The days glided on, with the younger sisters wondering at the change
that had taken place, for everything now seemed to be done with an idea
to their comfort.
Mr Montaigne called, according to his custom, pretty frequently, and he
was quite affectionate in his ways. He and the Honourable Misses Dymcox
had long conversations together, after which he used to go, seeming to
bless Clotilde and Marie, he was so paternal and gentle--Ruth obtaining,
too, her share of his benevolent smiles.
Then, after a good deal of waiting, came a time when Clotilde met Glen
alone. The latter did not know that he had Dick to thank for the
arrangement; but he it was who made the suggestion to Clotilde, by whom
the idea was seized at once, and the very next morning she proposed that
Marie and she should have a walk in the gardens directly after
breakfast.
"My head aches a good deal, aunties, and a walk will do it good."
Miss Philippa looked at her sister, and Miss Isabella returned the look.
"Well, my dears, as it is far too early for anyone to be down from
London," said Miss Philippa, "I think you might go, don't you, sister?"
"Yes, decidedly," said Miss Isabella; and the young ladies went up to
dress, Markes entering the bedroom as they prepared for their walk.
"But you two ain't going alone?" said the maid.
"Indeed but we are, Markes," retorted Clotilde.
"But not without your aunts?"
"Yes, of course. How absurd you are!"
"Well, things is coming to a pretty pass! I couldn't have believed it
if I'd been told."
She went out, and, according to her custom, slammed the door, but it was
not heeded now; and soon after, with the affectionate kisses of their
aunts moist upon their cheeks, the two girls strolled along one of the
paths in the direction of the Lion Gate.
For a time they were very silent, but at last, after two or three
sidelong glances at Marie, Clotilde opened the ball.
"Well, dear," she said, "what do you think of it?"
Marie remained silent.
"For my part," continued Clotilde, "I think it horrible. It's like
being sold into a seraglio. I won't have him."
"Then why did you accept that bracelet?" exclaimed Marie sharply.
"Because it was very beautiful, my dear sister; because I only had a
wretchedly common _porte bonheur_; and, lastly, because it was of
diamonds, and I liked it."
"But it was like telling the man you would have him."
"Then why did you accept that pearl ring Lord Henry sent you, sweet
sissy?"
"For the same reason--because I liked it," said Marie bitterly; "but
I've hated myself ever since."
"It's a pity they are so old," said Clotilde. "It would be very nice if
they were not, for I like the idea of having plenty of good things, and
being able to spend as much money as I like. Why, Rie," she exclaimed,
"let's have a run through the Maze. We haven't been since we were quite
little children."
"Nonsense! absurd!"
"Never mind; let's be absurd for once. There will be no one there so
soon as this. I shall go; you can stay away if you like."
With a quiet, disdainful look, Marie followed her sister, and carelessly
began with her threading the devious course through the quaint old
labyrinth.
"How ridiculous of you, Clo!" she said at last. "There is not a breath
of air, and it is growing terribly hot. Come back, there is someone
here."
"Very well; come back, then," said Clotilde. "This way, Rie."
"No; that is not the path."
"Yes it is. I'm sure it is; and--oh, how strange! Here are those two."
Marie's cheeks crimsoned as she found that they had come suddenly upon
the two officers. That it was a planned thing she was sure; but this
was not the time to resent it, and she returned the salutations with
which she was greeted, making up her mind that she would keep close to
Clotilde the whole time, and prevent a _tete-a-tete_.
But such a determination would have been difficult to carry out in the
gardens, when three people were arrayed dead against her. In a maze it
was simply impossible; and the guide was not there.
She never knew how or when they were separated, but all at once she and
Dick were on one side of a hedge, and Clotilde and Glen on the other,
and when the boy laughingly tried to put matters right, he did it so
cleverly that they were soon two hedges separate; then three, and likely
to be four; by which time, forgetful of all his scrupulous feelings, and
Clotilde's want of perfection in his eyes, Glen had clasped her to his
heart with a deep, low "My darling, at last!"
"Oh, no, no, no, Marcus," she sobbed, as she gently thrust him away, and
then clung to his arm, gazing piteously up at him the while. "You must
not. I ought not to let you. I feel so wicked and despairing I hardly
care to live."
"But why, my darling--my beautiful darling?" he whispered passionately,
contenting himself now with holding her hands.
"Because this is so wrong. My aunts would never forgive me if they
knew."
"That is what I want to speak about, dearest," he said, in a low voice,
as he drew her arm through his and they walked on. "May I speak to
them? Let me call and ask their permission to come freely and openly to
the apartments. I am only a poor suitor, Clotilde--only a captain of
cavalry, with very little beside his pay; but you will not despise me
for that?"
"For what?" she cried innocently, as she gazed up into his face.
"For my want of money," he said, smiling down, and longing to clasp her
once more in his arms.
"I hardly know what money is," she said quietly. "We have never had
any; so why should I care for that?"
"Then I may speak?" he whispered. "I may be better off by-and-by, and
we can wait."
"Oh yes, we could wait," sighed Clotilde. "But no--no--no, it is
madness! I ought not to talk like this. I've been very weak and
foolish, and I don't know what you must think of me."
"Think of you!" he whispered; "that you are all that is beautiful and
innocent and good, and that I love you with all my heart."
"But I'm not good," faltered Clotilde; "I'm very wicked indeed, and I
don't know what will become of me; I don't, really."
"Become the woman who will share my fate--the woman I shall make my
idol. Clotilde, I never saw one I could sincerely say such things to
till we met, and at one bound my heart seemed to go out to meet you.
Tell me, my darling, that nothing shall separate us now."
"Oh, don't, pray don't speak to me like that," sighed Clotilde. "You
don't know--you can't know. What shall I do?"
"My dear girl, tell me," he whispered, as he gazed in her wild eyes.
"Oh, no, no!" she sobbed.
"Not give your confidence to one who loves you as I do?"
"I dare not tell you--yes, I will," she cried piteously. "What shall I
do? My aunts say that I must marry Mr Elbraham."
"Then Millet was right," cried Glen excitedly. "But no, no, my darling,
it cannot--it shall not be. Only tell me you love me--that I may care
for you--guard you--defend you, and no aunts or Elbrahams in the world
shall separate us."
"I--I think--I believe I do care for you," she faltered, as she looked
up at him in a piteous, pleading way.
"Heaven bless you, sweet!" he cried. "Then this very day I will see
them. They are women, and will listen to reason. I will plead to them,
and you shall help me."
"Oh, no, no, no!" cried Clotilde in horrified tones. "That would be to
separate us for ever, and--and--and," she sobbed, "I could not bear
that."
"But surely"--he began.
"Oh, you do not know my aunts!" she said excitedly. "It would only be
to force me into that dreadful man's arms. We must not let them know.
It would be too dreadful."
"But, my darling, I think I could show them--"
"No, no! Don't show them--don't try to show them, if you love me!"
"If I love you!" he said reproachfully.
"Then pray--pray keep it secret," she said imploringly, "for the
present."
"But I must see you--I must talk to you."
"Yes, yes; you shall sometimes. But if they thought you spoke to me as
you have, I should never see you again."
"But what am I to do?" he pleaded.
"You may write to me sometimes," she said ingenuously; "and sometimes,
perhaps, we may meet."
"But--"
"Hush! No more now. Oh, pray--pray--pray! Here is sister Marie."
Glen did not notice it, but Clotilde recovered her calmness very
rapidly, as, after a very awkward time spent in trying hard to keep her
from joining the others, Marie found out the way for herself, and
snubbed Dick so sharply that he came up with her looking exceedingly
rueful, and telling himself that the sacrifice he had made to friendship
was far too great, and that he ought to have kept to Clotilde.
"Why, Marie," exclaimed the latter, "where have you been?"
Marie did not reply, only darted an angry glance at her sister, and then
one full of scorn at Glen, who made a sign to Millet, one which the
little fellow eagerly obeyed, going on with Clotilde, while Glen
lingered behind with Marie.
"I am not so blind or so foolish as not to see that you are displeased
with my attentions to your sister," he said in a low voice, which made
her thrill with pleasure, in spite of the jealous anger she felt. "Yes,
you need not tell me," he continued, meeting her eyes. "But come, let
us be friends--more, let us be like brother and sister, for, believe me,
my feelings towards you are warmer than you think. I know that I am no
worthy match for your sister, but if love can make up for poverty--
there, you will not be angry with me, for I want you to be my ally."
Marie turned to him again to look scorn and anger, but as she met his
eyes her resolution failed, and it was all she could do to keep from
bursting into a passionate fit of sobbing.
"He loves her," she sobbed to herself; "and he cannot see her, he cannot
know her, as I do."
The next moment she was upbraiding herself with her own unworthiness,
while he was interpreting her silence into a more softened feeling
towards him; and when they parted a few minutes later, and he pressed
her hand, Marie felt that if he wished it she could become his slave,
while somehow Glen did not feel quite satisfied with his idol.
The sisters did not speak on their way back, while when they re-entered
the Palace their aunts were loud in praise of the animation their walk
had imparted to their countenances.
"Such news, my dears!" cried Miss Philippa.
"Such good news, my dears!" echoed Miss Isabella.
"Mr Elbraham is coming down to-day," said Miss Philippa.
"And he will drive Lord Henry Moorpark down in his phaeton."
"Yes, my sweet darlings," said Miss Philippa affectionately. "I think,
dears, I would sit quietly in the drawing-room all the morning."
"And go up just before lunch to dress."
"Yes, dears. Your new morning dresses have come home."
"Oh, have they, aunt dear?" cried Clotilde. "Come upstairs, then, at
once, Rie, and we'll try them on."
Volume 2, Chapter VI.