Paul Montaigne made Ruth shudder with a look, and told her aunts that
they had only to wait, for Lord Henry would again propose.
He was right.
"If your aunts did not object, Marie, it is a delicious evening for a
stroll round the Gardens," said Lord Henry Moorpark, as they stood in
the drawing-room looking at the black shadow cast by the full moon
across the little court where the jets of water gurgled and plashed, and
the few gold-fish sailed round and round, gaping and staring with their
protuberant eyes like so many Elbrahams running their mill-horse round
in the search for wealth.
"I don't think I should object, sister, if Marie would like to go," said
the Honourable Philippa.
"I do not think I should mind, sister," said the Honourable Isabella.
"And besides, Joseph might walk behind them, as he does when we go for a
walk."
"Joseph will be busy," said the Honourable Philippa tartly. "Ruth dear,
would you like to accompany your cousin?"
"If you would excuse me, aunt, I should prefer to stay," said Ruth
humbly, and with a lively recollection of the snubbing she had once
received for eagerly embracing a similar offer.
"Would dear Lord Henry mind taking Marie unaccompanied by anyone else?"
said the Honourable Philippa; and Lord Henry said he should only be too
charmed to take her alone.
Marie had been sitting with a half-contemptuous smile upon her lip, but
as Lord Henry turned to her she rose and left the room, to return
shortly with a large scarf thrown over her head and round her neck.
The old man gazed wistfully at the beautiful figure, and uttered a low
sigh. Then, rising, the couple left the room, Lord Henry saying that
they would not be long; and, descending, they crossed the court and made
their way into the gardens, confining themselves first to the broader
walks, talking of the beauty of the night, the lovely effects of light
and shadow in the formal old place, whose closely-clipped angularity was
softened by the night.
Marie said but little, listening in a quiet, contented frame of mind
while Lord Henry made comparisons between the gardens and park and those
of Versailles, Fontainebleau, and other places he had visited abroad.
"You would like to travel, would you not?" he said, looking at her
inquiringly.
"I used to think it would be one of the greatest joys of existence," she
replied; "but somehow of late I have felt content to stay as I am."
"Always?" he said sadly.
"Yes. I don't know.--Lord Henry," she whispered, in a quick, agitated
manner, "take me away from here. Let us go back."
He was startled by her energy, and for the first time saw that they were
not alone, for there in the bright moonlight were a couple of officers
sauntering along, evidently in ignorance of the proximity of Lord Henry
and his companion.
"Do you wish Captain Glen to see you, Marie?" said Lord Henry, with a
shade of bitterness in his voice.
"Why do you ask me that?" she retorted.
"You see," he replied coldly, "we are in the shadow, and if we remain
here they will pass on without noticing us."
"Let us stay," she said; and they remained upon the velvet turf beneath
a row of limes whose shadow was perfectly black; and as they rested
silent and watchful there, they saw the two young men pass slowly in the
silvery moonlight, talking carelessly till they were out of sight.
"Youth against age," mused Lord Henry, as he stood gazing after the
young officers. "Why am I so weak as to cling to this silly sentiment?
At my time of life I should be a wiser man. I visit, I talk, I bring
her presents, I pour before her all that is rich in an old man's love,
and she is kind and gentle, but unmoved. Then comes youth, and his
presence even at a distance works a change in her such as I have never
seen when I have tried my best to win her regard. Ah well! I should
respect her the more for her honesty. Our hearts are not our own, and,
poor child! she loves him still."
He started from his reverie to see that Marie was standing beside him,
gazing along the broad path at whose end the officers had disappeared.
"Marie," he said softly; and he took her hand, but she did not move, and
the hand was very cold.
"Marie," he said again; and she started back into the present.
"Lord Henry!" she faltered.
"We are alone here, my child, and I can speak to you plainly. You know
how long and well I have loved you. Let me tell you now that the old
man's love is stronger and truer than ever, but it is blended with
something better, and is richer than it was before. Marie, my child, I
would give all I possess--yes, even the last few years of my life--to
see you happy. Shall I try to make your life a happy one?"
She looked at him calmly, and laid her other hand upon his as he clasped
her right.
"Yes, Lord Henry," she said, "if you will."
"I will, my child," he said earnestly. "God giving me strength, I will
do all I can to make you happy."
"Thank you," she said.
"The scene on that dreadful night, my child, has lever been cleared up.
You have never fairly heard ill. You love Captain Glen still, and he
may have a very good defence for what we unfortunately saw. Shall I
fetch him back to you now? I will be as our father, as his judge; and
if I say he can give a satisfactory explanation, you shall forgive him."
Marie had misunderstood him at first, but now his words were clear, and
she started from him in passionate anger.
"See him--speak to him--listen to his perjuries gain--never!" she cried.
"Take me home. No words of his could ever undo the past."
"Be calm, my child," he whispered, "and listen, his young heart beats
for him still. Let me fetch him. There may be grounds for forgiveness
even now."
"Lord Henry!"
"Appearances are deceitful," he said, interrupting her. "Let me try to
make you happy. Believe me, I have your welfare so at heart that I
would sacrifice myself for your sake."
She grew calmer as she listened to his words, and when he had ended,
laid her hand again in his.
"You do not know me yet," she said softly. "I will speak out now
without fear and shame. I did love him, Lord Henry. Heaven knows how
dearly I loved him when he passed me over for my sister; and when she
treated him so heartlessly, my love for him seemed to grow the stronger.
When he turned to me at last, I thought that life would be one long day
of joy."
She paused, and Lord Henry watched her with a growing reverence in his
face.
"Then came that dreadful night," she continued, "and all was at an end.
The old love is dead, Lord Henry, and what you have seen to-night was
but the agitation such a meeting would produce. Take me home now--take
me home."
"No," he said tenderly; "you are agitated, my child. Let us walk a
little longer. Marie," he continued, as he held her hand in his, and
made no attempt to move, "I once asked you to be an old man's wife. I
told you to-night how your happiness is mine. Forgive me if I ask you
again--ask you to give me the right to protect you against the world,
and while I remain here to devote my life to making yours glide happily,
restfully on. Am I mad in asking this of you once more?"
She did not answer for some moments, but when she did she laid her other
hand in his, and suffered him to draw her nearer to him till her head
rested upon his shoulder.
Marie went straight back to her room and sat down to think, with her
face buried in her hands, till she felt them touched, when she started
up, and found her cousin gazing at her questioningly. She told Ruth
all, the communication almost resulting in a quarrel, for the girl had
fired up and accused her of cruelty.
"You are condemning him and yourself to misery," she cried, "and I will
speak. Oh, Marie, Marie! undo all this; I am sure that some day you
will be sorry for it."
"You foolish child," said Marie, kissing her affectionately. "Oh,
Ruthy, I wish we had known more of each other's hearts. You are so good
in your disposition that you judge the world according to your own
standard."
"Oh no, no, I do not!" cried Ruth. "I only speak because I am sure
Captain Glen is too good and honest a gentleman to behave as you have
said."
"Perhaps so," said Marie coldly, as she caressed and smoothed Ruth's
beautiful hair. "But you must not let this advocacy of yours win you
too much to Captain Glen's side."
"What do you mean?" cried Ruth, flushing.
"I mean that he is not to be trusted, and that it would be a severe blow
to me if I found that you had been listening to him, as might be the
case, when I am not near to take care of and protect you."
"Oh, pray. Marie!" cried Ruth, with her face like crimson, "don't talk
like that. Oh no, no! I could never think of anyone like that if he
had been your lover, Marie, which he is."
"Clotilde's lover--my lover--your lover--any handsome woman's lover.
Oh! Ruthie!" said Marie scornfully, "let us be too womanly to give him
even a second thought. There, it is all over. Dear Lord Henry was so
tender and kind to me," she continued lightly. "He was as bad as you,
though, at first."
"How as bad as I?" said Ruth.
"He wanted to fetch that man to give place to him. To make me happy, he
said."
"There!" cried Ruth excitedly; "and he is right. Lord Henry is so wise
and good, and he must know."
"He is one of the best and noblest of gentlemen," said Marie, throwing
back her head and speaking proudly, "and I'll try to make him the truest
and best of wives."
"But, oh, Marie! don't be angry with me, dear," cried Ruth, clinging to
her; "think a moment. Suppose--suppose you should find out afterwards
that you had misjudged Captain Glen."
"Hush!" cried Marie; and her face looked so fierce and stern that Ruth
shrank from her. "Never speak to me again like that. I tell you, it is
dead now--my love for him is dead. You insult me by mentioning his name
to Lord Henry's affianced wife."
Ruth crept back to her to place her arms tenderly round her neck, and
nestle in the proud woman's breast.
"I do love you, Marie," she said tenderly; "and I pray for your future.
May you, dear, be very, very happy!"
"I shall be," said Marie proudly; "for I am to marry one whom I can
esteem, and whom I shall try to love."
Ruth wept softly upon her cousin's breast for a few minutes, and then
started from her and wiped away her tears, for there were footsteps on
the stairs.
The reign of coldness was at an end, and the honourable sisters had
their hearts set at rest by the announcement Lord Henry had been making
to them below.
He had sat for some time in silence, and the subject was too delicate
for the ladies to approach. They had been about to summon Marie to
return, but he had smiled, and suggested that she should be left to
herself.
Then the Honourable Philippa's heart had sunk, so had the heart of the
Honourable Isabella, whose mind was in a paradoxical state, for she
longed to see and hear that Captain Glen was happy; and to have added to
his happiness she would have given him Marie's hand at any moment, but
at the same time it made her tremble, and the tears rose to her dim eyes
whenever she dwelt upon the possibility of another becoming his wife.
A pause had followed, during which Lord Henry had rested his elbow upon
the table and his head upon his hand, and there, with the tears hanging
on the lashes of his half-closed eyes, and as if in ignorance of the
presence of the sisters, he sat thinking dreamily, and smiling softly at
the vacancy before him in the gloomy room.
The Honourable Philippa felt that her hopes had been once more dashed,
and that Lord Henry had that night proposed and been refused.
"May I send you some tea, Lord Henry?" she said faintly.
"I beg your pardon, dear Miss Philippa, dear Miss Isabella," he cried,
starting up with a sweet smile upon his face and the weak tears in his
eyes. "I was so overpowered by the enjoyment of my own selfish
happiness that I could think of nothing else."
"Happiness?" faltered the Honourable Philippa; and her sister's hand
trembled about her waist as if she were busily trying to unpick the
gathers of her antique poplin gown.
"Yes, my dear ladies," he said, "happiness!" and he took and kissed in
turn their trembling hands. "Our dear Marie has accepted me, and with
your consent, as I am growing an old man fast, and time is short, we
will be married quietly almost at once."
The Honourable Philippa sank back agitated _a la mode_. The Honourable
Isabella sank back feeling really faint and with a strange fluttering at
her heart, for, like some mad dream, the idea would come that, now his
suit with Marie was perfectly hopeless, Captain Glen might yet say sweet
words to her.
It was a mad dream, but it lasted for some hours. It lasted till after
Lord Henry had bade them affectionately farewell, and they had gone up
to the young girls' room, and Marie had been kissed and blessed with
prayers for her happiness.
It lasted, too, until the honourable sisters had retired for the night;
and somehow the joyous feeling of hope that had been deferred so long
would keep rising brighter and brighter in the Honourable Isabella's
breast. By the light of that hope she saw the manly, handsome face of
Marcus Glen smiling upon her, as he came and told her that it was not
too late even now, and that Ninon de l'Enclos was quite venerable when
she loved.
It was very pleasant, and an unwonted flush burned in her face--just
such a flush as appeared there when she tried some of that peculiar
white paste belonging to Lady Anna Maria Morton, which, applied to the
cheeks, turned them of a peachy red.
"It is very foolish of me," she murmured, in quite a cooing voice; "but
I don't know: Lady Anna Maria is going to be married to a young and
handsome husband, so why should not I?"
Poor little lady! She was finishing her night toilet as she thought all
this, and then it was time to put out the lights.
There were two--an unwonted extravagance--burning, one on either side of
the little old-fashioned toilet-glass, and with a smile of satisfaction
she paused to look at herself before extinguishing the candles.
There was but little vanity in her composition, and it left room for a
great deal of latent affection. As she gazed into the old glass the
extinguisher dropped from her hand; she uttered a pitiful cry, and sank
into a chair sobbing and bewailing her lost youth.
"No, no, no!" she sobbed; "he could never love such a dreadful thing as
that!" And as she sat there the candles burned down, one to drop out at
once, the other to flicker and dance in a ghostly way, but the
Honourable Isabella heeded it not, for she was assisting at the
interment of her love.
"He could never love such a one as I," she said to herself; and as she
sat there in the cold and darkness, her thin hands pressed one upon the
other, her heart seemed to ask her who there was for Captain Glen to
love; and as she asked herself the question the soft, innocent face of
Ruth rose before her, and seemed to be looking gently and kindly in her
eyes as she dropped asleep.
Volume 3, Chapter VI.