Miles Tremenhere Volume Ii Part 12

"Willingly, beneath my own eye," she replied.

"Not beyond?"

"No! Lady Dora might use her feline qualities upon you."

"Oh! I should little care," he answered pointedly, "to alter slightly the words of a talented, most unfortunate, and I believe most innocent woman, Madame Laffarge, if Lady Dora scratch me like a cat, so she will but love me like a dog."

There was a dead silence of a moment--Lady Dora interrupted it by an allusion to the first portion of his speech, not seeming to have noticed the latter.

"Do you believe Madame Laffarge was innocent?"

"I believe all so, till proved otherwise. There was no proof but presumptive evidence against her; and she was surrounded by deceit and enemies."

"Too often the case with many an innocent woman who has been falsely condemned!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lady Lysson, partially ignorant of Tremenhere's history.

Lady Dora blushed painfully. The conversation had glided imperceptibly into this channel--how stop the current?

"Right," he said calmly; "but in some cases a demon, or guilt alone, can collect this evidence. If we condemn, we do so innocently in the former case; and a.s.suredly full many a crown of martyrdom has been more lightly won, than a woman's, thus condemned, thus punished!"

Nothing seemed to touch him. Lady Dora had shuddered as this strange conversation commenced; for none there better than herself knew how much poor Minnie had suffered. She was lost in wonder at Tremenhere's sternness of heart; and yet, as a lioness loves her mate, so her proud, almost unwomanly nature, admired this man's, daily, more and more.

"We forget 'cat's cradle!'" he cried, almost boyishly. "Lady Lysson, behold my willing hands."

And, laughingly, that lady adjusted the silk on his fingers, and, drawing Lady Dora's trembling hand towards him, commenced the task of teaching them. Child's play is foolish for two who should not fall in love; for so much more is done in innocence, than the mature heart can calmly bear unmoved. People are thrown off their guard, and then some watchful sprite is sure to step in with his a.s.sistance. Lady Lysson taught them, and at last even Lady Dora laughingly joined in the caprice of a moment's childishness. Their fingers came in contact--(a thing much better avoided, where the woman's weakening heart needs every possible bulwark to keep out Love. He is very apt to glide into the citadel in a gentle pressure of thrilling joy; but if not accomplished the _first_ time, the besieged has nothing to fear; in these cases, "_ce n'est que le premier pas qui coute_")--and while puzzling unnecessarily over her silken entanglements, he found time to press her for another sitting for _Diane_ soon.

"Let it be to-morrow--shall it, Lady Dora?" he asked, as Lady Lysson drew her attention elsewhere, to scold 'Tiney,' who was tearing the leaves of a book dropped on the floor.

"Well, yes; to-morrow," uttered Lady Dora gently, as he held her hands imprisoned by the silken cord. She did not withdraw them, so he stooped, with the quiet gentleness peculiar to himself, and touched the prisoners with his lip. She started, but did not utter a word.

"You are tired of our child's play," he said; "let me release your hands. Lady Lysson, a thousand thanks for your teaching; you did well in cautioning me against it with Lady Dora--I shall remember it!" And rising, a glance fell on her, and this was scarcely more than one of respect and interest: shaking Lady Lysson warmly by the hand, he bowed merely to the other, and said--"Then to-morrow, Lady Dora, I may expect you?"

She bowed, and he quitted the room.

"What an exceedingly awkward turn the conversation took!" cried Lady Lysson as he left. "It was a most painful thing that affair about his wife, which has ever appeared involved, to me, in some strange mystery.

How was it, my dear? I asked Randolph about it before he quitted England, and he said Mr. Tremenhere was jealous of his own shadow; and this was all the satisfaction I received."

It will be seen Lady Lysson was totally ignorant of the relations.h.i.+p existing between Minnie and Lady Dora. Lord Randolph had, for his own sake, as a suitor to the latter, hushed it up as much as possible.

"There was something strange about it!" dropped from Lady Dora, with perfect self-possession; she was again herself.

"There must have been some indiscretion on her part," continued the other, even charitable as she was, "for they were separated some time before her unhappy death. I heard,"--here she lowered her voice--"that Randolph had flirted with her, and this excited Mr. Tremenhere's jealousy, and that subsequently he discovered a decided intrigue elsewhere, and shot, or dangerously wounded the lover. I admired him for it; for, though it may be wrong, 'tis more natural than a cold-blooded divorce and damages: it always seems to me like making a fortune of one's own dishonour!"

"I doubt whether Lord Randolph really were guilty of seeking the lady's dishonour," answered Lady Dora; though she _thought_ it herself, she would not admit any thing to another, so galling to her vanity.

"'My lord, beware of jealousy!'" quoted Lady Lysson laughing. "Don't be alarmed; a reformed rake makes the best husband, they say."

"I should be sorry to try one," was the dry rejoinder. "The reformation is too often skin deep, and they always make suspicious husbands, severe fathers--look around at all our neighbours!"

"But I defend Randolph from the charge of being one; he is a black swan," said his aunt.

"Oh, that example of a _rara avis_ is no longer orthodox!" cried the other smiling. "We have many specimens of them, and, to my thinking, they are over fond of seeking crumbs of comfort at the hands of the fair s.e.x, if we take for example those on the Serpentine, to make perfect, and exclusively loving mates."

"Come, I will not have a word against my Randolph, even _sous entendu_, in epigrams. I have set my heart on his subduing yours, and giving me a right to call you my dear niece."

"I thank you for the cordial wish, dear Lady Lysson; we shall see--_a propos_, I have promised Mr. Tremenhere a, sitting for _Le Diane_ to-morrow, will you accompany me?--or mamma?"

"Oh, I will, gladly! I delight in that man's society; and he is so very reserved towards women, so totally devoid of love-making, except _par badinage_--that one feels quite comfortable in cultivating the acquaintance--I speak as relates to you young marrying girls."

"Stop, stop Lady Lysson! you are too fascinating, too young at heart, to exclude yourself from love's attacks yet."

"My dear girl, I have played 'cat's cradle' once too often, ever to attempt it again. I could not unravel the very simplest;" she looked down and thought of "poor Lysson," as she ever termed him. Lady Dora looked down too, and began to think _she_ had played rather too earnestly _once_ at "cat's cradle," and would not resume it again.

CHAPTER XIII.

Tremenhere was in his studio alone--that is, free from living witnesses; but what crowding memories were around him! Here he was himself; not the man seeking oblivion of the past, in society with which he had no fellows.h.i.+p of soul, but the stern, sobered being, whose peace of mind seemed wrecked for ever, and on a rock so minute in appearance, as an "if!" Ever before him stood this word, blistering his eyesight.

Had he been _a.s.sured_ of Minnie's infidelity, nothing could have induced him to meet Lord Randolph; as it was, he had a feverish desire to see him, as though in his eyes, by some superhuman power, he could read the whole truth, and either cast her memory for ever from him, or else sit down with every thought of her, collected around him like household G.o.ds, on his hearth, and live with them, cherish them, and, stilling the beating of his heart, bid it break amidst them, like a shattered, valueless vase, whose rich essences were poured upon the ground.

"But she _was_ false!" he cried, pacing the floor with hasty steps.

"What fiend could ever have weaved together in one web, so much black evidence against her? And what a face she had to cover her lie with!

Who could have doubted her--her smile, her clear, seraphic eye! Minnie, 'twas madness to love as I did; and, far more than that, to lose you even, even _if_ you were false! Why could I not have closed my heart against all evidence? Why not have known sooner, that _nothing_ here is perfect! Her mad fancy pa.s.sed, she _might_ have loved me again--she _did_ love me once! Love me again!--love me again! and could I have waited for that love's return, as we watch the healthful glow coming back to the pale cheek we cherish? Oh no, no, no!--not _that_! To sit and watch the silent tear, to feel the form shrink from our kindly enfolding; and at last see repulsion become toleration--toleration, patience--patience, friends.h.i.+p, and the heart pause there? Oh no, no!

better ten thousand times separation and death!" He stopped, and then creeping silently across that large room, drew back a curtain hanging before a niche, and in this was a statue in marble. It was Minnie--Minnie in her desolation! The face was still, hopeless life; every feature perfection; but disenchantment sat over all, stealing away its life! She stood leaning against a broken pillar--fitting emblem of her fate. The forehead was pressed against the left arm; the heavy plaits of hair, as she had often worn them, looped down the side of her face, hung forward, shewing all the pale chiseling of that hopeless agony there depicted. The whole body denoted utter prostration; and the right arm drooped powerless at her side, holding by its stem a cup reversed! It was an inspiration of memory; and beneath, at its base, was inscribed, "Life's Chalice." It was one of those magically wrought creations which thrill the soul when we look upon them. Tremenhere stood with folded arms contemplating it.

"Night and day--night and day," he murmured, "have I pa.s.sed to complete my thought, my _dream_--for I dreamed I saw her thus; and how like it is! What is wanting? the spark of life to make it move and speak to me.

Speak to me! No, she would turn away, either in indifference, and love for another, or horror of me! Perhaps I have murdered her!" and the man's voice sank to a hollow whisper--"her, and her infant! Oh, if I have!" and the cold dew stood on his brow at the thought. "What a bitter reckoning there will be against me when they stand before heaven to condemn! Not only here, but hereafter! Never to find peace again, nor rest, nor happy thought? Oh! life is indeed a burthen; and death a terror!" He sank for some time in silent thought before her; then brus.h.i.+ng away the dew from his brow, and hastily drawing the curtain before the statue, he turned away. "Poor, weak fool!" he cried contemptuously, "I am not fit to be alone. She _was_ false--false to them, the nurses of her childhood--false to me, her loving husband--false to heaven! I will destroy all memory of her." He tore back the curtain, and raised his arm to do so--but the arm fell. "No,"

he said, turning away, "'tis a work of art--only that; only these have I to spur me over the mountains of sorrow, before I meet death--art and occupation, inactivity would be madness. And she, her cousin!" and he laughed aloud in scorn, "thinks I love her. That having loved Minnie, I could give even the memory of that affection so base a counterfeit!

Heartless, worldly, proud earth-worm!--only this! to place herself beside----But I will not dream of her! If that other had held in her veins one drop of human blood, she would have s.h.i.+elded, upheld, watched over _her_, and she had not been lost. I was too rude a guardian; I loved her with a lion's love, and the shrinking thing, in terror, sought refuge where words were soft, and the hand gentler; but the heart--the heart, his did not love like mine! Mine would have poured out its every drop of life's current, to spare one hair of her fair head from suffering.----I am growing weak--weak--womanly weak," and he moved feverishly about the room, whispering to himself, "I must shake this off, I have a part to play; I must avoid solitude, seek excitement; time may do much, bring oblivion, as it darkens the mental vision. _She_ will be here to-day--she who loves to entangle--to wanton with the insect awhile, and then crush it with her heel. Crush me!--me!!" and he laughed aloud. "I will bring her down, in her subdued pride, to acknowledge that she envies even the place in hatred, which her once despised cousin holds in my heart. I will bring her to marry another in hate, and love me in unloved bitterness, and be false to him--_if I will_. I will revenge Minnie, even though I cast her from me--_only I_ had a right to condemn and blast her." A bell sounded in the outer chamber. "'Tis she!"

he cried. "Not _here yet_; there is a spirit in the place--I have evoked it." And, hastily closing the door, he pa.s.sed into a _salon_ luxuriantly furnished.

In a moment more, Lady Dora entered in all the pride of her glowing, majestic beauty, set off to greater advantage by her mourning robes, which floated in mockery of woe around her--Lady Ripley accompanied her.

How false some positions are, in what's called society! Here were three persons, nearly allied, meeting as mere strangers, almost in coldness, without an allusion even to the past. Lady Ripley was gracious; her daughter strove by an unconstrained cordiality, where pride towered in majestic condescension, to seem perfectly indifferent, though Tremenhere smiled in his heart, as he read her well--his manner was so free from any significance of tone or look, so calm and unembarra.s.sed, that Lady Dora asked herself involuntarily, "Have I dreamed the past of yesterday?" and she felt humbled on reflecting how weary an hour she had pa.s.sed that morning, in schooling her looks and heart to meet, without betraying herself to him.

"You will scarcely pardon me, I fear," he said, "when I tell you, Lady Dora, that I had totally forgotten this engagement this morning, and was going to pa.s.s a morning at the Louvre."

"Oh, pray, do not let us detain you, Mr. Tremenhere!" she exclaimed haughtily. "I, too, had other engagements, but mamma wished me to come, having promised."

"You cannot doubt, Lady Dora," he gallantly said--but it was mere gallantry; no hidden tone of meaning could be detected by the nicest ear--"the great pleasure this remembrance gives me. I was blaming my own wretched memory, and anxious to convey to you the forgotten happiness, which was driving me for a morning's amus.e.m.e.nt among the dead beauties in the Spanish gallery, instead of immortalizing my pencil, by endeavouring to pourtray your living loveliness."

She bowed, and, biting her lip, accepted this overstrained compliment at its full value--empty as the wind; and in this mood she sat down to lend herself to his pencil. Lady Ripley had not noticed the by-play of all this, indeed how could she, ignorant as she was of the previous scene, and totally incapable of comprehending the possibility of _her_ daughter, even condescending to the slightest approach to flirtation even with an artist, whatever his pretensions to birth might be? She was unusually gracious this day, which removed much of the embarra.s.sment the others could not otherwise have failed to feel. As some little revenge for his cool impertinence when they entered, Lady Dora suddenly inquired--

"Mr. Tremenhere, how many days' journey do you reckon it from Paris to Florence? I mean," she added, fearful that her meaning might be misunderstood, "from Florence to Paris, supposing a person to travel as expeditiously as possible?"

"As many," he answered, smiling blandly in her face, and with perfect sincerity of tone, "as it would take a person to go from Paris to Florence."

"Is he a fool?" she thought, "or only insensible? Thank you," she added aloud. "I presume they would be the same, but my question remains unanswered."