Arthur emerged from his hiding-place, horror-struck at hearing what was
being said about him, and wondering, so far as he was at the moment
capable of accurate thought, how long this report had been going about,
and whether by any chance it had reached the ears of the Bellamys. If
it had, the mischief might be very serious. In the confusion of his
mind, only two things were clear to him—one was, that both for
Mildred’s and his own sake, he must leave Madeira at once; and,
secondly, that he would dance no more with her that night.
Meanwhile the ball was drawing to a close, and presently he heard the
strains of the last galop strike up. After the band had been playing
for a minute or two, a natural curiosity drew him to the door of the
ball-room, to see if Mildred was dancing with anybody else. Here he
found Lady Florence, looking rather disconsolate.
“How is it that you are not dancing?” she asked.
He murmured something inaudible about “partner.”
“Well, we are in the same box. What do you think? I promised this galop
to Captain Clemence, and now there he is, vainly trying to persuade
Mrs. Carr, who won’t look at him, and appears to be waiting for
somebody else—you, I should think—to give him the dance. I will be even
with him, though.”
Just then the music reached a peculiarly seductive passage.
“Oh, come along!” said Lady Florence, quite regardless of the
proprieties; and, before Arthur well knew where he was, he was whirling
round the room.
Mrs. Carr was standing at the top corner, where the crush obliged him
to slacken his pace, and, as he did so, he caught her eye. She was
talking to Lady Florence’s faithless partner, with a smile upon her
lips; but one glance at her face sufficed to tell him that she was in a
royal rage, and, what was more, with himself. His partner noticed it,
too, and was amused.
“Unless I am mistaken, Mr. Heigham, you have come into trouble. Look at
Mrs. Carr.” And she laughed.
But that was not all. Either from sheer mischief, or from curiosity to
see what would happen, she insisted upon stopping, as the dance drew to
a close, by Mildred’s corner. That lady, however, proved herself equal
to the occasion.
“Mr. Heigham,” she said sweetly, “do you know that that was our dance?”
“Oh, was it?” he replied, feeling very much a fool.
“Yes, certainly it was; but with such a temptation to error”—and she
smiled towards Lady Florence—“it is not wonderful that you made a
mistake, and, as you look so contrite, you shall be forgiven. Agatha,
there’s a dear, just ask that man to go up to the band, and tell them
to play another waltz, ‘La Berceuse,’ before ‘God save the Queen.’”
Arthur felt all the while, though she was talking so suavely, that she
was in a state of suppressed rage; once he glanced at her, and saw that
her eyes seemed to flash. But her anger only made her look more lovely,
supplying as it did an added dignity and charm to her sweet features.
Nor did she allow it to have full play.
Mildred felt that the crisis in her fortunes was far too serious to
admit of being trifled with. She knew how unlikely it was that she
would ever have a better chance with Arthur than she had now, for the
mirrors told her that she was looking her loveliest, which was very
lovely indeed. In addition, she was surrounded by every seductive
circumstance that could assist to compel a young man, however much
engaged, to commit himself by some act or words of folly. The sound and
sights of beauty, the rich odour of flowers, the music’s voluptuous
swell, and last, but not least, the pressure of her gracious form and
the glances from her eyes, which alone were enough to make fools of
ninety-nine out of every hundred young men in Europe —all these things
combined to help her. And to them must be added her determination, that
concentrated strength of will employed to a single end, which, if there
be any truth in the theories of the action of mind on mind, cannot fail
to influence the individual on whom it is directed.
“Now, Arthur.”
The room was very nearly clear, for it was drawing towards daylight
when they floated away together. Oh! what a waltz that was! The
incarnate spirit of the dance took possession of them. She waltzed
divinely, and there was scarcely anything to check their progress. On,
on they sped with flying feet as the music rose and fell above them.
And soon things began to change for Arthur. All sense of embarrassment
and regret vanished from his mind, which now appeared to be capable of
holding but one idea of the simplest and yet the most soaring nature.
He thought that he was in heaven with Mildred Carr. On, still on; now
he saw nothing but her shell-like face and the large flash of the
circling diamonds, felt nothing but the pressure of her form and her
odorous breath upon his cheek, heard nothing but the soft sound of her
breathing. Closer he clasped her; there was no sense of weariness in
his feet or oppression in his lungs; he could have danced for ever. But
all too soon the music ceased with a crash, and they were standing with
quick breath and sparkling eyes by the spot that they had started from.
Close by Miss Terry was sitting yawning.
“Agatha, say good-bye to those people for me. I must get a breath of
fresh air. Give me a glass of water, please, Arthur.”
He did so, and, by way of composing his own nerves, took a tumbler of
champagne. He had no longer any thought of anxiety or danger, and he,
too, longed for air. They passed out into the garden, and, by a common
consent, made their way to the museum verandah, which was, as it
proved, quite deserted.
The night, which was drawing to its close, was perfect. Far over the
west the setting moon was sinking into the silver ocean, whilst the
first primrose hue of dawn was creeping up the eastern sky. It was
essentially a dangerous night, especially after dancing and champagne
—a night to make people do and say regrettable things; for, as one of
the poets—is it not Byron?—has profoundly remarked, there is the very
devil in the moon at times.
They stood and gazed awhile at the softness of its setting splendours,
and listened to the sounds of the last departing guests fading into
silence, and to the murmurs of the quiet sea. At last she spoke, very
low and musically.
“I was angry with you. I brought you here to scold you; but on such a
night I cannot find the heart.”
“What did you want to scold me about?”
“Never mind; it is all forgotten. Look at that setting moon and the
silver clouds above her,” and she dropped her hand, from which she had
slipped the glove, upon his own.
“And now look at me and tell me how I look, and how you liked the ball.
I gave it to please you.”
“You look very lovely, dangerously lovely, and the ball was splendid.
Let us go.”
“Do you think me lovely, Arthur?”
“Yes; who could help it? But let us go in.”
“Stay awhile, Arthur; do not leave me yet. Tell me, is not this
necklace undone? Fasten it for me, Arthur.”
He turned to obey, but his hand shook too much to allow him to do so.
Her eyes shone into his own, her fragrant breath played upon his brow,
and her bosom heaved beneath his shaking hand. She too was moved; light
tremors ran along her limbs, the colour came and went upon her neck and
brow, and a dreamy look had gathered in her tender eyes. Beneath them
the sea made its gentle music, and above the wind was whispering to the
trees. Presently his hand dropped, and he stood fascinated.
“I cannot. What makes you look like that? You are bewitching me.”
Next moment he heard a sigh, the next Mildred’s sweet lips were upon
his own, and she was in his arms. She lay there still, quite still, but
even as she lay there rose, as it were, in the midst of the glamour and
confusion of his mind, that made him see all things distraught, and
seemed to blot out every principle of right and honour, another and far
different scene. For, as in a vision, he saw a dim English landscape
and a grey ruin, and himself within its shadows with a nobler woman in
his arms, “Dethrone me,” said a remembered voice, “desert me, and I
will still thank you for this hour of imperial happiness.” The glamour
was gone, the confusion made straight, and clear above him shone the
light of duty.
“Mildred, dear Mildred, this cannot be. Sit down. I want to speak to
you.”
She turned quite white, and sank from his arms without a word.
“Mildred, you know that I am engaged.”
The lips moved, but no sound issued from them. Again she tried.
“I know.”
“Then why do you tempt me? I am only a man, and weak as water in your
presence. Do not make me dishonourable to myself and her.”
“I love you as well as she. There—take the shameful truth.”
“Yes, but—forgive me if I pain you, for I must, I must. I love _her_.”
The beautiful face hid itself in the ungloved hands. No answer came,
only the great diamond sparkled and blazed in the soft light like a
hard and cruel eye.
“Do not, Mildred, for pity’s sake, involve us all in shame and ruin,
but let us part now. If I could have foreseen how this would end! But I
have been a blind and selfish fool. I have been to blame.”
She was quite calm now, and spoke in her usual singularly clear voice.
“Arthur dear, I do not blame you. Loving _her_, how was it likely that
you should think of love from _me_? I only blame myself. I have loved
you, God help me, ever since we met—loved you with a despairing,
desperate love such as I hope that you may never know. Was I to allow
your phantom Angela to snatch the cup from my lips without a struggle,
the only happy cup I ever knew? For, Arthur, at the best of times, I
have not been a happy woman; I have always wanted love, and it has not
come to me. Perhaps I should be, but I am not—a high ideal being. I am
as Nature made me, Arthur, a poor creature, unable to stand alone
against such a current as has lately swept me with it. But you are
quite right, you must leave me, we _must_ separate, you _must_ go; but
oh God! when I think of the future, the hard, loveless future——”
She paused awhile, and then went on—
“I did not think to harm you or involve you in trouble, though I hoped
to win some small portion of your love, and I had something to give you
in exchange, if beauty and great wealth are really worth anything. But
you must go, dear, now, whilst I am brave. I hope that you will be
happy with your Angela. When I see your marriage in the paper, I shall
send her this tiara as a wedding present. I shall never wear it again.
Go, dear; go quick.”
He turned to leave, not trusting himself to speak, for the big tears
stood in his eyes, and his throat was choked. When he had reached the
steps, she called him back.
“Kiss me once before you go, and I see your dear face no more. I used
to be a proud woman, and to think that I can stoop to rob a kiss from
Angela. Thank you; you are very kind. And now one word; you know a
woman always loves a last word. Sometimes it happens that we put up
idols, and a stronger hand than ours shatters them to dust before our
eyes. I trust this may not be your lot. I love you so well that I can
say that honestly; but, Arthur, if it should be, remember that in all
the changes of this cold world there is one heart which will never
forget you, and never set up a rival to your memory, one place where
you will always find a home. If anything should ever happen to break
your life, come back to me for comfort, Arthur. I can talk no more; I
have played for high stakes—and lost. Good-bye.”
He went without a word.