A Heart-Song of To-day (Disturbed by Fire from the 'Unruly Member'): A Novel
but I must confess, the place is charming in its warmth and luxury."
Here they parted to dress, Lady Esmondet being conducted to a
luxurious room on the ground floor, opening on to a verandah; there
was a suspicion of chilliness in the air, so a bright fire burned in
the open fire-place; fresh flowers bloomed in old Roman jars, while
the walls were gay in the brightness of a few choice paintings.
"Yes, one could pass a winter very comfortably here," mused the
occupant, as Somers fastened her robe of pearl-gray satin, "and that
we are so well placed is all the outcome of the beauty of face and
form of one woman."
Miss Vernon was led by a maid up a few steps, covered in the softest
of velvet pile, so deep and rich as to cause one not to feel the
pressure of the sole of one's foot, and now into two rooms built out
in a projection, and the villa Iberia, being located on a knoll,
commanding one of the finest views of the Eternal City, the occupant
of these rooms feasted his eyes on a scene unrivalled in Italy. Here
also, a cheerful fire glowed in the fire-place; the long, narrow
windows were hung in a pale, blue tinted satin, the walls painted in
choice studies by deft Italian fingers; the opening between the rooms
was hung in unison with the windows, and on the satin, clusters of the
rose in every hue were embroidered; easy chairs, lounge, satin bed
coverlid, and soft carpet, were of the same soft tint, with the warmth
of the rose thereon. The air was fragrant, for the hyacinth, rose, and
many a gay foreign sister, vied with each other in perfumed welcome to
the flower face bending over them, and drinking in their sweets.
"And he has done all this for me," she mused, giving herself up to
Saunders to have her hair dressed. "How glad I am," she thought
looking dreamily at her reflection in the mirror, for a very passible
loveliness, "but Lionel was always my ideal cavalier, he loves me
now," and she smiled softly, "and has brought into existence in my
heart a passionate love he little dreams of, poor fellow; I have
hitherto played with men's hearts, so they say, but not intentionally;
Heaven knows I merely enjoyed their free submission, their love, as my
natural food; I always enjoyed dainties, and men's hearts were as such
to me; I could never endure the bread and butter of life, but I wrong
myself or I am of little worth; one is apt to have luxurious
inclinations, at an hour and in a scene like this," she thought as she
toyed with one of the gold perfume bottles, in the form of a Cupid,
standing on the breast of a sleeping man, and aiming for his heart. "I
know I have drunk in the pleasure their looks of love and warmth of
words have given me, not thinking perhaps enough of to what end it
might lead, but if I dream here any longer, I shall experience much
the same sensation as sleeping Richard at Bosworth Field, while my
ghosts of the departed, rise up before me, and while I think pityingly
of poor Cyril and many more, let me also remember the deserved cut I
gave Sir Edward Hatherton, when he laid his insignificant title, his
supreme vanity and egotism, with his mean heart at my feet, while
boasting of his broad acres, making too sure he had but to ask, and be
accepted with thanks. Yes, though I have hurt some brave manly hearts,
I have given a check to the vanity of that man that will send him into
the corner to think that there are some women, even in this age of
barter, who, though they love acres of the dear warm mother earth,
they will not give their loveliness and powers of loving for the broad
acres of which he is lord."
And so fair Vaura pondered, as Saunders with deft fingers performed
her easy task of robing her mistress, and now she has finished, and
both maid and our sweet Mlle. Vernon are satisfied with the result.
And well they may, for her cardinal satin robe fits her full bust and
figure like a glove, her eyes are full of dark and tender depths, her
lips red as the rose, while the rose bloom of the mountain air has not
faded from her cheeks, and neck and arms being bare gleam in their
whiteness.
Trevalyon met her at the foot of the steps to lead her to the
dining-room whither Lady Esmondet has already gone; they immediately
seat themselves ami do justice to the tempting little dinner awaiting
them.
The room is handsome and furnished with a mixture of English comfort
and solidness with French brightness the furniture being of carved
oak, while the carpet and hangings are of a gay Paris pattern, the
table bright with silver and decorated with flowers, its dinner
service of old Sevres china, each piece of beautiful delicate design,
while the dishes would have tempted an anchorite from his cave. Over
the mantel-piece of purest white marble was a painting, evidently the
work of a master, representing Bacchus riding in a chariot, and on his
head among his curls vine leaves, in his hand a cup. The whole
painting had a warmth of color and gay dashing style, with a life-like
look about it very pleasing.
"One almost expects to see the merry god lift the cup to his lip,"
said Vaura; "he looks so life-like."
"It is a remarkably well executed thing," said Trevalyon.
"The whole villa," echoed Lady Esmondet, "has a cheerful brightness
pervading it that would dispel the chronic grumbling of a Diogenes or
an Englishman."
"Even Gladstone," cried Vaura, gaily, "would here forget that
Beaconsfield wants a 'war supply.'"
"And I, Trevalyon, shall so lose myself in the intoxicating sweetness
of the hour as to forget that on my return to England I have to enter
the arena of the strife of tongues, and combat Dame Rumour in facing a
'difficulty.'" At the last word be looked meaningly at Vaura, and with
quickened heart-beats she remembered his flowers, and knew what would
come when the 'difficulty' was faced and removed.
"The absent Marquis likes well the form of the god of wine," said Lady
Esmondet, directing her companion's gaze towards a group of statuary
on a small inlaid stand, and reflected in a pier glass, representing
Anacreon smilingly advancing, carrying in his arms the infants Bacchus
and Cupid.
"'Tis a pretty group, extremely _chic_," said Vaura.
"What think you, Vaura, of the painting behind you?" inquired Lady
Esmondet.
On turning slightly she saw the pictured face of the owner of the
villa, the eyes of her admirer seemed so steadfast in their gaze that
a faint blush suffused her cheek as she said:
"A true likeness of a true friend, for we are most comfortably placed
by his kindness; indeed I think when the day comes to leave the villa
we would fain remain."
"It is a handsome face," said Trevalyon.
"It is," said Vaura, as she played with the dainties on her plate and
sipped her glass of sparkling Moselle.
"On leaving here it will be for either the crush of the London season
or Haughton Hall under the new _regime_," said Lady Esmondet, "and I
know just how I shall feel: as a man who, coming home after a day with
the hounds, is enjoying a pipe in slippered feet when reminded by
madame of the state dinner he has forgotten."
"Either London or the dear old place will be an awakening," said
Vaura, as they wend their way to the _salons_.
"Yes." said Trevalyon, "for nowhere could one better enjoy the _dolce
far niente_ of Italian languor than here. Del Castello, I fancy, lives
his life."
"_Dum vivimus vivamus_," said Vaura.
The salons are a suite of three; taken separately, of medium
dimensions; but when the heavy hangings are drawn aside which divide
the apartments they form one long handsome room, extending the entire
length of the villa, at one end of which is a conservatory where bloom
flowers of great beauty, the tiny structure being in miniature form of
the villa; it was entered from the _salon_ by sliding doors of stained
glass; a smiling statue of Flora was placed near the entrance and
seemed to welcome one's approach.
"It is a bower of beauty," said Vaura. The moonlight streaming in from
the heaven-illumined gardens outside, bringing into life the scarlet
blossoms of the camelia and the satin of her gown, and lending to her
beauty a transparent softness, her eyes seeming darker and with a
tender light, as she says, looking out upon the garden:
"It is a living idyl in the white moon light; did I gaze long enough,
strange fancies would come to me, the statuary would be living
marbles, while the leaves of the palm-tree and olive would sing to me
of their story as given by the dead poets."
"We must revel in the beauties of the gardens, when to-morrow comes,
Vaura: I am going to be very early tonight," said Lady Esmondet.
"It must have been a great disappointment to Del Castello," said
Trevalyon, inwardly applying the lash, "to winter elsewhere."
"_N'importe_," said Lady Esmondet, seeing the sadness of expression,
"we, have so much of the London fog; he, has his villa and the south
always."
"But he could have been here with all his elegant _recherche_
surroundings, only for me," and as he silently thought the lash went
down.
In the villa, many things beautiful and rare occupied their attention;
in the small library were some deep German and English books on
philosophy, with Tennyson in every style of dress; also Byron, with
novels of all tone and colour; as Vaura moved about among the
treasures of the absent Marquis, Trevalyon, watching her intently,
tortured himself by imagining that she handled everything lovingly,
read snatches from his books tenderly.
"What a couple they would have been," he thought, as Vaura's syren
voice read aloud some marked passages from the poets; "even if I can
clear myself of this hateful scandal, I have only the gloomy 'towers'
to offer her, while he has his sunny palaces in the lands or climes
she loves so well."
And Lady Esmondet seeing his intent gaze following Vaura, and
observing his quiet thought,
"He is unhappy, and dreads lest she come to love the handsome
Spaniard, while daily amongst his treasures, with his silent pictured
face watching her from the walls; I wonder how it is; has she refused
him, and accepted the villa as slight atonement, or is this the
beginning of the end, and that she will give herself to him; alas for
dear Lionel if so."
"How selfish I am," said Vaura, impulsively closing the book from
which she had read aloud a few marked passages in the sadly sweet
"Prisoner of Chillon." "You both look weary, how is it I did not
notice it before? come away god-mother mine; uncle Eric would say I am
not redeeming my promise to take care of you; goodnight, Captain
Trevalyon," giving him her hand, the soft touch of which seemed as a
new revelation to him, reinvigorating him as it were, but only in the
contact, for alone he is again a prey to gloomy forebodings which
crowd upon him, so as to seem to stifle him; loosening his collar and
tie, and throwing himself on the bed, he tells himself, "What am I, in
comparison to him? his unclouded life, at least as far as human eye
can tell, with the looks of an Adonis, his immense wealth, his
southern blood, eloquent tongue, and life in climes kissed by the sun.
I fear he will woe her again; and is it in woman to come to me; even
though I give the love of my life in preference to all that the Fates
give in him; alas! my knowledge of them tells me no; yes, I know she
has smiled tenderly on me, bat is not this because of her old
remembrance of me--as part of her by-gone life in her loved home; yes
I fear it is, or because she is playing with my heart as she has with
others; heavens, how unmanned I am, Father," and his hands are clasped
reverently, "pity me, steep my soul in forgetfulness, and let me
remember naught, save that Thou ruleth all," when, as if in answer to
his imploring cry, slumber, fitful it is true and broken by dreams