Kitabı oku: «Love Works Wonders: A Novel», sayfa 6

CHAPTER XV.
BREACH BETWEEN UNCLE AND NIECE

A few days later the tranquillity of Darrell Court was at an end. The invited guests were expected, and Sir Oswald had determined to do them all honor. The state-apartments, which had not been used during his tenure, were all thrown open; the superb ball-room, once the pride of the county, was redecorated; the long, empty corridors and suites of apartments reserved for visitors, were once more full of life. Miss Hastings was the presiding genius; Pauline Darrell took far less interest in the preparations.

"I am glad," she said, one morning, "that I am to see your 'world,' Sir Oswald. You despise mine; I shall be anxious to see what yours is like."

The baronet answered her testily:

"I do not quite understand your remarks about 'worlds.' Surely we live under the same conditions."

"Not in the same world of people," she opposed; "and I am anxious to see what yours is like."

"What do you expect to find in what you are pleased to call my world, Pauline?" he asked, angrily.

"Little truth, and plenty of affectation; little honor, and plenty of polish; little honesty, and very high-sounding words; little sincerity, and plenty of deceit."

"By what right do you sit in judgment?" he demanded.

"None at all," replied Pauline; "but as people are always speaking ill of the dear, honest world in which I have lived, I may surely be permitted to criticise the world that is outside it."

Sir Oswald turned away angrily; and Miss Hastings sighed over the girl's willfulness.

"Why do you talk to Sir Oswald in a fashion that always irritates him?" she remonstrated.

"We live in a free country, and have each of us freedom of speech."

"I am afraid the day will come when you will pay a sad price for yours."

But Pauline Darrell only laughed. Such fears never affected her; she would sooner have expected to see the heavens fall at her feet than that Sir Oswald should not leave Darrell Court to her – his niece, a Darrell, with the Darrell face and the Darrell figure, the true, proud features of the race. He would never dare to do otherwise, she thought, and she would not condescend to change either her thought or speech to please him.

"The Darrells do not know fear," she would say; "there never yet was an example of a Darrell being frightened into anything."

So the breach between the uncle and the niece grew wider every day. He could not understand her; the grand, untrained, undisciplined, poetical nature was beyond him – he could neither reach its heights nor fathom its depths. There were times when he thought that, despite her outward coldness and pride, there was within a soul of fire, when he dimly understood the magnificence of the character he could not read, when he suspected there might be some souls that could not be narrowed or forced into a common groove. Nevertheless he feared her; he was afraid to trust, not the honor, but the fame of his race to her.

"She is capable of anything," he would repeat to himself again and again. "She would fling the Darrell revenues to the wind; she would transform Darrell Court into one huge observatory, if astronomy pleased her – into one huge laboratory, if she gave herself to chemistry. One thing is perfectly clear to me – she can never be my heiress until she is safely married."

And, after great deliberation – after listening to all his heart's pleading in favor of her grace, her beauty, her royal generosity of character, the claim of her name and her truth – he came to the decision that if she would marry Captain Langton, whom he loved perhaps better than any one else in the world, he would at once make his will, adopt her, and leave her heiress of all that he had in the world.

One morning the captain confided in him, telling him how dearly he loved his beautiful niece, and then Sir Oswald revealed his intentions.

"You understand, Aubrey," he said – "the girl is magnificently beautiful – she is a true Darrell; but I am frightened about her. She is not like other girls; she is wanting in tact, in knowledge of the world, and both are essential. I hope you will win her. I shall die content if I leave Darrell Court in your hands, and if you are her husband. I could not pass her over to make you my heir; but if you can persuade her to marry you, you can take the name of Darrell, and you can guide and direct her. What do you say, Aubrey?"

"What do I say?" stammered the captain. "I say this – that I love her so dearly that I would marry her if she had not a farthing. I love her so that language cannot express the depth of my affection for her."

The captain was for a few minutes quite overcome – he had been so long dunned for money, so hardly pressed, so desperate, that the chance of twenty thousand a year and Darrell Court was almost too much for him. His brow grew damp, and his lips pale. All this might be his own if he could but win the consent of this girl. Yet he feared her; the proud, noble face, the grand, dark eyes rose before him, and seemed to rebuke him for his presumptuous hope. How was he to win her? Flattery, sweet, soft words would never do it. One scornful look from her sent his ideas "flying right and left."

"If she were only like other girls," he thought, "I could make her my wife in a few weeks."

Then he took heart of grace. Had he not been celebrated for his good fortune among the fair sex? Had he not always found his handsome person, his low, tender voice, his pleasing manner irresistible? Who was this proud, dark-eyed girl that she should measure the depths of his heart and soul, and find them wanting? Surely he must be superior to the artists in shabby coats by whom she had been surrounded. And yet he feared as much as he hoped.

"She has such a way of making me feel small," he said to himself; "and if that kind of feeling comes over me when I am making her an offer, it will be of no use to plead my suit."

But what a prospect – master of Darrell Court and twenty thousand per annum! He would endure almost any humiliation to obtain that position.

"She must have me," he said to himself – "she shall have me! I will force her to be my wife!"

Why, if he could but announce his engagement to Miss Darrell, he could borrow as much money as would clear off all his liabilities! And how much he needed money no one knew better than himself. He had paid this visit to the Court because there were two writs out against him in London, and, unless he could come to some settlement of them, he knew what awaited him.

And all – fortune, happiness, wealth, freedom, prosperity – depended on one word from the proud lips that had hardly ever spoken kindly to him. He loved her, too – loved her with a fierce, desperate love that at times frightened himself.

"I should like you," said Sir Oswald, at the conclusion of their interview, "to have the matter settled as soon as you can; because, I tell you, frankly, if my niece does not consent to marry you, I shall marry myself. All my friends are eagerly solicitous for me to do so; they do not like the prospect of seeing a grand old inheritance like this fall into the hands of a willful, capricious girl. But I tell you in confidence, Aubrey, I do not wish to marry. I am a confirmed old bachelor now, and it would be a sad trouble to me to have my life changed by marriage. Still I would rather marry than that harm should come to Darrell Court."

"Certainly," agreed the captain.

"I do not mind telling you still further that I have seen a lady whom, if I marry at all, I should like to make my wife – in fact, she resembles some one I used to know long years ago. I have every reason to believe she is much admired and sought after; so that I want you to settle your affairs as speedily as possible. Mind, Aubrey, they must be settled – there must be no deferring, no putting off; you must have an answer – yes or no – very shortly; and you must not lose an hour in communicating that answer to me."

"I hope it will be a favorable one," said Aubrey Langton; but his mind misgave him. He had an idea that the girl had found him wanting; he could not forget her first frank declaration that she did not like him.

"If she refuses me, have I your permission to tell Miss Darrell the alternative?" he asked of Sir Oswald.

The baronet thought deeply for some minutes, and then said:

"Yes; it is only fair and just that she should know it – that she should learn that if she refuses you she loses all chance of being my heiress. But do not say anything of the lady I have mentioned."

The visitors were coming on Tuesday, and Thursday was the day settled for the ball.

"All girls like balls," thought Captain Langton. "Pauline is sure to be in a good temper then, and I will ask her on Thursday night."

But he owned to himself that he would rather a thousand times have faced a whole battalion of enemies than ask Pauline Darrell to be his wife.

CHAPTER XVI.
THE QUEEN OF THE BALL

It was many years since Darrell Court had been so gay. Sir Oswald had resolved that the ball should be one that should reflect credit on the giver and the guests. He had ordered a fine band of music and a magnificent banquet. The grounds were to be illuminated, colored lamps being placed among the trees; the ball-room was a gorgeous mass of brilliant bloom – tier after tier of magnificent flowers was ranged along the walls, white statues gleaming from the bright foliage, and little fountains here and there sending up their fragrant spray.

Sir Oswald had sent to London for some one to superintend the decorations; but they were not perfected until Miss Darrell, passing through, suggested first one alteration, and then another, until the originators, recognizing her superior artistic judgment and picturesque taste, deferred to her, and then the decorations became a magnificent work of art.

Sir Oswald declared himself delighted, and the captain's praises were unmeasured. Then, and then only, Miss Darrell began to feel some interest in the ball; her love of beauty was awakened and pleased – there was something more in the event than the mere gratification of seeing people dance.

The expected visitors had arrived on the Tuesday – Lady Hampton, radiant with expected victory; Elinor, silent, thoughtful, and more gentle than ever, and consequently more pleasing.

Lady Hampton was delighted with the idea of the ball.

"You must make a bold stroke for a husband on that evening, Elinor," she said. "You shall have a superb dress, and I shall quite expect you to receive and accept an offer from Sir Oswald."

Elinor Rocheford raised her eyes. There was something wistful in their expression.

"Oh, aunt," she said, "I like the captain so much better!"

Lady Hampton did not lose her good humor – Elinor was not the first refractory girl she had brought to her senses.

"Never mind about liking the captain, my dear; that is only natural. He is not in love with you. I can see through the whole business. If Darrell Court goes to Miss Darrell, he will marry her. He can marry no girl without money, because he is, I know, over head and ears in debt. Major Penryn was speaking of him to-day. The only way to prevent his marriage with Miss Darrell is for you to take Sir Oswald yourself."

Elinor's face flushed.

Lady Hampton certainly understood the art of evoking the worst feelings. Jealousy, envy, and dislike stirred faintly in the gentle heart of her niece.

"I hope you will do your very best to win Sir Oswald's affections," continued Lady Hampton, "for I should not like to see Darrell Court fall into the hands of that proud girl."

"Nor should I," assented Miss Rocheford.

The evening of the ball arrived at last, and Lady Hampton stood like a fairy godmother in Elinor's dressing-room, superintending the toilet that was to work such wonders. Lady Hampton herself looked very imposing in her handsome dress of black velvet and point lace, with diamond ornaments. Elinor's dress was a triumph of art. Her fresh, fair, gentle loveliness shone to perfection, aided by her elaborate costume of white silk and white lace, trimmed with green and silver leaves. The ornaments were all of silver – both fringe and leaves; the headdress was a green wreath with silver flowers. Nothing could have been more elegant and effective. There was a gentle flush on the fair face and a light in the blue eyes.

"That will do, Elinor," said Lady Hampton, complacently. "Your dress is perfection. I have no fear now – you will have no rival."

Perhaps Lady Hampton had never disliked Pauline Darrell more than on that night, for the magnificent beauty of the girl had never been so apparent. Sir Oswald had given his niece carte blanche in respect to preparation for the ball, but she had not at first taken sufficient interest in the matter to send to London, as he wished, for a dress. Later on she had gone to the large wardrobe, where the treasures accumulated by the Ladies Darrell lay. Such shining treasures of satin, velvet, silk, cashmere, and such profusion of laces and ornaments were there! She selected a superb costume – a magnificent amber brocade, embroidered with white flowers, gorgeous, beautiful, artistic. It was a dress that had been made for some former Lady Darrell.

How well it became her! The amber set off her dark beauty as a golden frame does a rich picture. The dress required but little alteration; it was cut square, showing the white, stately, graceful neck, and the sleeves hung after the Grecian fashion, leaving the round, white arms bare. The light shining upon the dress changed with every movement; it was as though the girl was enveloped in sunbeams. Every lady present envied that dress, and pronounced it to be gorgeous beyond comparison.

Pauline's rich curls of dark hair were studded with diamond stars, and a diamond necklace clasped her white throat – this was Sir Oswald's present. Her artistic taste had found yet further scope; for she had enhanced the beauty of her dress by the addition of white daphnes shrouded in green leaves.

Sir Oswald looked at her in admiration – her magnificent beauty, her queenly figure, her royal grace and ease of movement, her splendid costume, all impressed him. From every fold of her shining dress came a rich, sweet, subtle perfume; her usually pale face had on it an unwonted flush of delicate rose-leaf color.

"If she would but be like that sweet Elinor!" thought Sir Oswald. "I could not wish for a more beautiful mistress for Darrell Court."

She stood by his side while he received his guests, and her dignified ease delighted him.

"Had she been some Eastern queen," he thought, "her eccentricities would have hurt no one. As it is – " and Sir Oswald concluded his sentence by a grave shake of the head.

The captain, pleased with Miss Rocheford's graceful loveliness, had been amusing himself by paying her some very choice compliments, and she was delighted with them.

"If Sir Oswald were only like him!" she thought; and Aubrey Langton, meeting the timid, gentle glance, said to himself that he must be careful – he had no wish to win the girl's heart – he should be quite at a loss to know what to do with it.

When he saw Pauline his courage almost failed him.

"How am I to ask that magnificent girl to marry me?" he said.

Sir Oswald had expressed a wish that Aubrey and Pauline would open the ball; it would give people an idea of what he wished, he thought, and prevent other gentlemen from "turning her head" by paying her any marked attention. Yet he knew how difficult it would be for any one to win Pauline's regard. She made no objection when he expressed his wish to her, but she did not look particularly pleased.

Captain Langton understood the art of dancing better perhaps than the art of war; he was perfect in it – even Pauline avowed it. With him dancing was the very poetry of motion. The flowers, the lights, the sweet, soft music, the fragrance, the silvery sound of laughter, the fair faces and shining jewels of the ladies, all stirred and warmed Pauline's imagination; they brought bright and vivid fancies to her, and touched the poetical beauty-loving soul. A glow came over her face, a light into her proud, dark eyes, her lips were wreathed in smiles – no one had ever seen Pauline so beautiful before.

"You enjoy this, do you not?" said Aubrey Langton, as he watched her beautiful face.

"I shall do so," she replied, "very much indeed;" and at what those words implied the captain's courage fell to zero.

He saw how many admiring eyes followed her; he knew that all the gentlemen in the room were envying him his position with Miss Darrell. He knew that, pretty as some of the girls were, Pauline outshone them as the sun outshines the stars; and he knew that she was queen of the fete– queen of the ball.

"This is the first time you have met many of the county people, is it not?" he asked.

She looked round indifferently.

"Yes, it is the first time," she replied.

"Do you admire any of the men? I know how different your taste is from that of most girls. Is there any one here who has pleased you?"

She laughed.

"I cannot tell," she answered; "you forget this is the first dance. I have had no opportunity of judging."

"I believe that I am jealous already," he observed.

She looked at him; her dark eyes made his heart beat, they seemed to look through him.

"You are what?" she asked. "Captain Langton, I do not understand."

He dared not repeat the words.

"I wish," he said, with a deep sigh, "that I had all the talent and all the wealth in the world."

"For what reason?" she inquired.

"Because you would care for me then."

"Because of your talent and wealth!" she exclaimed. "No, that I should not."

"But I thought you admired talent so much," he said, in surprise.

"So I do; but mere talent would never command my respect, nor mere wealth."

"The two together might," he suggested.

"No. You would not understand me, Captain Langton, were I to explain. Now this dance is over, and I heard you engage Miss Rocheford for the next."

"And you," he said, gloomily – "what are you going to do?"

"To enjoy myself," she replied; and, from the manner in which her face brightened when he left her, the captain feared she was pleased to be quit of him.

CHAPTER XVII.
PAULINE'S BRIGHT FANCIES

The ball at Darrell Court was a brilliant success. Sir Oswald was delighted, Lady Hampton complimented him so highly.

"This is just as it ought to be, Sir Oswald," she said. "One who can give such entertainments as this should not think of retiring from a world he is so well qualified to adorn. Confess, now, that under the influence of that music you could dance yourself."

Sir Oswald laughed.

"I must plead guilty," he said. "How beautiful Miss Rocheford looks to-night!"

"It is well for you, Sir Oswald, that you have not heard all the compliments that the dear child has lavished on you; they would have made you vain."

Sir Oswald's face brightened with pleasure.

"Is your niece pleased? I am very glad indeed. It was more to give her pleasure than from any other motive that I gave the ball."

"Then you have succeeded perfectly. Now, Sir Oswald, do you not see that what I said was true – that an establishment like this requires a mistress? Darrell Court always led the hospitalities of the county. It is only since no lady has lived here that it has fallen into the background."

"It shall be in the background no longer," said Sir Oswald. "I think my first ball is a very successful one. How happy everybody looks!"

But of all that brilliant company, Pauline Darrell was queen. There were men present who would have given anything for one smile from her lips. They admired her, they thought her beautiful beyond comparison, but they did not feel quite at ease with her. She was somewhat beyond them; they did not understand her. She did not blush, and glow, and smile when they said pretty things to her. When they gave her their most brilliant small-talk, she had nothing to give them in return. A soul quite different from theirs looked at them out of her dark, proud eyes. They said to themselves that she was very beautiful, but that she required softening, and that something lovable and tender was wanting in her. She was a queen to be worshiped, an empress to receive all homage, but not a woman to be loved. So they thought who were not even capable of judging such capacity for love as hers.

She was also not popular with the ladies. They thought her very superb; they admired her magnificent dress; but they pronounced her proud and reserved. They said she gave herself airs, that she took no pains to make friends; and they did not anticipate any very great rejoicings when Darrell Court should belong to her. The elder ladies pronounced that judgment on her; the younger ones shrank abashed, and were slightly timid in her presence.

Sir Oswald, it was noticed, led Miss Rocheford in to supper, and seemed to pay her very great attention. Some of the ladies made observations, but others said it was all nonsense; if Sir Oswald had ever intended to marry, he would have married years ago, and his choice would have fallen on a lady of mature age, not on a slight, slender girl. Besides – and who could find an answer to such an argument? – was it not settled that Miss Darrell was to be his heiress? There was no doubt about that.

The baronet's great affection for Aubrey Langton was also known. More than one of the guests present guessed at the arrangement made, and said that in all probability Miss Darrell would marry the captain, and that they would have the Court after Sir Oswald's death.

The banquet was certainly a magnificent one. The guests did full justice to the costly wines, the rare and beautiful fruits, the recherche dishes prepared with so much skill and labor. When supper was ended, the dancers returned to the ball-room, but Miss Darrell was already rather weary of it all.

She stole away during the first dance after supper. The lamps were lighted in the conservatory, and shed a soft, pearly light over the fragrant flowers; the great glass doors at the end were open, and beyond lay the moonlight, soft, sweet, and silvery, steeping the flowers, the trees, and the long grass in its mild light. Without, all was so calm, so still; there was the evening sky with its myriad stars, so calm and so serene; close to the doors stood great sheaves of white lilies, and just inside was a nest of fragrant daphnes and jessamines.

Pauline stood lost in delight; the perfume seemed to float in from the moonlight and infold her. This quiet, holy, tranquil beauty touched her heart as the splendor of the ball-room could not; her soul grew calm and still; she seemed nearer happiness than she had ever been before.

"How beautiful the world is!" she thought. She raised her face, so serenely placid and fair in the moonlight; the silver radiance fell upon it, adding all that was needed to make it perfect, a blended softness and tenderness. The gorgeous, golden-hued dress falling around her, glistened, gleamed, and glowed; her diamonds shone like flames. No artist ever dreamed of a fairer picture than this girl in the midst of the moonlight and the flowers.

Bright fancies thronged her mind. She thought of the time when she should be mistress of that rich domain. No mercenary delight made her heart thrill; it was not the prospect of being rich that delighted her; it was a nobler pride – delight in the grand old home where heroes had lived and died, earnest thoughts of how she would care for it, how she would love it as some living thing when it should be her own.

Her own! Verily her lines were cast in pleasant places! She dreamed great things – of the worthy deeds she would do, of the noble charities she would carry out, the magnificent designs she would bring to maturity when Darrell Court should be hers.

It was not that she wished for it at once. She did not love Sir Oswald – their natures were too antagonistic for that; but she did not wish – indeed, she was incapable of wishing – that his life should be shortened even for one hour. She only remembered that in the course of time this grand inheritance must be hers. How she would help those artist-friends of her father's! What orders she would give them, what pictures she would buy, what encouragement she would give to art and literature! How she would foster genius! How she would befriend the clever and gifted poor ones of the earth!

The beautiful moonlight seemed to grow fairer, the blue, starry heavens nearer, as the grand and gracious possibilities of her life revealed themselves to her. Her heart grew warm, her soul trembled with delight.

And then – then there would be something dearer and fairer than all this – something that comes to every woman – her birthright – something that would complete her life, that would change it, that would make music of every word, and harmony of every action. The time would come when love would find her out, when the fairy prince would wake her from her magic sleep. She was pure and spotless as the white lilies standing near her; the breath of love had never passed over her. There had been no long, idle conversations with young girls on the subject of love and lovers; her heart was a blank page. But there came to her that night, as she stood dreaming her maiden dreams among the flowers, an idea of how she could love, and of what manner of man he would be who should win her love.

Was she like Undine? Were there depths in her heart and soul which could not be reached until love had brought them to light? She felt in herself great capabilities that had never yet been exercised or called into action. Love would complete her life; it would be the sun endowing the flowers with life, warmth, and fragrance.

What manner of man must he be who would wake this soul of hers to perfect life? She had seen no one yet capable of doing so. The mind that mastered hers must be a master-mind; the soul that could bring her soul into subjection must be a grand soul, a just soul, noble and generous.

Ah, well, the moonlight was fair, and the flowers were fair. Soon, perhaps, this fair dream of hers might be realized, and then —