Moods
rather not with any one but you, and you have been a martyr long
enough."
Mark roamed away, and finding a cool corner Sylvia watched the animated
scene before her till her wandering glance was arrested by the sight of
a new comer, and her mind busied with trying to recollect where she had
seen him. The slender figure, swarthy face, and vivacious eyes all
seemed familiar, but she could find no name for their possessor till he
caught her eye, when he half bowed and wholly smiled. Then she
remembered, and while still recalling that brief interview one of their
young hosts appeared with the stranger, and Gabriel Andre was duly
presented.
"I could hardly expect to be remembered, and am much flattered, I assure
you. Did you suffer from the shower that day, Miss Yule?"
The speech was nothing, but the foreign accent gave a softness to the
words, and the southern grace of manner gave an air of romance to the
handsome youth. Sylvia was in the mood to be pleased with everybody,
everything, and was unusually gracious as they merrily pursued the
subject suggested by his question. Presently he asked--
"Is Warwick with you now?"
"He was not staying with us, but with his friend, Mr. Moor."
"He was the gentleman who pulled so well that day?"
"Yes."
"Is Warwick with him still?"
"Oh, no, he went away three months ago."
"I wonder where!"
"So do I!"
The wish had been impulsively expressed, and was as impulsively echoed.
Young Andre smiled, and liked Miss Yule the better for forgetting that
somewhat lofty air of hers.
"You have no conjecture, then? I wish to find him, much, very much, but
cannot put myself upon his trail. He is so what you call peculiar that
he writes no letters, leaves no address, and roves here and there like a
born gitano."
"Have you ill news for him?"
"I have the best a man could desire; but fear that while I look for him
he has gone to make a disappointment for himself. You are a friend, I
think?"
"I am."
"Then you know much of him, his life, his ways?"
"Yes, both from himself and Mr. Moor."
"Then you know of his betrothal to my cousin, doubtless, and I may speak
of it, because if you will be so kind you may perhaps help us to find
him."
"I did not know--perhaps he did not wish it--" began Sylvia, folding one
hand tightly in the other, with a quick breath and a momentary sensation
as if some one had struck her in the face.
"He thinks so little of us I shall not regard his wish just now. If you
will permit me I would say a word for my cousin's sake, as I know you
will be interested for her, and I do not feel myself strange with you."
Sylvia bowed, and standing before her with an air half mannish, half
boyish, Gabriel went on in the low, rapid tone peculiar to him.
"See, then, my cousin was betrothed in May. A month after Adam cries
out that he loves too much for his peace, that he has no freedom of his
heart or mind, that he must go away and take his breath before he is
made a happy slave forever. Ottila told me this. She implored him to
stay; but no, he vows he will not come again till they marry, in the
next June. He thinks it a weakness to adore a woman. Impertinente! I
have no patience for him."
Gabriel spoke indignantly, and pressed his foot into the carpet with a
scornful look. But Sylvia took no heed of his petulance, she only kept
her eyes fixed upon him with an intentness which he mistook for
interest. The eyes were fine, the interest was flattering, and though
quite aware that he was both taking a liberty and committing a breach of
confidence, the impulsive young gentleman chose to finish what he had
begun, and trust that no harm would follow.
"He has been gone now more than half a year, but has sent no letter, no
message, nothing to show that he still lives. Ottila waits, she writes,
she grows too anxious to endure, she comes to look for him. I help her,
but we do not find him yet, and meantime I amuse her. My friends are
kind, and we enjoy much as we look about us for this truant Adam."
If Sylvia could have doubted the unexpected revelation, this last trait
was so like Warwick it convinced her at once. Though the belief to which
she had clung so long was suddenly swept from under her, she floated
silently with no outward sign of shipwreck as her hope went down. Pride
was her shield, and crowding back all other emotions she kept herself
unnaturally calm behind it till she was alone. If Gabriel had been
watching her he would only have discovered that she was a paler blonde
than he had thought her; that her address was more coldly charming than
before; and that her eye no longer met his, but rested steadily on the
folded fan she held. He was not watching her, however, but glancing
frequently over her head at something at the far end of the rooms which
a crowd of assiduous gentlemen concealed. His eye wandered, but his
thoughts did not; for still intent on the purpose that seemed to have
brought him to her, he said, as if reluctant to be importunate, yet
resolved to satisfy himself--
"Pardon me that I so poorly entertain you, and let me ask one other
question in Ottila's name. This Moor, would he not give us some clue to
Adam's haunts?"
"He is absent, and will be till spring, I think. Where I do not know,
else I could write for you. Did Mr. Warwick promise to return in June?"
"Yes."
"Then, if he lives, he will come. Your cousin must wait; it will not be
in vain."
"It shall not!"
The young man's voice was stern, and a passionate glitter made his black
eyes fierce. Then the former suavity returned, and with his most gallant
air he said--
"You are kind, Miss Yule; I thank you, and put away this so troublesome
affair. May I have the honor?"
If he had proposed to waltz over a precipice Sylvia felt as if she could
have accepted, provided there was time to ask a question or two before
the crash came. A moment afterward Mark was surprised to see her
floating round the room on the arm of "the olive-colored party," whom he
recognized at once. His surprise soon changed to pleasure, for his
beauty-loving eye as well as his brotherly pride was gratified as the
whirling couples subsided and the young pair went circling slowly by,
giving to the graceful pastime the enchantment few have skill to lend
it, and making it a spectacle of life-enjoying youth to be remembered by
the lookers on.
"Thank you! I have not enjoyed such a waltz since I left Cuba. It is the
rudest of rude things to say, but to you I may confide it, because you
dance like a Spaniard. The ladies here seem to me as cold as their own
snow, and they make dancing a duty, not a pleasure. They should see
Ottila; she is all grace and fire. I could kill myself dancing with her.
Adam used to say it was like wine to watch her."
"I wish she was here to give us a lesson."
"She is, but will not dance to-night."
"Here!" cried Sylvia, stopping abruptly.
"Why not? Elyott is mad for her, and gave me no peace till I brought
her. She is behind that wall of men; shall I make a passage for you? She
will be glad to talk with you of Adam, and I to show you the handsomest
woman in Habana."
"Let us wait a little; I should be afraid to talk before so many. She is
very beautiful, then."
"You will laugh and call me extravagant, as others do, if I say what I
think; so I will let you judge for yourself. See, your brother stands on
tiptoe to peep at her. Now he goes in, and there he will stay. You do
not like that, perhaps. But Ottila cannot help her beauty, nor the power
she has of making all men love her. I wish she could!"
"She is gifted and accomplished, as well as lovely?" asked Sylvia,
glancing at her companion's gloomy face.
"She is everything a woman should be, and I could shoot Adam for his
cruel neglect."
Gabriel's dark face kindled as he spoke, and Sylvia drearily wished he
would remember how ill-bred it was to tire her with complaints of her
friend, and raptures over his cousin. He seemed to perceive this, turned
a little haughty at her silence, and when he spoke was all the stranger
again.
"This is a contra danza; shall we give the snow-ladies another lesson?
First, may I do myself the pleasure of getting you an ice?"
"A glass of water, please; I am cool enough without more ice."
He seated her and went upon his errand. She was cool now; weary-footed,
sick at heart, and yearning to be alone. But in these days women do not
tear their hair and make scenes, though their hearts may ache and burn
with the same sharp suffering as of old. Till her brother came she knew
she must bear it, and make no sign. She did bear it, drank the water
with a smile, danced the dance with spirit, and bore up bravely till
Mark appeared. She was alone just then, and his first words were--
"Have you seen her?"
"No; take me where I can, and tell me what you know of her."
"Nothing, but that she is Andre's cousin, and he adores her, as boys
always do a charming woman who is kind to them. Affect to be admiring
these flowers, and look without her knowing it, or she will frown at you
like an insulted princess, as she did at me."
Sylvia looked, saw the handsomest woman in Havana, and hated her
immediately. It was but natural, for Sylvia was a very human girl, and
Ottila one whom no woman would love, however much she might admire.
Hers was that type of character which every age has reproduced, varying
externally with climates and conditions, but materially the same from
fabled Circe down to Lola Montes, or some less famous syren whose
subjects are not kings. The same passions that in ancient days broke out
in heaven-defying crimes; the same power of beauty, intellect, or
subtlety; the same untamable spirit and lack of moral sentiment are the
attributes of all; latent or alert as the noble or ignoble nature may
predominate. Most of us can recall some glimpse of such specimens of
Nature's work in a daring mood. Many of our own drawing-rooms have held
illustrations of the nobler type, and modern men and women have quailed
before royal eyes whose possessors ruled all spirits but their own. Born
in Athens, and endowed with a finer intellect, Ottila might have been an
Aspasia; or cast in that great tragedy the French Revolution, have
played a brave part and died heroically like Roland and Corday. But set
down in uneventful times, the courage, wit, and passion that might have
served high ends dwindled to their baser counterparts, and made her what
she was,--a fair allurement to the eyes of men, a born rival to the
peace of women, a rudderless nature absolute as fate.
Sylvia possessed no knowledge that could analyze for her the sentiment
which repelled, even while it attracted her toward Warwick's betrothed.
That he loved her she did not doubt, because she felt that even his
pride would yield to the potent fascination of this woman. As Sylvia
looked, her feminine eye took in every gift of face and figure, every
grace of attitude or gesture, every daintiness of costume, and found no
visible flaw in Ottila, from her haughty head to her handsome foot. Yet
when her scrutiny ended, the girl felt a sense of disappointment, and
no envy mingled with her admiration.
As she stood, forgetting to assume interest in the camellias before her,
she saw Gabriel join his cousin, saw her pause and look up at him with
an anxious question. He answered it, glancing toward that part of the
room where she was standing. Ottila's gaze was fixed upon her instantly;
a rapid, but keen survey followed, and then the lustrous eyes turned
away with such supreme indifference, that Sylvia's blood tingled as if
she had received an insult.
"Mark, I am going home," she said, abruptly.
"Very well, I'm ready."
When safe in her own room Sylvia's first act was to take off the holly