A SECRET DIVINED.
"Take care! the 'Don' will be jealous!" exclaimed Mr. Walton, as he
witnessed his wife's greeting of Maurice,--a greeting as tender as a
true mother could have bestowed. "When Ronald was a boy he would rush
about like one gone mad if his mother ever ventured to take another
child upon her knee,--he would never have his throne usurped. Our 'Don'
was always 'monarch of all he surveyed.'"
This jocular appellation of the 'Don,' Mr. Walton had bestowed upon his
son on account of his early propensity to fight moral windmills, and the
Quixotic zeal with which he espoused the cause of the weak and the fair.
This knight-errant proclivity ripened from the Quixotism of boyhood into
the chivalrous devotion which had manifested itself in his somewhat
romantic friendship for Maurice,--a friendship productive of such happy
results to the young viscount.
Ronald replied, "My affection has gained a victory over my jealousy, as
Maurice discovered some years ago. I have just given him a new evidence
of that fact by accompanying you and my mother to Washington in the hope
of seeing him."
"Did you really come for my sake," asked Maurice, much moved.
Mrs. Walton answered, "How could we help being distressed about you?
Your letters were so unsatisfactory. I shall know more of your true
state in one _tête-à-tête_,--one good long heart-talk,--than I could
learn by a thousand letters."
After this declaration, Ronald and his father jestingly pronounced
themselves _de trop_ and departed.
Maurice had long since given Mrs. Walton his full confidence, and now to
sit and relate the events that had transpired during his stay in
Washington was a heart-unburthening which lightened his oppressed
spirit. It seemed to him as though some ray of hope must break through
the clouds which enveloped him, if her clear, steady vision closely
scanned their blackness; _she_ might discover some gleam of light which
he could not perceive.
When he finished the narrative she asked,--
"And have you no suspicion who this mysterious lover can be? No clue to
his identity?"
"Not the faintest," answered Maurice.
"But since you have seen Madeleine at all hours of the day, since you
have resided in her house, she could not have evinced a preference for
any gentleman without your perceiving the distinction."
"She evinced no preferences; no gentleman was upon an intimate footing
except M. de Bois, who is engaged to Bertha, much to Madeleine's
delight."
"M. de Bois, you tell me," continued Mrs. Walton, "has been her devoted
friend during all these years that she has been separated from you. Have
you not been able to learn something from him?"
"I have too much respect for Madeleine to force from another a secret
which she refuses to impart to me; but I am quite certain that if M. de
Bois knows whom Madeleine has blessed with her love, Bertha is still in
ignorance. Bertha would have told me at once."
Mrs. Walton mused awhile, then said, "I do not see any loose thread by
which the mystery can be unravelled; but you will, of course, make me
acquainted with your Madeleine?"
"_My_ Madeleine," began Maurice, bitterly.
"I called her yours involuntarily, because your heart seems so wholly to
claim her. She will receive me,--will she not?"
"Gladly, I am sure."
"Then we will go to-morrow."
There were too many chords of sympathy which vibrated responsively in
the bosoms of Mrs. Walton and Madeleine, too many planes upon which they
could meet, for them to remain merely formal acquaintances. It was
Madeleine's nature to treat those with whom she was thrown in contact
with a genial courtesy which rose to kindness, often to affection; but
it was only to a few that she really threw wide the portals of her large
heart. Mrs. Walton's devotion to Maurice was claim enough for her to be
ranked among the small number whom Madeleine admitted to that inner
sanctuary.
On the other hand, Mrs. Walton was by no means impulsive in forming
friendships; her existence had been brightened by very few. She had much
constitutional _reticence_; she enjoyed a secluded life; she was not
dependent upon others for happiness. A rich, inexhaustible well-spring
of joy,--the one joy of her days,--flowed in through her son, and that
pure fount was all-sufficient to water the flowers that sprang in her
path. Maurice had awakened her womanly compassion, first, because Ronald
had found in him a brother; next, because he was motherless and almost
heart-broken, and finally, because his noble attributes won her admiring
affection. But, although Mrs. Walton had no facility in making
friendships, when she did become attached, it was with a sympathetic and
absolute devotion which extended itself involuntarily to the beings who
were dear to those she loved; thus her attachment for Maurice awakened
an affection for Madeleine before they met; and when she clasped
Madeleine's hand, and looked into her fair face, the reserve she
invariably experienced toward strangers at once melted away, and in
their very first interview these two responsive spirits drew near to
each other with a mutual sense that their intercourse must become closer
and closer.
Madeleine had frequently seen Ronald when, habited as the _soeur de
bon secours_, she kept nightly vigil by the bed of Maurice, and Ronald
had marked the classic features of the "holy sister," and quickly
recognized them again when he was presented to Mademoiselle de Gramont.
After Mrs. Walton had visited Madeleine, Ronald persuaded her to call
with him on Mademoiselle de Merrivale. Bertha received her quondam
partner of the dance with much warmth and vivacity; but the countess
looked with freezing hauteur upon these American friends of her
grandson. Though Mrs. Walton was naturally timid, she was unawed by the
countess's assumption of superiority; her self-respect enabled her to
remain perfectly composed and collected, and to appear unconscious of
the disdain with which she was treated.
This initiative visit was quickly followed by others, and Mrs. Walton
proved how little she dreaded the countess by inviting Bertha to dine
with her.
"I shall be delighted to go," said Bertha, "that is, if my aunt does not
object."
"Rather tardily remembered," answered the countess, with acerbity.
"Better late than never," retorted Bertha, gayly; "so, my dear aunt, you
will not say 'No.'"
The countess would gladly have found some reason for refusing, but none
presented itself, and Bertha was sufficiently self-willed to dispute her
authority; it was therefore impolitic to make an open objection.
M. de Bois also received an invitation. Maurice and Madeleine joined
the little circle in the evening,--a delightful surprise to Bertha and
Gaston. This was the first evening that Madeleine had passed out of her
own dwelling during her residence in America. She had necessarily
renounced society when she adopted a vocation incompatible with her
legitimate social position; but, on this occasion, she could not resist
Mrs. Walton's persuasions, and perhaps the promptings of her own
inclination.
Once more Madeleine's vocal powers were called into requisition. She was
ever ready to contribute her _mite_ (so she termed it) toward the
general entertainment, and she would have despised the petty affectation
of pretended reluctance to draw forth entreaty, or give value to her
performance. Her voice had never sounded more touchingly, mournfully
pathetic, and her listeners hung entranced upon the sounds. Maurice
drank in every tone, and never moved his eyes from her face; but when
the soft cadences sank in silence, what a look of anguish passed over
his manly features, and told that the sharp bayonet of his life-sorrow
pierced him anew. He turned involuntarily toward Mrs. Walton, and met a
look of sympathy not wholly powerless to soothe.
Mr. Walton was loud in his praises of Madeleine's vocalization; he had a
courtier's felicity in expressing admiration, never more genuine than on
the present occasion.
"We must not be so ungrateful as to forget to offer Mademoiselle de
Gramont the only return in our power, however far it may fall short of
what she merits," said he; "the 'Don' here, does not sing; he is not a
poet even, except in soul, and all his inspirations flow through his
brush; but he interprets poets with an art which I think is hardly less
valuable than the poet's own divine afflatus."
Madeleine, delighted, seized upon the suggestion, and solicited Ronald
to favor the company. His mother placed in his hands a volume of Mrs.
Browning's poems, and he turned to that surpassingly beautiful romance,
"Lady Geraldine's Courtship."
Ronald was one of those rare readers gifted with the power of filling,
at pleasure, the poet's place, or of embodying the characters which he
delineated. The young artist's rich, sonorous voice; obeyed his will,
and was modulated to express every variety of emotion, while his
animated countenance glowed, flushed, paled, grew radiant or clouded,
with the scene he described. A master-spirit playing upon a thoroughly
comprehended instrument manifested itself in his rendition of the
author.
All eyes were riveted upon him as he read; he possessed in an eminent
degree the faculty of magnetizing his hearers, taking them captive for
the time being, and bearing them, as upon a rising or falling wave,
whither he would. As the tale progressed, the silence grew deeper, and,
save Ronald's voice, not a sound was to be heard, except, now and then,
a quickened breath and Bertha's low sobbing; for she wept as though
Bertram had been one whom she had known.
Mrs. Walton's eyes had been fixed upon her son, with an expression of
ineffable soul-drawn delight; but, just before the poem drew to a close,
they stole around the circle to note the effect produced by his masterly
reading upon others. Every face mirrored such emotions as the poem might
have awakened in minds capable of appreciating the noble and beautiful;
but by Madeleine's countenance she was forcibly struck; a marble pallor
overspread her visage, her eyes were strangely dilated and filled with
moisture; if the lids for a moment had closed, the "silver tears" must
have run down her cheeks as freely as ran Lady Geraldine's; but, when
Ronald came to that passage where Lady Geraldine thrills Bertram with
joy by the confession that it was him whom she loved,--though he had
never divined that love,--him only! Madeleine's lips quivered, and, with
a sudden impulse, which defied control, she covered her face with her
hands as though she dreaded that her heart might be perused in her
countenance. It was an involuntary action, repented of as soon as made,
for she withdrew the hands immediately, but the spontaneous movement
spoke volumes.
As Mrs. Walton watched her, a sudden flash of _clairvoyance_ revealed a
portion of the truth, and she ejaculated, mentally,--
"The man whom Madeleine loves is unaware of her love, as Bertram was of
Lady Geraldine's."
This suggestion, born in the under-current of her thoughts, floated
constantly to the surface awaiting confirmation. If her belief were
well-grounded, one step was taken toward fathoming the secret which
Madeleine had doubtless some motive for preserving, but which Mrs.
Walton's sympathies with Maurice made her earnestly desire to bring to
light. Madeleine might have conceived a passion for one whom she would
never more meet, or for one who was unconscious of her preference,
though that seemed hardly possible.
Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Walton would have been one of the last
persons to take an active part in searching out the hidden springs of
any human actions; but she was so deeply interested, both in Maurice and
Madeleine, that a strong desire to be of service to them made her break
one of the rules of her life. A wise rule, perhaps, so far as it frees
one from responsibility, yet a rule which generous and impulsive spirits
will often disregard in the hope of wafting into a drooping sail some
favorable breeze that will send the ship toward a wished-for port.
It chanced the very next day, when Mrs. Walton was visiting Madeleine,
that the latter was summoned away, and as she left the room, she said,--
"I will not be long absent; here are books with which I hope you can
amuse yourself."
They had been sitting in Madeleine's boudoir; Mrs. Walton's chair was
close to Madeleine's desk; upon the desk lay several volumes, probably
those which had been last in use. Mrs. Walton made a haphazard
selection, and took up a little sketch-book. Her interest was quickly
awakened when she found that it contained sketches which were doubtless
Madeleine's own. There was the château of Count Tristan de Gramont at
Rennes, and the memorable little _châlet_--the château of the Marquis de
Merrivale, and sketches of other localities in her native land, of which
she had thus preserved the memory. Then followed fancy groups, composed
of various figures, apparently illustrative of scenes from books; but
Mrs. Walton could not be certain of the unexplained subjects.
One familiar face struck her,--a most perfect likeness of Maurice,--it
was unmistakable. Prominent in every group, though in different
attitudes and costumes, was that one figure. Maurice,--still Maurice,
throughout the book. Mrs. Walton was pondering upon this singular
discovery when Madeleine entered.
She flushed crimson when she saw the volume her visitor was examining,
and said, in a confused tone, taking the book from Mrs. Walton's
hands,--
"I thought I had locked this book in my desk; how could I have left it
about? It only contains old sketches of remembered places, and similar
trifles, not worth your contemplation."
"I found them very beautiful," replied Mrs. Walton, "and the likenesses
of Maurice are perfect."
"Of Maurice?" was all that Madeleine could say, her agitation increasing
every moment.
"Yes, I could not understand the subjects, but his face and form are
admirably depicted. You have a true talent for making portraits."
Madeleine could not answer, but as Mrs. Walton glanced at her conscious
and troubled countenance, woman's instinct whispered, "It is Maurice
whom she loves."