HE SEES HER.
Mr. Longcluse's attention was beginning to wander a little, and his eyes
were now busy in search of some one whom he had not found; and knowing
that the duration of people's stay at a garden-party is always
uncertain, and that some of those gaily-plumed birds who make the
flutter, and chirping, and brilliancy of the scene, hardly alight before
they take wing again, he began to fear that Alice Arden had gone.
"Just like my luck!" he thought bitterly; "and if she is gone, when
shall I have an opportunity of seeing her again?"
Lady Hummington's well-informed conversation had been, unheeded,
accompanying the ruminations and distractions of this "passionate
pilgrim;" and as they approached the door of the music-room, the little
crush there brought the learned lady's lips so near to his ear, that
with a little start he heard the words--"All strictly arithmetical, you
know, and adjusted by the relative frequency of vibrations. That theory,
I am sure, you approve, Mr. Longcluse."
To which the distracted lover made answer, "I quite agree with you, Lady
Hummington."
The music-room at Raleigh Court is an apartment of no great size, and
therefore when, with Lady Hummington on his arm, he entered, it was at
no great distance that he saw Miss Arden standing near the window, and
talking with an elderly gentleman, whose appearance he did not know, but
who seemed to be extremely interested in her conversation. She saw him,
he had not a doubt, for she turned a little quickly, and looked ever so
little more directly out at the window, and a very slight tinge flushed
her cheek. It was quite plain, he thought, and a dreadful pang stole
through his breast, that she did not choose to see him--quite plain that
she did see him--and he thought, from a subtle scrutiny of her beautiful
features, quite plain also that it gave her pain to meet without
acknowledging him.
Lady Hummington was conversing with volubility; but the air felt icy,
and there was a strange trembling at his heart, and this, in many
respects, hard man of the world, felt that the tears were on the point
of welling from his eyes. The struggle was but for a few moments, and he
seemed quite himself again. Lady Hummington wished to go to the end of
the room where the piano was, and the harmonium on which the organist
had performed his feat of the three tunes. That artist was taking his
departure, having a musical assignation of some kind to keep. But to
oblige Lady Hummington, who had heard of Thalberg's doing something of
the kind, he sat down and played an elaborate piece of music on the
piano with his thumbs only. This charming effort over, and applauded,
the performer took his departure. And Lady Hummington said--
"I am told, Mr. Longcluse, that you are a very good musician."
"A very indifferent performer, Lady Hummington."
"Lady May Penrose tells a very different tale."
"Lady May Penrose is too kind to be critical," said Longcluse; and as he
maintained this dialogue, his eye was observing every movement of Alice
Arden. She seemed, however, to have quite made up her mind to stand her
ground. There was a strange interest, to him, even in being in the same
room with her. Perhaps Miss Arden saw that Mr. Longcluse's movements
were dependent upon those of the lady whom he accompanied, and might
have thought that, the musician having departed, their stay in that room
would not be very long.
"I should be so glad to hear you sing, Mr. Longcluse," pursued Lady
Hummington. "You have been in the East, I think; have you any of the
Hindostanee songs? There are some, I have read, that embody the theories
of the Brahmin philosophy."
"Long-winded songs, I fancy," said Mr. Longcluse, laughing; "it is a
very voluminous philosophy, but the truth is, I've got a little cold,
and I should not like to make a bad impression so early."
"But surely there are some simple little things, without very much
compass, that would not distress you. How pretty those old English songs
are that they are collecting and publishing now! I mean songs of
Shakespeare's time--Ben Jonson's, Beaumont and Fletcher's, and
Massinger's, you know. Some of them are so extremely pretty!"
"Oh! yes, I'll sing you one of those with pleasure," said he with a
strange alacrity, quite forgetting his cold, sitting down at the
instrument, and striking two or three fierce chords.
I am sure that most of my readers are acquainted with that pretty old
English song, of the time of James the First, entitled, "Once I Loved a
Maiden Fair." That was the song he chose.
Never, perhaps, did he sing so well before, with a fluctuation of pathos
and scorn, tenderness and hatred, expressed with real dramatic fire, and
with more power of voice than at moments of less excitement he
possessed. He sang it with real passion, and produced, exactly where he
wished, a strange but unavowed sensation. He omitted one verse, and the
song as he delivered it was thus:--
"Once I loved a maiden fair,
But she did deceive me:
She with Venus could compare,
In my mind, believe me.
She was young, and among
All our maids the sweetest:
Now I say, Ah, well-a-day!
Brightest hopes are fleetest.
Maidens wavering and untrue
Many a heart have broken;
Sweetest lips the world e'er knew
Falsest words have spoken.
Fare thee well, faithless girl,
I'll not sorrow for thee:
Once I held thee dear as pearl,
Now I do abhor thee."
When he had finished the song, he said coldly, but very distinctly, as
he rose--
"I like that song, there is a melancholy psychology in it. It is a song
worthy of Shakespeare himself."
Lady Hummington urged him with an encore, but he was proof against her
entreaties. And so, after a little, she took Mr. Longcluse's arm; and
Alice felt relieved when the room was rid of them.