A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel

unwillingly, a sweet sense of being taken care of, a nameless feeling of passive languor, a sense of completeness pervaded her whole being, as Lionel, putting her hand through his arm and for a moment holding it there in a protecting sort of way, led her through long corridors until they reached the luxurious boudoir of their hostess, where, seating Vaura in a lounging chair, the perfection of comfort, and placing a soft foot-stool for her dainty slippered feet, he quietly seated himself near her. He longed to take her to his heart, and tell her of his great love for her, which had grown so strong as to completely master him, he could scarcely refrain from crushing her in his arms and telling her she must be his; he had suffered much this evening in seeing her, even in the dance, in the arms of other men; ever since he had left Lady Esmondet's side, an hour ago, he had done nothing but pace through lonely corridors thinking of the letter from Eric Haughton, which ran thus: "Trevalyon, _cher ami_,-- "Must go to the point at once, as what I hear has troubled me. Mrs. Haughton tells me there is _no_ doubt _you are married_ to _Fanny Clarmont_, and as Delrose is frequently here and lounging about with her, I suppose _he has told her_; I know he was mixed up in the affair; I'm sorry for you if it's true, old fellow. She also says, but it's a _woman's mistake I am sure_, that you are half engaged to Blanche; _be careful_ that you don't make Vaura love you; you were always a sort of hero with her; she is too lovely and lovable to have _her life spoiled_; take care of my two loved women in your charge. "Yours as ever, "ERIC HAUGHTON. "Captain Trevalyon, "Hotel Liberte le Soleil, Paris." "And now I have passed the Rubicon," he thought, "and know past doubting that she has the love of my life, and that life without her, will be worse than death," this he thought, seated near this fair woman; near, and far, for he must not speak to her with this cloud upon his name; he knew it was false and only spread for revenge, but would not society pity Vaura; pity and he writhed with inward pain, at the thought that his wife would be pitied for having gone to God's altar with a man, whom Dame Rumour said, had a hidden wife; one moment he thought he would fly to England and make Delrose tell the truth at the point of the sword, but he knew his man, and that threats would not avail; again, if he left Vaura now, there were many men about her, one of whom she might choose, and the thought was maddening. If he could only get them into Italy, they would be quieter there. He must mature his plans, see how it was best to cope with his enemies; would he write Haughton the facts? no, he must try and find out Fanny Clarmont's address, and get her to write such a letter as he could publish, exonerating him from all act or part in her elopement; but how to do it, unless he could work on Delrose, but the man never had any feelings, save for himself; he must see. And as he looked on Vaura, as she sat, her head thrown back among the cushions, lips slightly parted, and looking at him from dreamy eyes half closed; a pain came to his heart as he thought, if he could not get Fanny's confession, Vaura would never rest in his arms, for she would not go to him with the truth unproven. And still he thought she shall love me, for, look what she has done for me, she has done what no woman heretofore has been able to do, she has inflamed me with a passionate love for her as untamable as the lion; she belongs to me. And as he thought this he rose, but almost staggered with conflicting emotions, as he stood close to her. "Vaura, my darling, are you rested?" he said, his voice anything but steady. "Yes," she answered dreamily; "but why did you break the spell? it is so seductive here, I half thought you a magician and this a scene of enchantment." "I broke the spell, darling, because I could bear no longer the----" Here footsteps were heard, both on the gravel walk outside the small conservatory and in the corridor by which they had entered the boudoir. And though the occupants did not see Del Castello, he saw them at the same time as Everly with De Vesey (a gay Paris beau to whom Vaura had been engaged for this dance, now over) crossed the threshold. De Vesey, on seeing the situation, and not caring to be _de trop_, was for retreating, but Everly was in no mood for this, now that his dance and his only one for the night was on the _tapis_. He, like any other man, would have feared to leave the woman he loved with a man so fascinating as Trevalyon. Vaura, in the second or two of their hesitation, had time to recover outward composure. Lionel folded his arms, moved a pace or two backwards, and stood like a statue; the muscles of his face throbbed, but in the dim rose-tinted light Everly and De Vesey coming from the glare of the lustres and torches of the ball-room did not see clearly. "_Pardonnez_, Mademoiselle, but Sir Tilton Everly would continue his search until our belle of the evening was found," said De Vesey, apologetically. "Not so loud, Monsieur De Vesey," Vaura answered in a whisper. "This is the temple of the god of Silence, and Captain Trevalyon and I have been worshipping at his shrine. I perceive you are both," she added, moving on tiptoe towards them, "feeling the influence of the place, and you don't look as though you care to pour incense. So let us back to Comus and revelry. _Au revoir_, Capt. Trevalyon." Vaura managed while speaking to detach from her corsage some violets and a crushed rose, which, when Everly and De Vesey were not observing, she dropped at Trevalyon's feet; and turning her head as she took Sir Tilton's arm, gave him her own syren smile from eyes and lips--and Lionel was alone. Del Castello who had been a witness to this scene from the outside of the conservatory now entered, and coming forward stood facing Lionel. One would look far before meeting two as handsome men as these two rivals for the love of one woman. Capt. Trevalyon, with some of the best Saxon blood in his veins, of _distingue_ bearing, tall, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed, blonde, tawney mustache, short side whiskers, face somewhat bronzed by exposure on the battle field and in travel: a man, a manly man every inch of him, a man whom woman adored and man leaned on, unless when his foes and rivals. Del Castello truly the nobleman, tall, dark, and handsome. The Spaniard was the first to speak. "Pardon my intrusion, Monsieur, but I cannot rest until I know the truth; I have seen Mademoiselle Vernon several times walking and driving at places of public amusement, but never have been fortunate enough to obtain an introduction to her until to-night, though I have made repeated efforts so to do. Her beauty and grace had made a deep impression upon me, which now that I have had the great joy of conversing and dancing with her has ripened into love so strong as not to be subdued, and which, excuse me, Monsieur, for saying, I believe only a Spaniard or perhaps an Italian could feel. You English are so cold; Mademoiselle is not, but reminds me of the women of my own love-warm, sun-lit land. It was my intention to have called upon Mademoiselle Vernon at her hotel on to-morrow ere the sun had set, to ask her if she would be the light of my life by doing me the great honour of accepting my name, hand and fortune. I had been roaming through the grounds meditating upon her many charms, and of how best I could make my offer so as not to agitate her by its seeming prematureness, when I was very much troubled on coming to the conservatory (meaning to enter) to see you, a powerful rival, in the blissful retirement of this boudoir with the woman I have, perhaps unfortunately, conceived, such passionate love for. I was as if chained to the spot and, when you were alone, determined to enter and ask you if my worst fears are true. Are you a successful suitor for the hand of Mademoiselle Vernon? Are you, Monsieur, anything to her?" This had been, to say the least of it, a very trying night for Lionel--and it seemed his troubles were not yet over. He knew the Marquis Del Castello to be a _parti_ the bluest blood in his own land would be more than satisfied with. He was the possessor of a noble and princely estate, and this man, with all these advantages, was a suitor for the hand of the woman he loved with an overwhelming passion. And the Spaniard had said she could not be loved as he loved her. Ah, well! what does man know of man? Only this, what he chooses more than "language," as Talleyrand says, "was given us to conceal our thoughts;" for we smile when the heart is breaking; we weep to conceal the joy we are feeling; and Lionel listened and suffered. He had never been a man to make his moan into the ear of men and women, for the sympathy of society is curiosity! and man listens and forgets, and woman listens and talks; she cannot help it, poor thing. Can the snake do other than charm--then sting? And Vaura had conquered and enslaved him, but was still unsubdued--so he thought,--and though peerless among her sex, she is only a woman. And how will it be if I allow this man to pour his love tale into her ear with all the impassioned eloquence his countrymen possess. "Oh, darling!" and he groaned inwardly, "I cannot put you to the test; I _cannot_ speak yet;" and he must not. All this poor Lionel thought, as with folded arms he listened to the Spaniard, and to his concluding words of "Are you anything to Mademoiselle Vernon?" he merely bowed. The temptation to dismiss this smooth-tongued Southerner, with the warmth of the south in his words, with the looks of an Adonis, ere Vaura should listen to his pleadings, was too much for him. Ah, well, though we love him much, this Lionel Trevalyon, he is only mortal. "After I have made her love me, I shall tell her of this man's proposal of marriage," he said to his aggrieved conscience. After all is there not an instinctive leaning in the hearts of most of us towards the Roman Catholic doctrine of penance? Immediately on our conscience becoming seared as with a red-hot iron through some act its sensitiveness shrinks from, we, feeling this inward shrinking away as if from our lower nature invariably bring out the whip and lash our poor weak flesh by way of atonement. And so Lionel thought now as he bowed to Del Castello's question of "are you anything to her?" and thought while doing what hurt his conscience--"I shall tell her after." "Then my worst fears are realized," said Del Castello to Lionel's bow. "But, Monsieur, you cannot expect me with my heart's great loneliness fresh upon me to congratulate you on being before me in your wooing. _Adieu_, I shall leave Paris at sunrise, and it will be a sorrowful gratification to me to know that the incomparable Mlle. Vernon will, from your lips, learn why I fly." And saying this, the Marquis left Lionel to the solitude of Madame's boudoir. CHAPTER XXII. THE BLIND GOD TAKES SURE AIM. After leaving Trevalyon, Vaura, with her attendant cavaliers, bent their steps in the direction of the ball-room, the sweet sounds of distant music sounding louder and yet louder as they moved. "Woe be to that incarnation of selfishness in yonder boudoir," exclaimed Everly; "if he be the means of my losing this dance with the fair Queen of the Revels," looking admiringly at Vaura's full and rounded neck, throat and arms. "You won't call it petty larceny, Everly, when you pour maledictions on his head. 'Pon my heart it's too bad of him to carry off the most precious freight of the ballroom; thereby causing two forlorn individuals, whom he has defrauded of their rights, to wonder about