Gladys, the Reaper Part 62

With his eyes fixed on the quickly vanis.h.i.+ng form of Gladys, how was he to see the gnarled root of an oak, that sprung up through the ground, directly in his path? His foot caught in it, and he fell with considerable violence upon his face. He got up again as quickly as he could, cursing his carelessness and folly.

He felt that he had knocked his somewhat prominent nose rather severely, and to his great dismay, found that it was bleeding copiously.

All further pursuit was out of the question. He must staunch the blood of the much-offending member, and being rather giddy for the moment, sat down to do so.

It is said that any sudden and violent blow sobers a drunkard; so did this unforeseen fall sober the mental intoxication of the colonel. As his nose bled, so did his intellect clear. Bleeding, on the old system, was never more successful.

This was truly a descent, if not from the sublime, at least from the heroic, to the ridiculous. Panting with heat, bleeding, apostrophising, the lover came to his senses.

Partly aloud, at intervals, partly muttered between his teeth, he gave forth the following sentences; and when he became calm he thought the subsequent thoughts, which, although he did not rail them forth against the rooks and smaller birds, we will venture to repeat, for the further elucidating the mystery of his mind.

'Fool to let go her arm! No; fool to take it at all! What a girl! I never saw such--pho! How it bleeds! Will it never stop! They'll think there's been a murder here. What could possess me to run after her? A rustic coquette! Rustic! No; a most courtly one. She had me fairly in her power. But she has too much sense to tell. 'Pon my word, I never loved any one so much before. Disgusting! All over my cravat. If I were to meet any one? If Freda were to see me, what would she think or say?

And I actually talked of marriage. Let me see; what did I say? But n.o.body could believe her. Pshaw! what a fool I have been. Suppose she had taken me at my word, and accepted me, I wonder how I could have got out of it! There is such a power in her eyes, that as long as I am looking at them she could make me do anything. I wish she was the heiress, and not Miss Nugent. Yes; and I shall be too late for dinner.

What will they think? I vow, I am so giddy I can scarcely walk; and this horrible bleeding won't stop. I must stuff this bunch of keys down my back, and see what that will do. Well! if that isn't enough to cool any one's courage, together with this disgusting--I must go on, and get into my room as quickly as possible. I vow, it is just six o'clock. If she tells Freda! But she won't do that--no woman ever does. She'll think it over, and manage to let me see her again--and then--and then--I shall not be able to resist her eyes, and she shall not be able to resist mine. The witch! A mere servant to do what no woman ever has done, or ever would do--positively refuse me. But she knows her power, I daresay.

There it is bleeding again, and I thought I had stopped it. I am just at home though, and if I go round by the stables no one can make any remarks. Confound this--here's the coachman in full hue and cry after me. Yes, I will dress directly. Thomas! tell your master not to wait.

The heat has made my nose bleed, and detained me. If he and Miss Gwynne will go on, you can drive back for me, and I shall be in time for the ball. Beg them to make my excuses to Lady Mary Nugent, and explain how it is. You are quite right. It has bled tremendously; but I shall stop it as soon as I get to my room.'

It need not be said that the concluding portion of Colonel Vaughan's speech was addressed to a servant, who came in search of him with the intelligence that the carriage was waiting, and his master ready. He managed to get to his room, however, unperceived, where we will leave him to dress and recover himself at his leisure.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

THE RIVALS.

We will now return to Miss Gwynne, who pursued her usual avocations until about five o'clock, and then began to wonder what detained Gladys. However, as she was quite independent of maids in her toilette, she went to her room and began to dress herself at the usual hour. She found all her attire already spread upon the bed, as if Gladys antic.i.p.ated being late; nothing was wanting, and she had nothing to do but to dress.

As it happened, however, she was particularly anxious to look her best that evening; why, she would not even ask herself; but she, who was usually careless of what she wore, provided she were properly attired, began to fidget over wreaths and ornaments as if she were going to her first ball.

'Miss Nugent will be all jewels,' she said, taking up a set of pearls that was on the dressing-table. 'At any rate, I will not be like her.

And, of course, she will wear white, so I shall change my mind and won't wear white. Where is Gladys? The only evening I ever really wanted her, she is out of the way.'

Miss Gwynne rang her bell violently, and the housemaid answered it.

'Send Gladys. Surely she is come back.'

'No, ma'am. I can't think where she is. I went a little way to look for her, but she is not in sight. Can I do anything, ma'am?'

'No, thank you; but send Gladys as soon as she comes. Provoking,'

continued Miss Gwynne, turning out two or three shelves of a large wardrobe. 'Where are the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs of that blue dress? He said I looked best in blue, and so, I think, I do. That wreath of blue forget-me-nots and lilies of the valley, where in the world is it? But forget-me-nots are so ridiculously sentimental; and the turquoise ornaments? I suppose I must wear the bracelets and locket. Oh! here they are; and here are the flowers and tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs in a box, in the neatest possible order.'

Miss Gwynne began to arrange her hair.

'I declare I have forgotten how to do anything since Gladys has been with me. I cannot put up this braid neatly. I must wait, and it is nearly six o'clock, and dinner at half-past. What does it matter how I look? I daresay Miss Nugent will look twenty times as well, and her mother will dress her up to perfection. But he _cannot_ care for such a girl as that. It is impossible; and he always looks at me with such interest, and has such a kind manner, and says things that convey so much. But if he really cares for me, why does he not say so? He knows papa would consent, and--but he does not know that; I never--Ah! here she is at last! Come in! Where have you been, Gladys? It really is too provoking that you should have stayed so long, when you knew that I particularly wanted you to-day.' Gladys enters the room pale and breathless, just as Miss Gwynne is endeavouring to fasten in the wreath of forget-me-nots and lilies. She does not turn round, and is at the moment too much engrossed with her own appearance to think of Gladys.

'Come quickly and finish my hair, and put in this wreath. We ought to be starting now.'

Gladys obeys without speaking, and steadying her nerves and fingers as best she may, begins to arrange a most elegant and becoming wreath round her young mistress's head. Whilst she does this, and afterwards dresses her and fastens on the turquoise ornaments, she endeavours to collect her thoughts, and to summon courage for what she has resolved to do and say.

Gladys has long known Miss Gwynne's secret; as she discovered that she did not care for Rowland, so she has found out that she cares over much for Colonel Vaughan. She now knows that he is not worthy of her, and that if he should ever ask her to marry him, it would be that he might gain possession of Clanyravon, and not of the warm, sincere heart of its mistress. Gladys feels sure that a man who could say such words as Colonel Vaughan said to her, whether meant seriously or not, could not be worthy of Miss Gwynne; and she determines to open that young lady's eyes to the real state of his mind, even if she loses her favour for ever by so doing.

'I shall save her,' thinks Gladys, 'if I ruin my own happiness.'

When the dressing is completed, Freda stands before a cheval gla.s.s to see that all is right. Gladys has never before seen her examine every portion of her attire so minutely, or look so satisfied with the survey.

In truth she never before saw her look so handsome, or so perfectly well dressed. The full, light, many-skirted blue dress, with its bouquets of forget-me-nots and lilies, its fringes and ribbons, suits so well the fine complexion of the very distinguished-looking girl who wears it--whilst the wreath slightly crowns the well-shaped head, and falls gracefully down the neck and back in becoming simplicity and elegance.

Poor Freda! She has more colour than usual, more animation in her eyes, and more anxiety at her heart. Were she to a.n.a.lyse her feelings, she would thoroughly despise herself for the envy, vanity, and distrust she would find in them, and think herself unworthy of the name of woman for allowing herself to study to gain the attentions of any man who might feel disposed to give them to another. But her pride is for a time swamped in her weakness; and the hitherto haughty and unsuspectible Miss Gwynne is no better than the most sentimental of school girls.

Whilst Gladys is putting the last pin into the dress, and Freda is still watching her own shadow, there is a knock at the door.

'Make haste, Gladys. The carriage, I suppose. Come in,' says Freda.

'Mr Gwynne wishes to know, ma'am, whether you have seen Colonel Vaughan, or whether he intends dressing at Pentre?' asks the servant who opens the door.

'I have not seen him since the morning, and do not know what he means to do,' is the reply. 'Did you see anything of him when you were out, Gladys?' continues Miss Gwynne, after the servant has left the room.

As she makes the inquiry, she, for the first time catches the reflection of Gladys' face in the gla.s.s, and is struck with its unusual pallor. She turns quickly and looks at the girl.

'What is the matter, Gladys? Something must have happened? It must have something to do with Colonel Vaughan. Did you see him? Speak.'

'Yes, ma'am, I saw him in the wood.'

'And is that the reason you are looking so frightened? What has happened to him? Speak, I say, or I must ring the bell and send some one in search of him.'

With her usual impetuosity, Freda's hand was on the bell. Gladys exclaimed quickly,--

'Do not ring, Miss Gwynne. I can tell you all I know. Nothing has happened to injure Colonel Vaughan, bodily at least'

'What do you mean, girl?' said Miss Gwynne, turning round again and facing Gladys.

Gladys stood before her mistress with clasped hands, heaving breast, quivering lips, and downcast eyes. She tried to summon courage and words, but neither would come. How could she crush the love and hopes of one so dear to her? her benefactress, her all? But it must be done.

With one great effort she began, and in as few words as possible, without comment or gloss, related what had pa.s.sed between her and Colonel Vaughan. She told all, as nearly as she could remember, in his own words, merely omitting what he said about Miss Gwynne.

As she spoke, she felt like a culprit before a judge, who, though conscious of his innocence, has not courage to meet the glance of him on whom his fate depends. But not on her own account had she that throbbing fear at her heart; she felt for her mistress alone.

That mistress stood erect, towering above the drooping girl, like a queen above a slave or suppliant. Red and pale by turns, with compressed lips and flas.h.i.+ng eyes, she listened to the tale.

When it was finished, she, too, strove for words, but none came; so she laughed a short, sarcastic laugh, and moved back a few paces. At last,--

'Why do you tell me this ridiculous tale? Have you no better confidante for such absurd imaginations? You have dreamt it, Gladys. I do not believe you. Go!'

Gladys gave one penetrating, truthful look at her mistress, before which the defiant glance fell: but the rigid features alarmed her, and she would fain have remained, had not another. 'Go! I do not want you any longer!' sent her at once from the room.

When Gladys was gone, Miss Gwynne sat down upon the nearest chair, and covered her face with her hands.