smile. There was something in the girl’s face that attracted her.
‘An adventuress indeed!’ exclaimed Bella to herself. ‘Aunt never made a
greater mistake in her life.’
Her ladyship had recovered her fluency by this time. ‘I must lay the
blame of our intrusion, Madame De Vigne, on the shoulders of Mr Archie
Ridsdale?’
‘Of Mr Ridsdale, Lady Renshaw?’
‘Archie is quite an old friend both of Bella and myself.’
‘I am pleased to make the acquaintance of any friends of Mr Ridsdale,’
responded Madame De Vigne gravely.—‘Will you not be seated?’
The three ladies sat down, Miss Wynter artfully choosing a seat near
the open window, whence she could glance occasionally at Mr Dulcimer,
who, to all appearance, was still intent upon his book.
‘And now to make a full confession,’ began her ladyship smilingly, as
she first opened and then shut her fan. ‘When we arrived here this
afternoon and requested to be shown to a private sitting-room, we were
informed that the hotel was full, and that there was not one to be
had for love or money. So I made up my mind that till a private room
should be vacant, my niece and I would have to content ourselves with
the accommodation of the ladies’ coffee-room. But, O my dear Madame De
Vigne, I had not been in the room ten minutes, before I found that it
would be an utter impossibility for us to stay there. Such a strange
medley of people I was never among before. Association with them, even
temporarily, was altogether out of the question. So told Bella not to
have our trunks unpacked, but that, after a little refreshment, we
would endeavour to find some other hotel where we could be properly
accommodated. But at this juncture I discovered that Mr Ridsdale was
staying here with a party of friends in their own suite of rooms. Then
a happy thought struck me, and I said to my niece: “Considering our
long friendship with dear Archie, I wonder whether we should be looked
upon as intruders if we were to go to Madame De Vigne and beg of her
to find space for us in a corner of her sitting-room during the two or
three days we intend staying in this place.”’ Here her ladyship, being
slightly out of breath, paused for a moment.
Miss Wynter had first turned red and then pale while listening to her
ladyship’s apology. ‘O auntie, auntie, what fibs you are telling!’ she
murmured under her breath.
‘So now, dear Madame De Vigne, you know all,’ resumed her ladyship.
‘If we shall incommode you in the slightest degree, pray tell us so at
once, and’——
Madame De Vigne held up her hand in gentle deprecation. ‘Not another
word is needed, Lady Renshaw,’ she said. ‘What you ask is a very small
favour, indeed. Pray, consider this room as yours during your stay. It
will please me much to know that you do so.’
‘Isn’t she nice!’ said Bella to herself admiringly. ‘If I were a man I
believe I should fall in love with her.’
‘You are really very kind, and I am more obliged to you than I can
say,’ remarked Lady Renshaw with her most expansive smile. ‘Archie too,
dear boy, will be immensely gratified when he finds us installed here.’
Then after a momentary pause, she added: ‘Do you purpose making much of
a stay among the Lakes, may I ask?’
‘I can scarcely tell. Our little holiday may come to an end in two or
three days, or it may extend to as many weeks.’
Bella’s gaze had been intently fixed on Mr Dulcimer. ‘I do believe he
is winking at me over his book!’ she cried to herself. ‘But he has
audacity enough for anything.’
‘Pardon the question, dear Madame De Vigne, but am I right in assuming
that, like myself, you have been left desolate and forlorn in this vale
of tears?’
‘I am a—a widow, if that is what you mean, Lady Renshaw.’
‘Then is there one more bond of sympathy between us. Never can I
forget my own loss. It was five years last Monday since poor dear Sir
Timothy died. But I see him every night in my dreams, and I carry his
portrait and a lock of his hair—he had not much hair, poor darling—with
me wherever I go. He was not handsome; but he was a most excellent
creature. He left me all he possessed, and—and he only lived two years
and a half after our marriage!’
The affecting picture was too much for her ladyship’s feelings; she
pressed her perfumed and delicately embroidered handkerchief to her
eyes. Madame De Vigne, with a slightly disdainful expression on her
pale features, sat as cold and unmoved as a statue.
‘How ridiculous of aunt to carry on in that style!’ thought Bella to
herself with a very red face.
Madame De Vigne turned to the young girl. ‘Is this your first visit to
the Lakes, Miss Wynter?’
‘Yes; I have never been so far north before.’
‘I hope you will be favoured with as fine weather as we have had. They
tell me that in these parts it sometimes rains for a week without
ceasing.’
‘O dear, how very depressing. I shouldn’t like that at all.’
By this time Lady Renshaw was ready to resume the attack. ‘Pardon me,
dear Madame De Vigne, but judging from the name, I presume your husband
was not an Englishman?’
‘He was a Frenchman, Lady Renshaw.’
‘Some of the most charming men I have ever met were Frenchmen. Am I
right in assuming that your loss is of an older date than mine?’
‘I lost my husband several years ago.’
‘Ah, then, Time has no doubt softened the blow to you. I am told that
it generally does; but, for my part, I feel that I can never cease to
mourn poor, dear Sir Timothy.—In all probability you have spent much of
your life abroad?’
‘I have lived abroad a great deal, Lady Renshaw.’ As she spoke these
words she rose abruptly and crossed to the other side of the room.
‘This woman is insufferable,’ she said to herself. ‘She must have some
motive for her questions. What can it be?’
‘There’s something in her life she wants to hide. I scent a mystery,’
remarked Lady Renshaw to herself with a fine sense of complacency.
Miss Wynter had again become absorbed in furtively watching Mr
Dulcimer. ‘Poor Dick, how sanctimonious he looks! But then, to be sure,
he’s the son of a bishop!’ she whispered to herself with a mischievous
twinkle in her eye.
Next moment the door was opened, and in came Miss Gaisford and Miss
Loraine. At the sight of strangers they stopped suddenly. Madame De
Vigne came forward. Lady Renshaw and Miss Wynter rose.
‘Lady Renshaw—Miss Wynter—permit me to introduce to you Miss Gaisford
and my sister, Miss Loraine.—Penelope, Clarice—Lady Renshaw and her
niece, Miss Wynter—friends of Mr Ridsdale.’
The two girls shot a critical glance at each other, as girls always do
when they are introduced.
‘The girl Archie’s engaged to!’ remarked Bella under her breath. ‘Well,
she’s awfully handsome; nobody can deny that. I suppose that by the
side of her I look a regular gipsy. That gown she’s got on was never
made in town. Quite a country cut. But how well she carries it off.’
‘What a very pretty girl!’ was Clarice’s unspoken comment. ‘Only I
never remember hearing Archie mention her name.’
As Lady Renshaw peered at Clarice through her eyeglass she
instinctively felt that if young Ridsdale were really engaged to
this splendid young creature, any hopes she might have cherished of
winning him away from her side were likely to end in smoke. She at
once admitted to herself that whatever pictures of the two sisters she
might previously have drawn in her mind’s eye were totally unlike the
reality. If these women were adventuresses, they certainly didn’t look
it, so far as her experiences of such beings went. None the less did it
seem certain that Archie was being inveigled into a marriage against
which his father would no doubt resolutely set his face. There was no
knowing what strange turn Fortune’s wheel might bring about. Meanwhile
she must watch and wait and keep her own counsel.
‘May I be permitted to assume, dear Madame De Vigne, that, with the
exception of Mr Ridsdale, your little party is now complete?’ queried
her ladyship.
‘Not quite, Lady Renshaw. We are still short of two friends—the Rev. Mr
Gaisford and Dr M‘Murdo, whose acquaintance you will doubtless make a
little later on.’
‘And that of their wives?’ asked her ladyship languidly with a graceful
sweep of her fan.
‘They haven’t any; they are bachelors,’ interposed Miss Gaisford
brusquely.
‘O-h. Bachelors are always interesting creatures in the eyes of our
sex, Miss Gaisford. But it is possible that the gentlemen in question
may be on the eve of changing their condition?’
‘Will this woman’s questions never cease?’ murmured Madame De Vigne to
herself.
‘Not at all, Lady Renshaw—not at all,’ responded the vicar’s sister.
‘They know too well when they are well off.’
‘O fie, now, Miss Gaisford! You must not turn traitress to your sex.
What are we sent into the world for if not to make the men happy!’
‘It seems like it to any one who reads the daily papers,’ was the grim
response.
‘By the way, dear, what has become of Mr Ridsdale?’ asked Madame De
Vigne of her sister.
‘He has gone as far as the post-office. He thought that the letter he
has been expecting for the last few days might perhaps be waiting there
for him.’
‘A letter from his father, without a doubt,’ muttered Lady Renshaw.
‘Probably the one containing Sir William’s final decision.’
Clarice had crossed to the window to speak to Miss Wynter. Suddenly
she gave a little start. ‘Why, I declare there’s Archie over yonder,
talking to that young curate whom we saw this afternoon. They seem to
be acquainted. And now they are coming this way.’
‘Good gracious! Dick coming here!’ exclaimed Miss Wynter under her
breath.
Archie Ridsdale entered the sitting-room from the veranda,
followed—bashfully—by Mr Richard Dulcimer, otherwise Mr Golightly.
‘Ladies all,’ began Archie, ‘allow me to introduce to you my old
friend and college chum, Dick Golightly—one of the best of fellows
when you come to know him, but, like the snail, of a most retiring
disposition—one of those people, in fact, whom it takes a deal of
persuasion to coax out of their shell.—Golightly, don’t blush,
there’s a dear boy; the ladies won’t eat you.—Madame De Vigne—Miss
Gaisford—Miss Loraine. You will know them all better by-and-by.—Now
don’t, for goodness’ sake, be a snail.’—Then turning, he exclaimed with
a well-feigned start: ‘Ah! Lady Renshaw, as I live!’ and with that he
held out his hand, which her ladyship grasped with much cordiality.
‘This is indeed an unlooked-for pleasure,’ he went on. ‘I never see
your ladyship without being reminded of what the poet says: “A thing of
beauty is a joy for ever.”’
‘Fie, you naughty boy’—tapping him with her fan—‘you are not a bit
improved since I saw you last.’
‘Allow me,’ continued Archie. ‘My friend, Mr Golightly—Lady Renshaw.’
‘I think that I have had the pleasure of meeting Mr Golightly
before—for a few minutes on the lawn this afternoon.’
Richard murmured something inaudible in reply. He was twisting his hat
between his fingers, and shifting uneasily from one foot to the other.
He tried his hardest to call up a blush, but failed ignominiously.
Archie had turned to Bella.
‘Surprises will never cease. My dear Miss Wynter, I am more delighted
to see you than I can express. Words are powerless in a case like
this.—Golightly, let me make you a happy man for ever by introducing
you to Miss Bella Wynter—one of the most charming and at the same time
most dangerous belles of the season.—Miss Wynter, do, for mercy’s sake,
take this unsophisticated youth under your wing, and try to coax him
out of his shell.’
‘Isn’t that rather a mixed-up metaphor, Mr Ridsdale?’
‘’Twill serve, as Mercutio says. You know my meaning.’
‘Mr—a—Mr Golightly,’ said her ladyship.
Richard turned, and the dowager motioned him with her fan to take a
seat beside her on the ottoman.
‘O Archie!’ said Bella in a whisper, ‘what a dreadful scrape you have
got poor Dick into by bringing him in here!’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ responded Mr Ridsdale with a grin. ‘For pure
impudence, I don’t know any young man of his years who’s a match for
Dicky Dulcimer. And as for throwing dust in Lady Renshaw’s eyes, the
scoundrel will revel in it—absolutely revel in it.’
‘Poor, dear aunty, if she only knew!’ said Bella with a touch of
compunction, which, however, by no means tended to dim the sparkle in
her eyes.
‘And how was the dear bishop, Mr Golightly, when you last heard from
him?’ inquired her ladyship in her blandest tones.
Dick stared, as well he might. ‘The bishop, Lady Renshaw!’ he stammered.
‘I mean your dear papa, of course. When I was quite a girl, I was
several times at Melminster.’
‘O-h!’ answered Dick with a prolonged indrawing of his breath. ‘I crave
your ladyship’s pardon. When last I heard from Melminster, every one
there was quite well.’
A light had begun to dawn on him. ‘She takes the bishop for my father,
whereas he’s only my godfather. Evidently the name has misled her,’ he
said to himself with an inward chuckle. ‘Well—bless her stupidity! It’s
no part of my duty to enlighten her.’
‘I am so glad to hear it,’ continued her ladyship innocently. ‘The
duties of such an exalted position must be very trying to the
constitution. For myself, I am happy to say that I have always been a
stanch upholder of the Establishment.’
Mr Golightly bowed, but had no reply ready.
‘I hope that we shall have the pleasure of a good deal of your society,
Mr Golightly, during the time you stay in these parts.’
‘Thanks. Delighted, I’m sure,’ lisped that model young man. ‘Mamma has
always been wishful that I should cultivate the society of ladies as
much as possible. Men nowadays—at least, lots of them—are so fast and
slangy, don’t you know. I always like to do as mamma bids me.’
‘A most exalted sentiment. I wish all young men thought as you do, Mr
Golightly. I should very much like to make the acquaintance of your
mamma. She must be a most estimable lady. I suppose, now, that you lead
a very quiet and domesticated life at the palace?’
‘At the palace! Oh—ah—yes, very quiet.’ Then he added to himself: ‘By
Jove, though, I haven’t been at the palace for nearly a dozen years—not
since poor old dad’s fortune collapsed. Bishops, like other people,
find it convenient to forget old friends when they have a mind to do
so.’
‘Charming young lady, Miss Wynter,’ Master Dick ventured to remark
presently to her ladyship.
‘I’m pleased you think so. Bella’s a sweet girl, though I say it who
ought not. She is looking towards us. I believe she has something to
say to you, Mr Golightly.’
‘Has she? Then perhaps your ladyship will kindly excuse me.’ He rose,
glad enough to get away from the dowager, and crossed to his lady-love.
‘A young nincompoop, if ever there was one!’ was the complimentary
remark that followed him. ‘Bella ought to be able to twist him round
her little finger.’
‘At last, my darling!’ whispered the young man as he drew a chair up
close to Miss Wynter.
‘You dreadful, dreadful Dick!’
‘What would I not venture for your sake, my pet!’
‘I’m not your pet.’
‘Deny it, if you dare. But what put all that rigmarole into her
ladyship’s head about my father the bishop, and’——
But at this moment the dull clangour of the dinner gong made itself
heard throughout the hotel. There was a general movement in the room.
‘I will talk to you later on. You may sit next me at dinner, if you can
contrive it,’ whispered Bella hurriedly before she joined her aunt.
‘Be careful in what way you talk to Mr Golightly,’ remarked the latter
lady in an undertone. ‘Above all, no frivolity; and don’t forget that
you have been brought up in a pious family.’
Archie came bustling up. ‘Now, Lady Renshaw, permit me the
honour.—Golightly, I leave you to look after Miss Wynter and Miss
Loraine.—By the way,’ he added, ‘what has become of the vicar and his
friend the doctor?’
‘It is only that Septimus is late as usual,’ answered Miss Pen. ‘That
big trout has detained him, and Dr M‘Murdo is with him. No doubt they
will turn up by the time dinner is half over.’
‘Are you not going to join us at dinner, dear Madame De Vigne?’
inquired the dowager with much suavity.
‘Not to-day, I think, Lady Renshaw. Will you allow me for once to plead
a woman’s usual excuse—a headache?’
‘So sorry.’ Then to herself: ‘She dines alone. Another evidence of a
mystery.’ Then aloud: ‘And you, dear Miss Gaisford?’
‘I? Oh, I never miss my dinner. They charge it in the bill whether one
has it or not. Even now the savoury odours of the soup reach me from
afar. I will join you anon.’
‘What an odd creature! Inclined to be satirical. I don’t think that I
shall like her,’ was the other’s unspoken remark as she sailed out of
the room on Mr Ridsdale’s arm.
Mr Golightly followed with the two young ladies.
Miss Gaisford drew a long breath of relief as soon as the door was shut.
‘And now, if I may be so inquisitive, pray, who is our redundant
friend?’
‘You know as much of her as I do,’ replied Madame De Vigne.
‘Introducing herself as a friend of Mr Ridsdale, she asked permission
to share our sitting-room on the plea that all the other private rooms
in the hotel were engaged. Under the circumstances of the case, I
scarcely saw my way to decline her request.’
‘Oh, we all know how soft-hearted you are, my dear friend. She would
not have found _me_ such an easy victim. If I am not mistaken, Master
Archie was as much annoyed as he was surprised at finding her here.’
‘I suppose we shall have the infliction of her company all evening,’
remarked Madame De Vigne with a little shrug of resignation.
‘I had forgotten that for the moment,’ answered Miss Pen musingly.
Then she added quickly: ‘No—no; of all nights in the year, she shall
not worry you to-night. When dinner is over, I will assign Dr Mac to
her—together with Septimus. They shall take her down to the lake to see
the moon rise—they shall even make love to her, if need be, so long as
they keep her out of the way.’ Then, after glancing at her watch, Miss
Pen went on, with a change of tone: ‘Another quarter of an hour and
Colonel Woodruffe will be here!’
Madame De Vigne did not answer.
Miss Pen took one of her hands. ‘Mora—dear friend,’ she said, ‘you will
treat him kindly to-night—more kindly than you did before?’
‘I shall not treat him unkindly.’
‘You will not refuse him what he asks? He is a noble, true-hearted man,
of whose love any woman might be proud. You will not say No to him this
time? You have made up your mind that this time the answer shall be
Yes?’
‘Does a woman ever really make up her mind beforehand?—is she ever
quite sure what her answer will be till the crucial moment has come?’
‘Thank goodness, _my_ mind is generally made up about most things;
but then, I’ve never been in love, and hope to goodness I never shall
be. Still, with so much of it about, there’s no knowing. Like many
other things, it may be catching.—But now, I must run off, or those
good people will have gobbled up all the soup.’ At the door she
turned. ‘Mora, I will never forgive you if the answer is anything but
Yes—yes—yes!’
‘There goes as true-hearted a friend as any woman need wish to have,’
said Mora. She sighed, and rose and crossed to the window. ‘If I could
but open my heart to her!—if I might but tell her everything! But not
even to her dare I do that. And yet _he_ must know—_he_ must be told!
What will he say—what will he do when he has read my letter? Ah me! I
tremble—I am afraid.’
On the side-table stood an ebony and ivory writing-desk. This she now
proceeded to open with a tiny key which hung from her châtelaine. From
it she took a letter, and then relocked the desk.
‘Shall I give it him, or shall I not?’ she asked herself, as she held
the letter between a thumb and finger of each hand and gazed intently
at it. ‘It is not too late to destroy it. No one in the world need know
that it was ever written. The temptation! the temptation!’
For a few moments she stood thus, gazing fixedly at the letter, as
though there were some power of fascination in it, her tall figure
swaying slightly to and fro. Then she roused herself as if from a
dream, and said to herself: ‘No! I should be unworthy of his love, I
should despise myself for ever, were I knowingly to let even the shadow
of deceit come between us. There must be no more hesitation.’ She
crossed to the chimney-piece and laid the letter on it. ‘Lie there till
he comes,’ she said. ‘I will not touch you again—for fear.’
She shivered slightly, as if struck by a sudden chill, and going back
to the window, she sat down in an easy-chair near it. A clock on the
chimney-piece struck the hour with silvery tone. She started. ‘A few
minutes more and he will be here,’ she said. She lay back in her chair,
her head pressed against the cushions, her eyes closed, her slender
fingers intertwined, in an attitude of utter abandonment. ‘Oh!’ she
murmured, ‘if the ordeal were but over!’
(_To be continued._)
THE MONTH:
SCIENCE AND ARTS.
The sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance of a volcanic island
off the coast of Iceland, reminds us that there are natural wonders
going on around us which cannot well be equalled in the pages of
romance. This island had the shape of a flattened cone rounded at the
top. It rose from the sea about twenty miles from the mainland. Last
century, a similar phenomenon presented itself near the same place; but
that island too had only a brief existence. It is not surprising that
such structures should in course of time be demolished by the action of
the waves, for these islands mostly consist of very loose materials,
such as slag, ashes, and pumice-stone, which are readily acted upon by
the surf. The disappearance of the island may, however, be due to other
influences than that of the sea.
Some interesting particulars of the voyage of the Danish gunboat
_Fylla_ to the arctic regions have been published. This vessel was
sent out by the Danish government on an exploring and surveying
expedition, which has occupied four months, during which time the
coast of Greenland has been explored to a very high latitude. Besides
this work, many meteorological observations have been made, whilst
dredging and trawling for specimens have been steadily pursued. Amongst
the valuables so collected, and which have been divided into sections
Botanical, Zoological, and Mineralogical, each under the care of a
professor, is a meteoric stone weighing about two thousand pounds.
Details of the expedition will be published at Copenhagen.
There are at present two large waterways in Africa upon which the
attention of many nations is fixed—namely, the Nile and the river
Congo. The interest regarding the first is of a military character,
with which these pages have little to do; but with regard to the Congo
there is much to claim our attention. Mr H. M. Stanley has recently
addressed the London Chamber of Commerce upon the subject, and has
given a most interesting account of his personal experiences among
the tribes inhabiting the valley of the great river. He describes the
natives as being peaceful and anxious to trade with more civilised
nations. The International African Association, of which Mr Stanley
is a member, was formed some years ago under the auspices of the king
of the Belgians, to put down slavery in this region, and to secure a
system of free trade for the commerce of the world. Traders of all
nations are invited by the Association to bring their goods to the
river Congo, which presents, including its affluents, a navigable river
of three thousand miles. When cordial relations between traders and
natives have been established, the Association will consider the object
of its existence to have been gained, and will be dissolved. The sole
hindrance to the successful carrying out of the programme seems to be
the presence of Portuguese settlers at the mouth of the river, which
they claim to have discovered about four hundred years ago. They regard
this discovery as an excuse for levying a heavy toll on every vessel
ascending the river.