shall I tell you? Will you
sympathize with my gloom? I will tell you. I have this day received a
letter giving me my appointment to a post in India, far which I have
been waiting for a long time."
"India!"
Zillah gasped this out with white lips, while her face assumed the
ashen hue of despair.
"India!" she repeated, as her great eyes were fixed in agony upon
him; and then she stopped, pressing her hand to her heart.
The anguish of that look was so intense that Lord Chetwynde was
shaken to the soul. He caught her hand in his, scarce knowing what he
did.
"Oh, Miss Lorton," he cried, "do not look so at me. I am in despair;
I am heart-broken; I dare not look at the future; but the future is
not immediate; I can yet wait a few weeks; and you will still come
here, will you not--to see me?"
Zillah caught her hand away, and her eyes fell. Tears dropped from
beneath her heavy lashes. But she said not a word.
"At any rate, tell me this," cried Lord Chetwynde, "when I am gone,
Miss Lorton, you will not forget me? Tell me this."
Zillah looked at him with her large, spiritual eyes, whose fire
seemed now to bum into his soul, and her lips moved:
"Never!"
That was the only word that she said.