The silvery touch of fortune is too often gilt with betrayal: the
meddling mouth of extravagance swallows every desire, and eats the heart
of honesty with pickled pride: the impostury of position is petty, and
ends, as it should commence, with stirring strife. But conversion of
feminine opinions tries the touchy temper of opposition, and too seldom
terminates victoriously.
"Great mercy! Only another week and I shall almost cease to be a free
thinker! Just seven days more and what!--I shall openly have to confess
to the world an untruth! Would there be any means of flight from the
dangerous dragon that haunts me night and day? Could anything possible
be done to save myself from false alliance? Too late!--too late!
"Only seven days and this beautiful boudoir shall own me no more, with
its walls of purest white and gilded borders!
"Just seven days and I shall be fettered with chains of dragging dislike
and disappointment! Only seven days and thus shall end my cherished
hopes, my girlish pride, my most ardent wish, but, alas! not my love!
Seven days more shall see my own darling Os"---- Suddenly Irene was
aroused by the ringing of the breakfast bell, before she got time to
finish the sentence that troubled her weary brain for months before.
Dressing herself with frantic expertness, she dashed down the winding
staircase with an alacrity better imagined than described, and rushing
into the breakfast room where Lord and Lady Dilworth eagerly awaited
her, presented the outward mocking appearance of being the happiest of
mortals. Her beloved benefactors, who had been the prime movers in the
matter of matrimony, saw plainly a saddened look about the lovely face,
which Irene tried hard to suppress, and asking why it appeared at this
gay time, was answered evasively. Indeed, Lord and Lady Dilworth were
wholly ignorant of the present state of affairs, nor did Irene reveal at
any time to Lady Dilworth her great hatred for Sir John, or her maddened
desire to become the wife of a poor tutor.
Had she only taken into her confidence her whose wise counsel and
motherly example were at all times a prompt step to decision; or had she
only hinted to Lady Dilworth her manifest inability to return Sir John's
great affection, matters would probably have reached another climax. But
owing to the present precarious position in which Lord and Lady Dilworth
stood, and as yet unknown to both Irene and other most intimate
acquaintances, great was Lady Dilworth's desire to see Irene permanently
settled, knowing as she did that ere the sun of another August day would
flash its shimmering rays against the crystal stays of Dilworth Castle
she would be beyond easy access to Irene either in time of rejoicing or
sorrowing.
Preparations were at last almost completed for such an auspicious event.
Invitations were issued numerously for the reception to be held at
Dilworth Castle after Irene's marriage, but sparingly during the
ceremony; all of which were mostly accepted. Costly, multiplying, and
varied were the gifts received by Irene; enough to make a princess stare
with startling bewilderment.
Amongst the many, none came from Irene's tutor, Oscar Otwell! And
although he was the first to whom Lady Dilworth addressed an invitation,
still there was no reply, much to the annoyance and astonishment of
hostess on the one hand and knowledge of Irene on the other; as, verily,
it was not unknown to Irene that absolute indifference to facts,
seemingly of domestic importance, was a positive point in Oscar, and
never better exemplified than in the present existing state of affairs,
which, sickly as it proved to Irene, was deadly so to Oscar.
But future facts had to be solved, which undoubtedly would be treated
with more comparative reverence than heretofore, by him who suffered
severely--yea, acutely--from the blow struck him on the eve of
aspiration and achievement. Love, alas! when smitten with the sword of
indifference, dieth soon, but once struck on the tunnelled cheek of
secrecy with the hand of pity there leaves a scar of indelible
intolerance, until wiped out for ever with the curative balsam of
battled freedom.
Sir John and Irene met in Dilworth Castle for the last time on the
morning of the third day of August, being the day set apart for the
celebration of their marriage. It commenced with the ringing of the
village bells; the sun shone forth in all his universal glory; emblems
of the approaching festivity did not fail to appear on the housetops of
the humblest village peasant; gladness reigned throughout the household,
and all hearts, save two, rejoiced with unabated activity.
It was a morning never to be forgotten by Lord and Lady Dilworth, who,
on that day, would be robbed of the treasure held firm and fast by them
for the lengthened period of nine years, and which they yielded up with
hearts of sorrow, not because of the change in which Irene should have
taken deep interest, but on account of the burthen of trouble which
loaded them with leaden weights of which they could not possibly free
themselves. The intense excitement that for weeks before had found such
refuge within their cherished and much-loved home had not long now to
live: it would die on the doorstep of apparent bereavement never more to
appear within Dilworth Castle under similar circumstances. They knew
well that the gnawing jaws of poverty, which for years had failed to
expose their grinding power, had reached the last and only bite of
sudden termination, and thereby stamped their marks of melancholy so
impressively upon the noble brows of the worthy owners of Dilworth
Castle, that time could never blot them from observation. As before
stated few were those invited to be present at the wedding ceremony,
which was to take place about twelve o'clock noon.
Sir John arrived at the Castle shortly before that time, looking
charming indeed, whilst Irene, though departing from the rules laid down
by Lady Dilworth, demanded from all present remarks bordering on
similarity. She looked nervously pale, but queenly, and mastered
thoroughly the exposure of the painful agony through which she was
passing, knowing as she did and fully believed that "all is not gold
that glitters."
It may interest some to know that Irene silently and secretly resolved
not to array herself in white; she was reconciled that neither the
marriage robe of purity nor the too beaming wedding face was to appear
before such devout and reverential Church dignitaries as the Bishop of
Barelegs and Canon Foot, with highly impressed and open falsehood, as
that practised by her in the absence of labouring under such a solemn
vow.
What must have been the breathless surprise of Lady Dilworth chiefly,
and those present also, who, only the evening previous, had been pouring
such praises over the magnificent duchesse satin gown, which eligible
Parisian dressmakers pronounced their chief production of the season,
when Irene appeared arrayed in an Irish poplin of the darkest visible
shade of green, without either train or flower of distinction, not even
a speck of ribbon or border of lace, and no ornament only the valued
necklet which graced her pearly throat when first Sir John was tempted
with her enhancing beauty to bestow upon her his choice collection of
love's purest fragrance, which should cast the sweetest scent of mutual
relationship throughout the dazzling apartments of the mansion she was
about to grace.
So thunderstruck and grievously horrified did Lady Dilworth seem at the
vague departure of Irene from her orders, that she dare not trust
herself to offer her the first motherly embrace! Irene, perceiving the
great embarrassment of her beloved Lady Dilworth, glided across the
room, and sitting down to the right of her upon whom she had that day
flung, in the face of devotion, the last dregs of defiance, "begged to
offer an apology for such unruly conduct," and added "that all would be
revealed at a future date when least expected."
In the very room where Sir John was first puzzled concerning the
beautiful portrait, was he now made the recipient of the original. After
the important ceremony was performed, and the register signed, Sir John
and Lady Dunfern, when the usual congratulations were ended, left by the
one o'clock train _en route_ for the Continent. Thus were joined two
hearts of widely different beat--one of intense love, which hearsay
never could shake; the other of dire dislike, which reason could never
alter.
"Born under a lucky star," was the whispered echo throughout the
distinguished guests who sat down to breakfast after the junction of
opposites. Yea, this was a remark of truth visibly, and might have kept
good during the remainder of their lives had not the tuitional click of
bygone attachment kept moving with measured pace, until stopped after
months, or it may be, small years of constant swinging.
Did Lady Dunfern ever dream that her apology for disobedience to Lady
Dilworth's orders, in not arraying herself in the garb of glistening
glory, could ever be accepted, even by the kind and loving Lady
Dilworth?
Did she imagine for a moment that she, to whom she owed anything but
disobedience, even in its simplest form, should be wrested from her arms
of companionship ere her return to Dunfern Mansion? Did the thought ever
flash through her mind that never again would she be able to pour into
the ear of her trusted helper the secrets of the heart of deception,
which, for the past seven months, had raged so furiously within her?
Better leave her to the freedom of a will that ere long would sink the
ship of opulence in the sea of penury, and wring from her the
words:--"Leave me now, deceptive demon of deluded mockery; lurk no more
around the vale of vanity, like a vindictive viper; strike the lyre of
living deception to the strains of dull deadness, despair and doubt; and
bury on the brink of benevolence every false vow, every unkind thought,
every trifle of selfishness and scathing dislike, occasioned by
treachery in its mildest form!"