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

ecclesiastical looking quarters of yours," said Lady Esmondet. "And where the ancient fathers look from the walls in wonderment at the priest of to-day, as he pores over printed records of their bygone lives." "Why, Vaura, how did you know that the pictured fathers grace the walls of my humble retreat?" "From Isabel." "Ah, I wondered, for my study is never entered by a strange foot, it is my rest." "Is not your rest a misnomer, Robert? for from all I hear, you literally rest nowhere," inquired Lady Esmondet. "In my opinion, Lady Esmondet, a priest of the church should never rest, but always have his armour on, for there is 'so little done, so much to do.' Thank God we are waking up at last; look at the priest of to-day (I say it in all humility) as compared with the priest of fifty years ago." "True, true," answered Lady Esmondet, "but, don't you think that the zealous Low Church clergy are doing as much for the human race as you are?" "Undoubtedly, for the human race; but not for the church, for their people often lapse into dissent." "I don't believe in extremes; I respect the man who is thorough," said Vaura, seeing that Capt. Trevalyon had entered and seated himself beside her god-mother, evidently wishing to talk with her, and so, to help him, taking up the thread of the argument herself. "But Vaura," said the priest, "don't you think that in the Ritualist, you have the man who is thorough?" "Not exactly, he is extreme; the man who is thorough has no uncertain sound; he neither culls from Rome her vestments, nor from Dissent her hymns; both Rome and Dissent are thorough, why shouldn't he. But a truce to argument, a gentleman's trap stops the way," she said smiling, "is even now at the steps; his back is this way, so I cannot name him; he talks to his servant, in bottle green livery, who has a decidedly Hibernian countenance." "Oh," said Capt. Trevalyon, starting to his feet, "Lady Esmondet, it must be an Irishman, an acquaintance of mine, Sir Dennis O'Gormon, who wanted very much to make the acquaintance of the ladies of the villa Iberia. I had forgotten all about my asking him for to-day." "It makes no difference, Lionel, 'tis little wonder you forgot such a small matter in the many more important you have had." Here a servant announced Sir Denis O'Gormon. "Ah, O'Gormon, glad to see you. Lady Esmondet, permit me to present to you Sir Dennis O'Gormon. Miss Vernon allow me to introduce Sir Dennis; Douglas, I believe you and O'Gormon have met before." Lady Esmondet and Miss Vernon shook hands with and welcomed their guest, Lady Esmondet saying graciously, "Any friend of Captain Trevalyon is always welcome." "Thank you, Lady Esmondet, but by my faith, Trevalyon's a lucky fellow, and one whom I have always envied but never more so than now," he continued laughingly, "when with all my fascinations I am only welcomed by two charming women for his sake." Mrs. Marchmont and Miss Marchmont were now announced. The two ladies floated in the most approved style towards their hostess, who rose to welcome them. They were ethereal in every respect, clad in a thin material of pale green, neck bare and elbow sleeves, and looking more like sisters than mother and daughter. Sandy of complexion, blue eyed sharp of feature; the mother having the advantage in flesh, the daughter being all the angles joined in one. "I hate a thin woman," was the whispered criticism of Sir Dennis to Trevalyon, with a suppressed emphasis on the word "hate." Trevalyon smiled, giving a side glance at Vaura's rounded form, as she bent gracefully with extended hand in welcome. "Faith, you may well look in that direction," remarked the Irishman, detecting him. "She's fair enough to seduce a look from His Holiness himself." Here Lady Esmondet introduced Sir Dennis O'Gormon to the Marchmonts; Trevalyon and Douglas having met them before. The butler now announced dinner, when Lady Esmondet taking the arm of Sir Dennis assigned Mrs. Marchmont to Trevalyon, when Douglas handed in Vaura and Miss Marchmont. Lady Esmondet found Sir Dennis a pleasant neighbour, who devoted himself equally to Vaura on his left and to his hostess at the head of the table. As usual the table was decorated with the rarest of flowers, which sent forth their delicate perfume from a large stand, the design of which was an imitation of the famed terraced gardens of Semiramis: the shrubs and trees represented in miniature by the most delicate ferns and mosses; the whole a triumph of nature and art. Choice flowers stood in a tiny bed of moss in front of each person. Many delicate desert dishes were not only tempting to the palate, but pleasing to the eye, while the wines in the cellar of the noble Don Ferdinand were well known and appreciated. "Del Castello has a snug place here, Lady Esmondet," observed Sir Dennis. "Extremely so, Sir Dennis. We are much more comfortably placed by the kindness of the Marquis than we should have been at an hotel." "He is a fine generous soul, always remembering that he is not the only member of the human race," said Sir Dennis (who had met him). "It is a charming little winter home," said Vaura. "I shall regret to leave it." "You won't, I hope, leave for some time yet?" "Yes; much as we love it," she answered; smiling, "we go north ere spring has thawed the sceptre out of the frozen hand of winter." "I am sorry to hear that. But you don't surely go as soon as my friend Trevalyon?" Vaura hesitated a moment, not wishing to be a messenger of death at a dinner table, when Trevalyon came to her aid, cutting Mrs. Marchmont short in a dissertation on the merits of shaded wool versus plain, by saying, "Pardon me, Miss Vernon. I may be obliged, O'Gormon, to leave for England sooner than I expected; if so, it will be alone." "One of the penalties of bachelorhood, Trevalyon; by my faith, 'tis a lonely loneliness." "I thought most of you glory in the freedom of winging your flight when you please, without having to say, by your leave," said Vaura, gaily. "Not always," said Trevalyon, quietly. "What do you say, Lady Esmondet. Don't you think a fellow is happier and less lonely when he cuts bachelor life?" "Depends on the cards in his hands, and how he plays them, Sir Dennis," answered his host, laconically. "True, Lady Esmondet, and if the cards are his, the game is won, the difficulty over," said Trevalyon, with a glance at Vaura, "and bliss secured." "Faith, you're right, Trevalyon." Here Miss Marchmont's shrill voice was distinctly heard above the general hum, in animated discussion, saying, "Oh, I'm sure he comes from the East." The Rev. Douglas was evidently much amused and disputing the point; Miss Marchmont continued, "The dear creature has such a beautiful colour--so bronzed." "I'll lay any wager 'the dear creature' means a soldier," said Trevalyon to Vaura. Vaura smilingly assented. "A soldier," exclaimed Mrs. Marchmont in horror; "oh no, Capt. Trevalyon, nothing so naughty; it's Miranda's last pet." "But we women are given to petting the red-coats, Mrs. Marchmont," said Vaura with a laugh in her voice. "They're too wild for dear Miranda," said Marchmont mater; "the pet you mean is the last sweet insect you have collected; is it not, my dear child?" she said, anxious for the fair fame of the owner of the fine exhibit in elbow and collar bone. "Yes, mamma, you are right, but I am so sorry Mr. Douglas is not at one with me; I feel convinced the dear potato bug comes from the east; he is of brilliant colouring and luxurious habit." Rev. Robert Douglas laughingly shook his head, and Sir Dennis said: "Miss Marchmont, you cannot imagine the wager Capt. Trevalyon was laying when you talked about the 'bronzed beauty;' he wanted some one to take him up at ten to one you meant a dashing cavalry man, or a 'go-as-he-please' infantry." "Order! order! O'Gormon," interrupted Trevalyon, laughing. "Oh! I'm shocked, Capt. Trevalyon," cried Miss Marchmont seriously, "that my dear potato bug, with all his innocent ways, its care of its eggs,--." Here a general laugh went round the table, except from Marchmont _mere_, who tried in vain to catch the fair Miranda's eye, who continued bravely, "should be taken for anything so wild as a soldier, who doesn't do anything so useful. But I must convert you, Mr. Douglas," she continued, returning to the siege; "it would be such a sweet study for a clergyman; I shall lend you Cassels' Natural History, and you must promise to read it for my sake," she said gushingly. Meanwhile, Trevalyon tried in vain to catch the drift of conversation between Vaura and her neighbour, but no, Mrs. Marchmont, though inwardly afraid of this squire of dames; and of his intellect, determined to appear at ease, and so talked on the one engrossing idea of her life; the last conundrum in fancy work, the last fashionable incongruity in the blending of colours. And poor, victimized Lionel longed to breathe in Vaura's refreshing breadth of thought; on his tormentor pausing to recover breath, it was not as balm to a wound to hear Sir Dennis say pleadingly: "The gardens of the Collona palace are looking lovely in their tints of emerald; it will transport me to my loved isle, Miss Vernon, if you'll walk with me there some day; though our damsels are not fair as the companion I desire, and her rich beauty would add grace to the spot." "Come, come, Sir Dennis, no flattery, I am jealous for the beauty of those gardens, and do not want to hear, even in jest, my poor looks would add to their charm," she answered gaily, and evading his question. Here Lady Esmondet, feeling for Lionel's torture, catching Mrs. Marchmont's eye, rose from the table, leaving the gentlemen to discuss the merits of bottles of no plebeian length of neck. "How sweetly English the fire in the grate looks," observed Mrs. Marchmont. "Yes, it does; but while at home we really require it to keep away cold, here it is more to remind us of the warm sun gone to rest," said Lady Esmondet. "There's no doubt the dear Spaniard, the Marquis Del Castello, has an eye for luxurious comfort," said Vaura, as she sank into the corner of a _tete-a-tete_ sofa and fell into a reverie of Lionel's probable leave-taking. While Mrs. Marchmont seated herself in an Elizabethan chair, Miranda placing herself on a footstool by her side and laying her head with its thin sandy curls on her knee. "What a child you are still, Miranda," said her mother, sentimentally, as she fondled the high cheek-bone. "You are quite companions," said Lady Esmondet. "We are bosom friends; more than sisters since the departure of my dear husband." "Mr. Marchmont has been dead some time, I believe." "Yes, some twelve years; but, dear Lady Esmondet, Miranda will tell you that I always speak of dear Charles as departed, gone before; more as if he had gone out to buy me some new fancy work, you know; the word 'dead' upsets my nerves so," and the sandy head drooped and a hand was laid on the forehead. "Yes; dear mamma has such refined feelings." "Yes," said her hostess, absently, for she heard a messenger arrive, a tap at the door of the dining-room, and knew the message was for the temporary master of the house, an answer to his telegram, and wished the Marchmonts back to their own quarters, so that the complete little trio were alone; but she is forgetting Madame Grundy, so says: "I believe you intend wintering in Italy." "Yes, we have rented Rose Cottage to a friend of Mrs. Haughton's, a Major Delrose, late of the --th Lancers." "Oh, it's _your_ cottage he has rented," said Lady Esmondet, awaking to interest.