SWORD AND GOWN. 

 A Novel. 

 BY THE AUTHOR OF "GUY LIVINGSTONE. "

 NEW YORK: FRANKLIN SQUARE. 1859. 

[Transcriber's note: the author was George Alfred Lawrence]

CHAPTER I. 

"There _is_ something in this climate, after all. I suppose there arenot many places where one could lie on the shore in December, and enjoythe air as much as I have done for the last two hours. "

Harry Molyneux turned his face seaward again as he spoke, and drank inthe soft breeze eagerly; he could scarcely help thanking it aloud, as itstole freshly over his frame, and played gently with his hair, and lefta delicate caress on his cheek--the cheek that was now always so pale, save in the one round scarlet spot where, months ago, Consumption hadhung out her flag of "No surrender. "

There is enough in the scene to justify an average amount of enthusiasm. Those steep broken hills in the background form the frontier fortress ofthe maritime Alps, the last outwork of which is the rocky spur on whichMolyneux and his companion are lying. Fir woods feather the sky-line;and from among these, here and there, the tall stone pines stand upalone, like sentinels--steady, upright, and unwearied, though theirguard has not been relieved for centuries. All around, wild myrtle, andheath, and eglantine curl and creep up the stems of the olives, trying, from the contact of their fresh youth, to infuse new life and sap intothe gray, gnarled old trees, even as a fair Jewish maiden once strove tocherish her war-worn, decrepit king. There are other flowers too left, though December has begun, enough to give a faint fragrance to the airand gay colors to the ground. Just below their feet is a narrow strip ofdark ribbed sand, and then the tangle of weed, scarcely stirred by thewater, that all along this coast fringes like a beard the languid lip ofthe Mediterranean Sea. 

Molyneux appreciated and admired all this, after his simple fashion, andsaid so; his companion did not answer immediately; he only shrugged hisshoulders and lifted his eyebrows, as if he could have disputed thepoint if it had not been too much trouble. An optimist in nothing, leastof all was Royston Keene grateful or indulgent to the beauties andbounties of inanimate creation. 

"Ah well!" Harry went on, resignedly, "I know it's useless trying to geta compliment to Nature out of you. I ought to have given you up thatnight when we showed you the Alps from the terrace at Berne. You hadnever seen the Jungfrau before, and she had got her prettiest pinkevening dress on, poor thing! and all you would say was, 'There's notmuch the matter with the view. '"

"It was a concession to your wife's enthusiasm, " Keene replied; "asudden check might have been dangerous just then, or I should havespoken more bitterly, after being brought out to look at mountains, whenI was dusty and travel-stained, wanting baths, and dinners, and othernecessaries of life. "

The voice was deep-toned and melodious enough that spoke these words, but too slow and deliberate to be quite a pleasant one, though there wasnothing like a drawl in it. One could easily fancy such a voice ironicalor sarcastic, but hardly raised much in anger; in the imperative mood itmight be very successful, but it seemed as if it could never havepleaded or prayed. It matched the speaker's exterior singularly well. Had you seen him for the first time--couchant, as he was then--you wouldhave had only an impression of great length and laziness; but as yougazed on, the vast deep chest expanded under your eye; the knottedmuscles, without an ounce of superfluous flesh to dull their outline, developed themselves one by one; so that gradually you began to realizethe extent of his surpassing bodily powers, and wondered that you couldhave been deceived even for a moment. The face guarded its secret farmore successfully. The features were bold and sharply cut, bronzed up tothe roots of the crisp light-brown beard and hair, except where theupper brow retained its original fairness--presenting a startlingcontrast, like a wreath of snow lying late in spring-time high up on theside of a black fell. You would hardly say that they were devoid ofexpression, any more than that a perfectly drilled soldier is incapableof activity; but you got puzzled in making out what their naturalexpression was: it was not sternness, far less ferocity--the face wasmuch too impassible for either; and yet its listlessness could never bemistaken for languor. The thin short lips might be very pitiless whencompressed, very contemptuous and provocative when curling; but theenormous mustache, sweeping over them like a wave, and ending in a cleanstiff upward curve, made even this a matter of mere conjecture. Thecold, steady, dark eyes seldom flashed or glittered; but, when theirpupils contracted, there came into them a sort of sullen, suppressed, inward light, like that of jet or cannel coal. One curious thing aboutthem was, that they never seemed to care about following you, and yetyou felt you could not escape from them. The first hand-gripe, however, settled the question with most people: few, after experiencing theinvoluntary pressure, when he did not in the least mean to be cordial, doubted that there were passions in Royston Keene--difficult perhaps torouse, but yet more difficult to appease or subdue. 

His profession was evident. Indeed, it must be confessed that thedragoon is not easily dissembled. I know a very meritoriousparish-priest, of fair repute too as a preacher, who has striven foryears, hard but unavailingly, to divest himself of the martial air hebrought with him out of the K. D. G. He strides down the village streetwith a certain swagger and roll, as if the steel scabbard were stilltrailing at his heel, acknowledging rustic bows with a slight quickmotion of the finger, like troopers' salutes; on the smooth shaven faceis shadowed forth the outline of a beard, nurtured and trimmed in olddays with more than horticultural science; in the pulpit andreading-desk gown and surplice hang uneasily, like a disguise, on theerect soldierly figure, and the effect of his ministrations is therebysadly marred; for apposite text, earnest exhortation, and grave rebukeflow with a curious inconsistency from the lips of that well-meaning butunmitigated Plunger. 

Royston Keene was no exception to this rule, though he did not like tobe told so, and rather ignored the profession than otherwise. Perhaps hehad begun it early enough to have got tired of it; for he had now beenfor some time on half-pay, and a brevet-major, after doing good servicein the Indian wars, and was not yet thirty-four. Molyneux had served inthe same light cavalry regiment as his subaltern, and there thefoundation was laid of their close alliance. It was not a very fair orwell-balanced one, being made up of implicit obedience, reliance, andreverence on the one side, and a sort of protecting condescension on theother--much like the old Roman relation between Client and Patron;nevertheless it had outlasted many more sympathetic and better-lookingfriendships. 

They used to say of "The Cool Captain" (so he was always called offparade), that "he could bring a boy to his bearings sooner than any manin the army. " Yet he was a favorite with them all. There was a regularovation among those "Godless horsemen" whenever he came into the Club, or into their mess-rooms; they hung upon his simplest words with atouchingly devout attention, and thought it was their own stupidity whenthey could see nothing in them to laugh at or admire; they wrote off allthat they could remember of his sarcasms and repartees--generallystrangely travestied and spoiled by carriage--to unlucky comrades, martyrized on far-off detachments, or vegetating with friends in thecountry; the more ambitious, after much private practice, strove toimitate his way of twisting his mustache as he stood before the fire, though with some, to whom nature had been niggard of hirsute honors, itwas grasping a shadow and fighting with the air. 

Certainly Molyneux never was so happy as in that society. Fond as he wasof his pretty wife, her influence was as nothing in the scale. Shecomplained of this, half in earnest, soon after they were married. Thefever of post-nuptial felicity was strong upon Harry just then, but hedid not attempt to deny the imputation. He only said, "My pet, I haveknown him so much the longest!" I wonder, now, how many brides wouldhave admitted that somewhat unsatisfactory and illogical excuse? FannyMolyneux did; she was the best-natured little woman alive, and wise, too, in her generation, for she never brought matters to a crisis, ormeasured her strength against the "heavy-weight. "

Indeed, they got on together extremely well. Whenever Keene happened tobe with them--which was not often--she gave up the management of Harry'sForeign Affairs to him, reserving to herself the control of the HomeDepartment, and, between the two, they ruled their vassal right royally. After some months' acquaintance they became the greatest friends; onRoyston's side it was one of the few quite pure and unselfish feelingshe had ever cherished toward one of her sex not nearly akin to him inblood. He always seemed to look on her as a very nice, but ratherspoiled child, to be humored and petted to any amount, but very seldomto be reasoned with or gravely consulted. Considering her numerousfascinations, and the little practice he had had in the paternal orfraternal line, he really did it remarkably well: be it understood, itwas only _en petite comité_ that all this went on; in general societyhis manner was strictly formal and deferential. It provoked her though, sometimes, and one day she ventured to say, "I wish you would learn totreat me like a grown-up woman!" Royston's eyes darkened strangely; andone glance flashed out of the gloom that made her shrink away from himthen, and blush painfully when she thought of it afterward alone. He wasfrowning, too, as he answered, in a voice unusually harsh andconstrained, "It seems to me we go on very well as it is. But womennever _will_ leave well alone. " She did not like to analyze his answeror her own feelings too closely, so she tried to persuade herself it wasa very rude speech, and that she ought to be offended at it. There was acoolness between those two for some days, amounting to distant courtesy. But the dignified style did not suit _ma mignonne_ (as Harry delightedto call her) at all, and was, indeed, a lamentable failure; it made herlook as if she had been trying on one of her great-grandmother'sshort-waisted dresses; so they soon fell back into their old ways, and, like the model prince and princess, "lived very happily ever afterward. "

CHAPTER II. 

Keene had spent some time with the Molyneuxs during the autumn andwinter, and had conducted himself so far with perfect propriety, certainly keeping Harry straighter than he would have gone alone; for hewas, unluckily, of a convivial turn of mind wholly incompatible withdelicate health and a frail constitution. Being a favorite with theworld in general, he felt bound, I suppose, to reciprocate, so, albeitstrictly enjoined to keep the earliest hours, he would sit up till dawnif any one encouraged him, and then come home, perfectly sober perhaps, but staggering from mere weakness. He did not care for deep drinking inthe least, but the number of magnums he had assisted in flooring, whenon a regimen of "three glasses of sherry, " would have made a double rowof nails round the coffin of a larger man. Nature, however, being aDame, won't stand being slighted, or having her admonitions disregarded, and the way she asserted herself on the morrow was retributive in theextreme. Harry was always so _very_ ill after one of those nights "uponthe war-path. " On such occasions, his feelings, without being quiteremorseful, were beautifully and curiously penitent; they manifestedthemselves chiefly by an extraordinary ebullition of the domesticaffections. "Bring me my children" (he had two tiny ones), he would cryon waking, just as another man would call for brandy and soda; and, strange to say, the presence of those innocents seemed to have asimilarly invigorating and refreshing effect: during all that day hewould make pilgrimages to their cribs, and gaze upon them sleeping withthe reverence of an old _dévote_ kneeling before the shrine of her mostefficacious saint. Then he would go forth, and return with a present forhis wife, bearing an exact proportion in value to the extent andduration of the past misdemeanor; so that her jewel-case andwriting-table soon became as prettily suggestive as the votive chapel ofNôtre Dame des Dunes. Very unnecessary were these peace-offerings; forthat dear little woman never dreamt of "hitting him when he was down, "or taking any other low advantage of his weakness. She would make hisbreakfast beamingly, at all untimely hours, and otherwise pet and caresshim, so that he might have been a knight returning wounded from someHoly War, instead of a discomfited scalp-hunter, bearing still evidenttraces of the "war-paint. " A stern old lady told her once that suchcondonation of offenses was unprincipled and immoral. It may be so, butI can not think the example is likely to be dangerously contagious. Whatever happens, there will always remain a sufficiency of matronlyDicæarchs, over whose judgment-seats the legend is very plainlyinscribed, _Nescia flecti_. 

These Ember days formed the only exceptions to the remarkably easy wayin which Molyneux took every thing; there seemed to be no rough placesabout his disposition for trouble or care to take hold of. Hunting fourdays a week through the winter; six weeks in town during the season, with incidentals of Epsom, Goodwood, _saumon à la Trafalgar_, bouquets, and opera-stalls; living all the rest of the year at a mess curious asto the quality of its dry Champagne--these simple pleasures involve acertain expenditure hardly "fairly warranted by our regimental rate ofpay. " To accomplish all this on about £500 a year, and yet to steerclear of ruin, is an ingenious process doubtless, but a sum not to bewrought out (most soldiers will tell you) without some anxiety andtravail of mind. Now, in the very tightest state of the money-market, Harry was never known to disquiet himself in vain. He would not borrowfrom any of his comrades, refusing all such proffers of assistancegratefully but consistently. No Mussulman ever equaled his contentedreliance on the resources of futurity, and his implicit belief in thesame. He would anchor his hopes on some such improbability as "a longshot coming off, " or "his Aunt Agnes coming down" (a proverbially awfulwidow, who had forgiven him seven times already; and, after each freshoffense, had sworn unrelenting enmity to him and his heirs forever). Strong in this faith, he met condoling friends with a pleasant, reassuring smile: with the same demeanor he confronted threateningcreditors. He used no arts, and condescended to no subterfuge in dealingwith these last; but, as one of them observed, retreating from thebarracks moneyless but gratified, "Mr. Molyneux seems to _feel_ for one, at all events. " So he did. He sympathized with his tailor, not in theleast because he owed him money, but because he was a fellow-creature indifficulties, regretting heartily it was not in his own power to relievethem; just as a very charitable but improvident person might feel onreading a case of real distress in the _Times_. Strange to say, hithertohe had always pulled through. Either the outsider _did_ win, or theaunt, touched in the soft place of her heart through her ruffledfeathers, was brought down by a "wild shot, " when considered quite outof distance, and "parted" freely. 

The last and hardest trial of all--long debility and frequentillness--had failed to shake this intense serenity. He was never crossor unreasonable, and tried to give as little trouble as possible; butwas grateful to a degree for every thing that was done for him: he couldeven manage to thank people for their advice, whether he took it not. Sofar as one could make out, he was nearly as much interested in the stateof his own health, as one would be about that of any pleasant casualacquaintance. 

It must be confessed, that poor Harry and his like are by no meansstrong-minded, or large-brained, or persevering men; they seldom ornever rise to eminence, and rarely have greatness thrust upon them. Theydo not often volunteer to lead the vanguard of any great movement, shouting out on the slightest provocation the war-cry of "life isearnest;" for they are the natural subalterns of the world's mightybattalia, and could hardly manoeuvre one of its companies, withouthopelessly entangling it, and exposing themselves: indeed, if they areuseful at all in their generation, it is in a singularly modest andunobtrusive way. Yet there is an attraction about them, a power ofattachment, that the great and wise ones of the earth have appreciatedand envied, ere now. It is curious, too, to see what an apparentcontradiction to themselves the extremes of the class--those whoexaggerate _nonchalance_ into insensibility, and softness intoeffeminacy--have shown, when brought face to face with imminent peril orcertain destruction. France held few more terrible _ferrailleurs_ thanthe curled painted minions of her third Henry: the sun never looked downon a more desperate duel than that in which Quélus, Schomberg, andMaugiron did their _devoir_ manfully to the last. Nay, though he camedelicately to his doom, the King of Amalek met it, I fancy, gallantlyand gracefully enough, when once he read his sentence in the eyes of thepitiless Seer, who ordained that he "should be hewn in pieces before theLord in Gilgal. "

 R. I. P. 

There was silence for some minutes after the few words that opened thisstory; and then Royston Keene spoke again. 

"Hal, do you remember that miserable impostor in Paris beingenthusiastic about Dorade and its advantages, describing it as a sort ofhappy hunting-ground, and so deciding us on choosing it in preference toNice?"

"Ah! he _did_ drivel a good deal. I think he had been drinking, " theother answered. 

"No; I understand him now. He had been bored here into a sullen, vicious misanthropy; and he wanted to take it out on the human race bygetting others in the same mess. It's just like that jealous oldHeathfield, who, when he is up to his girths in a squire-trap, neverhalloos ''ware bog, ' till five or six more are in it. I can fancy thehoary-headed villain gloating hideously over us now. I wish I had himhere. I could be _so_ unkind to him! He talked about the shooting andthe society. Bah! there's about one cock to every thousand acres offorest; and as for women fair to look upon, I've not flushed one sincewe came. I don't think I can stand it much longer. "

"I am very sorry, " Harry said; "I knew you were being bored to death, and it's all on my account; but I didn't like to ask you about it. I'mso horribly selfish!" The shadow of an imminent penitence began to stealover him, when Royston broke in--

"Don't be childish. I liked to stay--never mind why--or I should nothave done so. Only now--you are getting better, and I realize thesituation more. I hardly know where to go. Not back to England, certainly, yet. Besides the nuisance and chance work of picking up astud in the middle of the season, it isn't pleasant to be consoled for ablank day by, 'you should have been here last month. Never was suchscent; and heaps of straight-running foxes!' And then they indulgethemselves in an imaginative 'cracker, ' knowing you can't contradictthem. Shall I go to Albania? I should like to kill _something_ before Iturn homeward. "

Harry seemed musing. Suddenly he half started up, clapping his hands. "Iknew I had forgotten!"

"Not such a singular circumstance as to warrant all that indecentexultation, " was the reply. "Well, out with it. "

"I never told you that Fan had a letter this morning from CecilTresilyan (they're immense friends, you know) to ask her to engage roomsfor them. They are in Paris now, and will be here in three days. "

Keene raised himself on his arm, regarding his comrade with a sort ofadmiration. "You're a natural curiosity, _mon cher_. None of us everquite appreciated you. I don't believe there's another man in existence, situated as we are, who would have kept that intelligence at the back ofhis head so long. _The_ Tresilyan, of course? I remember hearing abouther in India. Annesley came back from sick leave perfectly insane on thesubject. She _must_ be something extraordinary, for the recollection ofher made even him poetical--when he was sober. I asked about her when Igot to England, but her mother was taken very ill, or did somethingequally unjustifiable, so she left town before I saw her. "

"The mother really _was_ ill, " Molyneux said, apologetically; "at leastshe died soon after that. Miss Tresilyan has never shown much since. Butyou've no idea of the sensation she made during her season and a half. They called her The Refuser, she had such a fabulous number of offers, and wouldn't look at any of them. By-the-by, there's rather a good storyabout that. You know Margate? He's going to the bad very fast now, buthe was the crack puppy of that year's entry; good-looking, longminority, careful guardians, leases falling in, mother one of the bestChristians in England, and all that sort of thing. Well, Tom Cary tookhim in hand, and brought him out in great form before long. They weretalking over their preparations for the moors, for they were going tostart the next day. 'I believe that's all, ' Margate asked, 'or have weforgotten any thing?' 'Wait a minute, ' said Tom, and reflected(provident man, Tom; fond of his comforts, and proud of it)--'Ah! Ithought there was something. You haven't proposed to The Tresilyan. 'They say Margate's face was a study. He never disputed the orders of hisprivate trainer, so he only said, piteously, 'But I don't want to marryany one, ' and looked as if he was going to cry. 'You _are_ "oweryoung, "' Cary said, encouragingly, 'and it's about the last thing Ishould press upon you. It wouldn't suit my book at all. But I don't seehow that affects the question. I can lay ten ponies to one she won'thave you. It's the thing to do, depend upon it. All the other good menhave had a turn, and you have no right to be singular; it's bad taste. Rank has its duties, my lord. _Noblesse oblige_, and so forth. Youunderstand?' Margate _didn't_ in the least, but he went and proposedquite properly, and was rejected rather more decidedly than his fellows. Then he went down into Perthshire, and missed his grouse, and lost hissalmon, with a comfortable consciousness of having discharged hisobligations to society. "

Royston Keene actually groaned, "Why didn't she come sooner?" he said. "What a luxury, in this God-forgotten place, to talk to a cleverhandsome woman, who tramples on strawberry-leaves!"

"Perhaps she would have come if she had known how much we wanted her, "replied Harry. "They say she is a model of charity, and several othervirtues too. She is coming here for the health of some companion, orgoverness, who lives with her. Yet she flirts outrageously at times, inher own imperial way. Better late than never. I'm certain you'll likeher, and perhaps she'll like you. "

"_Qui vivra verra_, " Keene said, rising slowly. "Let us go home now. Draw your plaid closer round you, it's getting chilly. "

CHAPTER III. 

There is a terrace in Dorade, fenced in from every wind that blows, except the south, and even that has to creep cautiously and cunninglyround a sharp corner to make its entrance good. Four small stunted palmsgrow there; they look painfully out of place, and conscious of it; forthey are always bowing their heads in a meek humiliation, and shiver ina strange unhealthy way at the slightest breeze, just as you may seeAsiatics doing in our "land of mist and snow. " But the natives regardthose unhappy exotics with a fanatical pride, pointing them out to allcomers as living witnesses to the perfection of the climate; they wouldgladly stone any irreverent stranger who should suggest a comparisonbetween their sacred shrubs and the giants of Indian seas. The onlyinhabitant of the place who ever attained any eminence any where (hereally _was_ a good tailor), bequeathed a certain sum for thebeautifying of the renowned _allée_, instead of endowing charitableinstitutions, and his townsmen endorsed the act by erecting a littlemural tablet to commemorate his public spirit. 

The view is rather pretty, stretching over vineyards, and gardens, andolive-grounds down to the shore, with the islands in the far foregroundrearing themselves against the sky, clear and blue, or if the weather ismisty to seaward, sleeping in an aureole of golden haze, so that thewhole effect would be cheerful if it were not for the melancholyinvalids who haunt the spot perpetually. Faces and figures are to beseen sometimes that would send an uncomfortable shiver of revulsionthrough you if you met them on the Boulevard des Italiens, strengthenedby your ante-prandian _absinthe_. Here, the place belonged to them socompletely, that a man in rude health felt like an unwarrantableintruder, in which light I am sure the hypochondriacs always regardedhim. As such a one passed, you might see a glare, half-envious, half-resentful, light up some hollow eyes, and thin parched lips workednervously, as though they were uttering a very equivocal blessing. 

Does the character gain much by the extermination of more impulsivepassions, when their place is possessed by the two devils that neitherage nor sickness can exorcise--Avarice and Envy? It is with this last, perhaps, that we have most to do; and the shadow of it, howeverindistinct and distant, makes the landscape near the horizon looksomewhat dreary. The nature of many of us is so faulty and illregulated, that it may be doubted if even advancing years will make usmuch better or wiser; but, when winter shall have closed in, and our hotblood is more than cool, is there no chance of an "open season?" Must itcome to this--that the mere sight of the youth, and strength, and beautythat have left us far behind shall stir our bile, as though it were aninsolent parade--that the choicest delicacies at our neighbor'swedding-breakfast shall not pique our palate like the baked meats at hisfuneral? Not so; if we must give ground let us retreat in good order, leaving no shield behind us that our enemy may build into his trophy. Ifwe are rash enough to assail Lady Violet Vavasour with petitions for awaltz, and see her look doubtfully down her scribbled tablets, till the"sweetest lips that ever were kissed" can find no gentler answer thanthe terrible "Engaged, " let us not gnash suicidally our few remainingteeth, even though Brabazon Leslie--all the handsomer for the scar onhis smooth forehead--should come up upon our traces, and ride roughshodover those hieroglyphics, as he did at Balaclava through Russiansquadrons. Rather let us try to sympathize with his triumph, while hecarries off his beautiful prize from under the enemy's guns, asDundonald may have cut out a frigate beneath the batteries of Vera Cruz. _Non omnia corripit ævum. _ Hath the savor departed wholly from theGascon wine, because the name of no living love crowns the draught?Shall we stay sullenly at home when all the world is flocking to thetournament, because our limbs have stiffened so that we may no longersit saddlefast, and hold our own in the _mêlée_? A corner in thecushioned gallery is left to us still. Come, comrade of mine--_natemecum Consule Manlio_--we will go up and lounge there among theChatelaines: some may be found good-natured enough to listen (in thepauses of the tilting), while we tell how, not so many years back, plumeand pennon went down before our lance. 

I place no great reliance on the Pleasures of Memory. But, if pearls andbright shells be rarely found there, surely waifs, better than _echini_and sting-rays, are to be gathered on the "shores of long ago. " Ah, cynic! you are strong enough to be merciful--just this once. Spare usthe string of examples that would overwhelm us utterly. Does it notsuffice that we confess the truth of that saddest adage, tolled in ourears by every passing bell, Those whom the gods love well die young?

Royston and his companion were crossing the terrace on their way homewhen the former stopped suddenly. 

"Go on, Hal, " he said; "it is too late for you to be standing about, butI must speak to that poor Châteaumesnil. I shall see you at dinner. " Hewent up to a wheeled chair that was being drawn by at the time. 

Its occupant was a man of large frame, as far as could be made outthrough the thick wrappings of furs; his head was bent forward and low, resting on his hands, that were crossed on a crutch-handle. He appearedprofoundly unconscious of all that was passing, and never moved tillKeene addressed him. Then, very slowly, he lifted up his face. Few ofus, fortunately for those who have strong imaginations and weak nerves, see its like twice in a lifetime, or there would be wild work indreamland. 

It was not distorted in any way, nor deformed, except by a ghastly, livid pallor; gaunt and drawn as the features were, they still boreevident traces of a rare manly beauty, that even the neglected beard ofiron-gray could not conceal. But it was the savage face of one who haswrestled with physical pain till it has assumed almost the visible andtangible shape of a personal enemy--a mocking devil, that always isready, with fresh ingenuity of torture, to answer and punish therebellious question, "Art thou come to torment me before my time?" Thelines on the forehead were so strongly marked and dreadfully distinct, that, like the markings of the locust, they seemed to form charactersthat might be read, if it were given to mortal cabalists to decipher thehandwriting of God. 

Look once more: it is worth while, if you are curious in contrasts andcomparisons. Five years ago that bowed, blasted cripple was the mostreckless dare-devil, the most splendid Paladin, in all the army ofAlgiers; the man for whom, after an unusually brilliant exploit, St. Arnaud, loving him as his own right hand, could find no higher praisethan to write in his dispatches, "_Les 3me Chasseurs se sont conduitsen héros; leur chef-d'escadron en--Châteaumesnil. _" And it was true thatthe annals of his house could boast of no nobler soldier, though theyhad been fighting hard since Clovis's day. His name is known very wellin Africa. The _spahis_ talk of it still over their watch-fires, and thewild Bedouins load it with guttural curses--their lips white with hatredand remembered fear: they do not forget how far and fast they fled intotheir desert strong-holds, and never could shake off the light cloud ofwhirling dust that told how Armand and his stanch gaze-hounds were hardupon their trail. 

Rheumatic fever, coming close on a severe bullet wound, had brought himvery near to death; and the first thing he heard when he began torecover, was that he would never stand upright again. 

He is answering Keene's salutation. 

"My friend, you failed us last night at the Cercle, and yet we waitedfor you long. " A hoarse, hollow voice--very measured and slow, as ifcarefully disciplined to repress groans--yet every now and then therewill come a modulation, that shows how rich and cheery it might havebeen when trolling a _chanson à boire_--how clear and sonorous when, over the stamping of hoofs and the rattle of scabbards, it rang out theone word "Charge!"--how winning and musical when whispering into asmall, pink ear laid against his lips lovingly. 

The Vicomte de Châteaumesnil cares for but one thing on earth now--play, as deep as he can make or find it. It is not a pastime, or adistraction, or an occasional fever-fit, but the sole interest of hisexistence. A fearfully unworthy and unsatisfactory one, you will say. Granted; but try and realize his condition. 

He is not forty yet. All the passions of mature manhood were alivewithin him; not one desire or impulse had been tamed by natural or evenpremature decay at the time he was struck down, and cut off from everyobject and aim of his former life, when it was too late to form or turnto others. Imagine how eagerly his strong fiery nature must have graspedat some of these--how it must have appreciated the alternations ofglory, pleasure, and peril--all worse than blanks now. You dare notspeak to him of woman's love. Worse than all other torments of theTitan's bed of pain, would be wild dreams of impossible Oceanides!

Remember that his only change of scene is from one of the waters ofMarah to another, according to his own or his physician's fancy aboutmineral springs. Remember, too, that the cleverest or the most sanguineof them all have only ventured to promise an abatement of his agonies:of their cessation they say no word; nor can they even prophesy that theend will come quickly. He is not allowed to read much, even if his tastelay that way, which it does not; for a literary _Chasseur d'Afrique_ issuch a whim as Nature never yet indulged herself in. So perhaps hecaught at the only resource that could have saved him from worse things;under which, I presume, is to be included the temptation to takelaudanum in proportions by no means prescribed or sanctioned by theFaculty. 

Every day about noon his servant helped him into the card-room at theclub, and settled him at his own table, where, with the two hoursrespite of dinner, he sat till midnight, ready to give battle to allcomers at all weapons, just as the Knights of Lyonnesse used to keep abridge or a pass while achieving their vows. It is needless to say thatthe changes of good or bad luck affected him not at all. Few men of hisstamp indulge in the weakness of railing at Fortune, which is theprivilege and consolation of the _roturier_. Neither was he ever heardto reproach a partner, or become bitter against an adversary. He seemedto take a pleasure in disappointing those who were always expecting fromhim some savage outbreak of temper: they judged from his appearance, andhad some grounds for their anticipations; for, winning or losing, thatstrange look, half-weary, half-defiant, never was off his face. But, with Armand de Châteaumesnil, the _grand seigneur_ had not been mergedin the soldier: the _brusquerie_ of the camp had not overlaid the mannerof the courtly school in which he and all his race had been trained; theschool of those who would stab their enemy to the heart with sarcasm orinnuendo, but scorned to stun him with blatant abuse--of those who wouldnever have dreamt of listening to a woman with covered head, though theymight be deaf as the nether millstone to her entreaties or her tears. Itwas with the Revolution that the rapier went out, and the _savate_ camein. 

Very few men came up to his standard of play; for he was hard to pleasein style as well as in stakes. Keene did fully; and this, with a certainsimilarity of tastes, accounted for his liking the latter so well. Hehad little regard to throw away, and was chary of it in proportion. Onthe other hand, Royston treated the invalid with an amount of deferencevery unusual with him, in whom the bump of Veneration was probablyrepresented by a cavity. 

The two were still talking on the terrace, when a man passed them, wholifted his hat slightly, and then sighed audibly, looking upward with anostentatious contrition, as though he apologized to heaven for such abowing-down to Rimmon. This was the Rev. James Fullarton, Britishchaplain at Dorade. A difficult and anomalous position--in which theunlucky divine, in addition to his anxiety about the conscientiousdischarge of his duties, has to cultivate the friendship of a vastnumber of unrighteous Mammons, if he would be allowed to perform hisfunctions at all. Our countrymen are popularly supposed to take out aspecial license for liberty of thought and action as soon as they crossthe Channel; and the pastor's pulpit-cushion can hardly be stuffed withroses when every other member of his congregation--embracing devotees ofabout a dozen different shades of High, Low, and Broad Church--thinks ithis or her daily duty to decide, if the formula--_Quamdiu se benegesserit_--has been duly complied with. Perhaps foreign air and warmerclimates develop, like a hot-bed, our innate instinct ofdestructiveness. Look at portly respectable fathers offamilies--householders who, at home, have accepted their spiritualposition without a murmur for a quarter of a century, roused to revoltby no vexed question of copes, candles, or church-rates--even these cannot escape contagion. When once the game is afoot, they will open on thescent with the perseverance of the steadiest "line-hunter, " and join inthe "worry" as savagely as the youngest hound. I remember seeing asimilar case in Scotland, where a minister was preaching before "theMen" who were appointed to judge of his qualifications. Right in frontof him, on a low bench, sat the awful Three, silent, stolid, and stern. His best rounded periods, his neatest imagery, his aptest quotations, brought no light into their vacant gray eyes: perhaps they were lookingbeyond all these, straight at the doctrine. The breeze blew freshlyfrom the German Ocean, over the purple hills; but it brought no coolnessto that miserable Boanerges. How he _did_ perspire! I could not wonderat it; and though he preached for ninety-five minutes, and wearied meeven to death, I bore him no enmity, but pitied him from my soul. 

Mr. Fullarton, however, had steered through the reefs and quicksandswith better skill or luck than his fellows, and, judging from theruddiness of his broad, beardless face, and the amplitude of his blackwaistcoat, the cares of office had not hitherto affected his healthmaterially. He was a well-meaning, conscientious man, ready to work hardfor his flock and his family; indeed, barring a certain frail leaningtoward _gourmandise_, of which a full pendulous lip told tales, and anoccasional infirmity of temper, he had as few outward failings as couldbe desired. For one of no extreme views, he could count an extraordinarynumber of adherents. Without being particularly agreeable orinstructive, he possessed a rather imposing readiness and rotundity ofspeech, and had a knack of turning his arm-chair into a pulpit somewhatoftener than was quite in good taste. However, I suppose the best of uswill talk "shop" when we see a fair opening. He had a large wife andseveral small children. No one admired him more devotedly than thistruly excellent woman. As far as sharing in her husband's successeswent, or partaking in any other advantages of society, she might as wellhave been the squaw of an Iowa brave; for her time was more than takenup in tending her offspring, and in providing for her lord the savorymeats in which he delighted; but she looked the picture of contentment, and so nobody thought it necessary to pity her. 

From the first moment of their meeting, the chaplain had entertained anervous dislike, approaching to a presentiment, toward Royston Keene. Heregarded him as a brand likely to inflame others, but itself by no meansto be plucked from the burning. The latter saw his gesture as he passed, and smiled--not pleasantly. "Remark the shepherd, M. Le Vicomte, " hesaid; "he sees the wolves prowling, and trembles for his lambs. "

"One wolf, at least, is toothless, " answered Châteaumesnil. "What havewe to do with lambs, except _en suprême_? But the sun is down; I must gohome, or these cursed pains will avenge themselves. Till this evening. "

"I will not fail; but you will permit me to accompany you so far, " saidKeene, bending over the invalid with the grand courteous air that becamehim well; and he walked by the other's side till they reached his door, talking over the varying fortunes of last night's play. 

CHAPTER IV. 

You have found out already that you are only looking at a chaplet ofcameos, with just enough of story to string them together. Under thesecircumstances, the right thing of course to do is to work out eachcharacter by the rules of metaphysical mathematics, and then to reversethe process and "prove" the result. But I never tried to extract thesquare root out of _any thing_ without failing miserably, and one canonly speak, and act, and write according to one's light. After all, itseems a more uncertain science than astronomy. Comets _will_ appear, nowand then, at abnormal times, and in places where they have no heavenlybusiness; and people are still to be found, so very ill-regulated as togo right or wrong in opposition to all rules and precedents. Where thevariations are so infinite, it is difficult to argue safely from onesingular example to another, and, if you miss one step, your wholededuction is apt to come to grief. Some one said, that "there werecorners in the nature of the simplest peasant-girl to which thecleverest man alive could never find a key. " Perhaps, too, those whofancy, rightly or wrongly, that they have mesmerized the heart even ofone fellow-creature so completely that the poor thing could not, if itwould, keep back a single secret, think it hardly fair to give the worldin general the full benefit of their discoveries. Practically, does allthis help one much? It is possible that some who have passed for thedeepest observers of human nature, owed their renown more to an acuteobservation of the phenomena of feeling, an intuitive knowledge of whatpeople like and dislike, a retentive memory, and a happy knack of makingall these available at the right moment, than to any profound reasoningon abstract principles. Like some untaught arithmeticians, theircalculations came out correct, but they could not have gone through thesteps of the process. 

There lives, even now, a sublime theorist, who professes to have madefeminine physiology his peculiar study. Sitting at his desk, or in hisarm-chair, he will trace the motives, impulses, and sensations which awoman must _necessarily_ have experienced under any given circumstances, as lucidly as a skillful pathologist, scalpel in hand, may lecture onthe material mysteries of the blood or brain: he will analyze for youthe waters of the _Fons Lacrymarum_, just as Letheby or Taylor might dothose of a new chalybeate spring. A fearful power, is it not, and fatal, if used tyrannously? Well, I remember hearing a very beautiful andcharming person speak of an evening she had spent in the society of TheAdept, during which she was conscious of being subjected to the actionof his microscope, stethoscope, and other engines of science. She said"It did not hurt her much, " and, on the whole, seemed by no means soimpressed with awe and admiration as could be wished. Indeed, beforethey parted, if any one was disquieted, discomfited, or otherwisedamaged, I fancy it was--_not_ the loveliest Margaret. From my slightacquaintance with that tremendous philosopher, supposing that he wereturned loose among a bevy of perfectly well-educated women, and meantmischief, I should be disposed to lay longer odds against his chancesthan I would against those of many men who have never read one word ofBalzac, Michelet, or Kant. 

Still, as was aforesaid, in the days of high art and high farming, highphysiology is clearly the thing to go for. So, for my shortcomings, toall critics--ethic, dialectic, æsthetic, and ascetic--I cry _mea culpa_, thus audibly. 

Nevertheless, while they are waiting for her at Dorade, we will try tosketch Cecil Tresilyan. 

Her father died when she was too young to remember him, and the firstfourteen years of her life were spent almost entirely in the old Cornishmanor-house from which her family took its name. That great, ramblingpile stood at the head of a glen, terraced at first into gardens, andthen thickly wooded, and stretching down to the shore. There was a smallbay just here, the mouth of which curved inward very abruptly. It seemedas if the black cliffs had caught the sea in a trap, and stood forwardto keep the outlet fast forever: the waves were free to come and go fora certain distance, but never to rave or rebel any more: when theirbrethren of the open main went out to war, the captives inside mighthear the din, but not break out to join them; they could only leap upweakly against their prison bars. There was nothing at all remarkable inthe house itself, except its furniture and panelings of black oak, andtwo pictures, to which was attached a story bearing on the hereditaryfailing which had made the family proverbial. The first was the likenessof a lovely girl, in the court dress of James the Second's time, withbeautiful hazel eyes, half timid, half trusting, like a pet doe's. Thesecond represented a woman, perhaps of middle age: in this the hood of adark gray dress was drawn far forward, and under it the eyes shone outof the colorless face with a fixed expression of helpless, agonizedterror, as of one fascinated by some ghostly apparition. You were sorrywhen you realized that they were portraits of the same person. 

Sir Ewes Tresilyan was a man of strong passions and rather weakbrain--of few words and fewer sympathies; he never made a companion ofMabel, his daughter, though his love for her was the feeling next hisheart, after his almost insane pride; but he trusted herimplicitly--less because he had faith in her truth and goodness, thanbecause he held it as impossible for a Tresilyan to disgrace herself orotherwise derogate, as for the moon to fall from heaven. He was noclassic, you see, and had never read of Endymion. 

In her solitary rides Mabel met the son of a neighboring squire, andthey soon began to love each other after the good old fashion. Neitherhad one thought that was not honest and pure; but they were so afraid ofher father that they dared not ask his consent to their marriage as yet. They were prudent, but not prudent or patient enough. So there cameabout meetings--first at noon in the woods, then at twilight in thepark, then at midnight in the garden; and at last Sir Ewes Tresilyanheard of it all; and heard, too, that his daughter's name was abroad inthe country-side, and more than lightly spoken of. That day, as the sunwas setting, two men stood foot to foot, with their doublets off, on thevery spot of smooth turf where the lovers parted last; and ArthurBampfylde had to hold his own as best he might with the deadliest rapierin the western shires. Poor boy! he would scarcely have had the heart todo his uttermost against Mabel's father; but better will and skill wouldhave availed little against the thirsty point that came creeping alonghis blade and leaping over his guard like a viper's tongue. At the sixthpass his enemy shook him heavily off his sword, wounded to the death. Hehad tried explanation before, utterly in vain; but the true heart wouldmake one effort more to get justice done, before it ceased to beat. Hegasped out these words through the rush of blood that was choking him, "Mabel--I swear, she is as pure as the Mother of God; and I--what had Idone?"

Sir Ewes knelt down and lifted Arthur's head upon his knee--not in pity, but that he might hear the more distinctly--"I will tell you, " he said;"you have wooed a Tresilyan like a yeoman's daughter. " The homicidewrote in his confession of all this that, as he laid the head gentlydown, a smile came upon the lips before they set. Was it that theparting spirit--standing on the threshold of Eternity, and almost withinthe light of the grand secret--fathomed the earth-worm's miserablevanity, and could not refrain its scorn?

Mabel was sitting alone when her father returned. She had no idea thatany thing had been discovered; but the instant she saw his face, shecast herself on her knees, crying--"I am innocent; indeed I have done nowrong!"

He griped her arm and raised her up, gazing straight and steadfastly ather for some moments: then he gave his verdict--"Guilty of havingbrought shame on your house; not guilty of sin, I know, or _this_ shouldonly half atone, " and he drew out the blade that had never been wipedsince it drank her lover's blood. 

She slid slowly down out of his grasp, never speaking, but bearing inher eyes the awful look of horror that became frozen there forever. Thesecond picture might have been taken then, though it was not paintedtill long afterward. She never thenceforth, while her father lived, leftthe wing of the manor-house in which her rooms lay; neither did he, norany one else, except the two servants who attended her, look upon herface. People pitied her very much at first, and then forgot herentirely. Once the superior of a Belgian convent, a relation of thefamily, offered to admit Mabel, if she chose to take the vows. PerhapsSir Ewes Tresilyan was more gratified than he liked to show, for thebest blood in Europe was to be found in that sisterhood; but his replywas not a gracious one:

"I thank the abbess, " he wrote; "but _we_ are used to choose for ourgifts the most precious thing we have--not the most worthless. I willnot lighten my house from a heavy burden, by offering it to God. "

He relented, however, when he was dying, and sent for his daughter. Veryreluctantly she came. He had prepared, I believe, a pompous and properoration, wherein he was to pardon her and even bestow a sort ofqualified blessing; but the wan face and wild, hollow eyes, not seen fortwelve years, frightened all his grandeur out of his head; and theobstinate, narrow-minded tyrant collapsed all at once into a foolish, fond old man. Something too late (that's one comfort) to avail him much. In Mabel's nature, soft and yielding as it appeared, there was the blackspot that nothing but harshness and cruelty could have brought out--theutter incapacity of relenting, which had given rise to the rude rhymeknown through three counties--

 In Tresilyan's face Fault finds no grace. 

So, when the sick man cried out to her, through his sobs, to kiss himand forgive him, the dreary, monotonous voice only answered, "I can kissyou, father;" and when she had laid her icicles of lips on his forehead, she glided out of the room like a ghost that has accomplished itsmission and hastens away to its own place. Sir Ewes never tried to callher back; he scarcely spoke at all intelligibly after that; but lay, forthe few remaining hours of life, moaning to himself, his face turned tothe wall. 

For a very short time after her father's death, Mabel seemed to take apleasure in roaming about the gardens and woods from which she had beendebarred so long; but the walks grew gradually shorter, and she soonshut herself up in the house entirely, seeing only a few of her nearrelatives. It was one of these who, at her own request, painted thesecond portrait--a rude performance, but it must have been a likeness. She seemed to feel an odd sort of satisfaction in looking at the two andcomparing them. Her brain was somewhat clouded and unsteady; but I fancyshe was counting up all the harm and wrong the hard world had done toher, and calculating what amends would be made in the next. I doubt notthey were kind and pitiful and indulgent enough there; but on earth shefound no source of comfort strong enough to banish from her eyes thatterrible look which haunted them within five minutes of her end. 

When spirits assemble from the four corners of heaven, how many thousandcompanions, think you, will greet the Gileadite's daughter?

Before you saw Cecil Tresilyan's face, the curve of her neck, and theway her head was set on it, told you that she was by no means exemptfrom the family failing which had laid its hand so heavily on herancestors. Yet it was not a hard or habitually haughty, or even a verydecided face. There was nothing alarmingly severe about the slightaquiline of the nose; the chin did not look as if it were "carved inmarble, " or "clasped in steel, " or as if it were made of any thing butsoft flesh prettily dimpled; the delicate scarlet lip, when it curled, rarely went beyond sauciness; though the splendid violet eyes could wellexpress disdain, this was not their favorite expression--and they hadmany. The head would certainly have been too small had it not been forthe glossy masses of dark chestnut hair sweeping down low all round it, smooth and unbroken as a deep river in its first curl over a cataract. Candid friends said her complexion was not bright enough; perhaps theywere right; but the color had not forgotten how to come and go there atfitting seasons; at any rate, the grand clear white could never bemistaken for an unhealthy pallor. An extraordinarily good constitutionwas ever part of a Tresilyan's inheritance; and if you doubted whetherher blood circulated freely you had only to compare her cheek on abitter March day with some red-and-white ones, when a sharp east windhad forced those last to mount _all_ the stripes of the tricolor. By theway, are not the "roses dipped in milk" going out of fashion just now? Ahumble but stanch adherent of the house of York, I like to think--howmany battle-fields, since Towton, our Flower has won!

But if Cecil's face was not faultless, her figure _was_. Had one singleproportion been exaggerated or deficient, she could never have carriedoff her height so lithely and gracefully. She might take twenty _poses_in a morning, and people always thought they would choose the last oneto have her painted in. Here, she was quite inimitable. For instance, women, I believe, used to practice in their own room for hours to catchher peculiar way of half-reclining in an arm-chair; but the mostpainstaking of them all never achieved any thing beyond a caricature. Yet no one could accuse her of studying stage-effects. If a trifle ofthe _Incedo Regina_ marked her walk and carriage, it was à l'Eugénie, not à la Statira. 

Indeed, she was thoroughly natural all over; cleverer and morefascinating, certainly, than ninety-nine women out of every hundred; butnot one bit more strong-minded, or heroic, or self-denying. She had beenvery well brought up, and had undeniably good principles; but she wouldyield to occasional small temptations with perfect grace and facility. Great ones she had never yet encountered; for Cecil, if not quitefancy-free, had only read and perhaps dreamed of passions. She had knownone remorse, of which you may hear hereafter (not a heavy allowance, considering her opportunities), and one grief--the death of her mother. She entertained a remarkable reverence for all ministers of theEstablished Church; yet she was about the last woman alive to havemarried a clergyman, and would have considered the charge of the oldwomen and schools of a country parish as a lingering and unsatisfactorymartyrdom. There never was a more constant attendant at all sorts ofdivine service; though perhaps the most casual of worshipers had neverbeen more bored than she was by some of the discourses to which shelistened so patiently. She would confess this to you at luncheon, andthen start for the same church in the afternoon, with an edifying butrather comic expression of resignation. I am sure she would notdeliberately have vexed the smallest child; and yet the number ofathletic men who ascribed the loss of their peace of mind to her, was, as the Yankees have it, "a caution. " Some of the "regulars, " waryadventuresses of three seasons' standing, had brought off several prettygood things by following her, and picking up the victims flutteringabout helpless in their first despair, just as the keepers after abattue go round the covers with the retrievers. 

If there were any more antitheses in her character, they had betterspeak for themselves hereafter; nor is there much that need be toldabout her companions. 

Mrs. Danvers, or "Bessie, " as she liked to be called, had been Cecil'slast governess, and was retired on full-pay, which, she flatteredherself, she earned in the capacity of traveling chaperone and censor;but, inasmuch as when she really held some tutelar authority, her pupilhad never taken the slightest notice of her prohibitions, she couldhardly be expected now to exercise any very salutary influence orcontrol. 

Dick Tresilyan was absurdly proud and fond of his sister, and performedall her behests with a blind obedience; but when he heard that he was toattend her during a whole winter's residence abroad, he did think thatit was stretching her prerogative to the verge of tyranny. No wonder. Adragoon who has lost his horse, a goose on a turnpike-road, or any otherpopular type of helplessness, does not present so lamentable a pictureas a Briton in a foreign land, without resources in himself, and with arooted aversion to the use of any language except his own. In thiscase, the victim actually attempted some feeble remonstrance andargument on the subject. Cecil was almost as much astonished as theProphet was under similar circumstances; but she considered that habitsof discussion in beasts of burden and the lower order of animalsgenerally were inconvenient, and rather to be discouraged; so she cut itshort, now, somewhat imperiously. Thereupon, Dick Tresilyan slid into aslough of despond, in which he had been wallowing ever since. A faintgleam of sunshine broke in when one of his intimates, hearing he wasgoing to France, suggested "that's where the brandy comes from;" but itwas instantly overclouded by the remark which followed. "I suppose, though, you won't be able to drink much more of it than you do here:" onrealizing which crushing fact, his melancholy became, if possible, moreprofound than ever. Indeed, since he crossed the Channel, he had spentmost of his leisure moments in a sort of chronic blasphemy, which, it isto be hoped, afforded him some slight relief and consolation, as it waswholly unintelligible to his audience; for, to do Dick justice, in hissister's presence the door of his lips was always strictly guarded. 

However, to Dorade they came--hours after their time, of course, butperfectly safe: no accident ever does happen in France to any thingproperly booked, except to luggage sent by _roulage_, to which thereattaches the romantic uncertainty of Vanderdecken's correspondence. Cecil rather liked traveling; it never tired her; so, by midnight shehad seen Mrs. Danvers, weary and querulous, to bed--gone through avariety of gymnastics in the way of _accolades_, with FannyMolyneux--taken some trouble in inquiring about shooting and otheramusements likely to divert her brother from his sorrows--and yet didnot feel very sleepy. 

They ignore shutters in these climes; and her reflection was stillflitting backward and forward across the white window-blinds as RoystonKeene came home from the Cercle. He knew the room, or guessed who theshadow belonged to; and as he moved away, after pausing a minute or two, he waved his hand toward it, with a gesture so unwarrantably like asalute that, were _silhouettes_ sensitive or prudish, it might haveproved an offense not easily forgiven. 

CHAPTER V. 

The next morning was so soft and sunny that it tempted Miss Tresilyanout on the terrace of their hotel very soon after breakfast. She waswaiting for her brother on the top of the steps leading down into theroad, when Major Keene passed by again. If he had never heard of herbefore, the smooth sweeping outline of her magnificent form, and thecareless grace of her attitude, as she stood leaning against the stonebalustrade, were not likely to escape an eye that was wont to light onevery point of feminine perfection, as a poacher's does on a sittinghare. But he never got so far as her face then; and hardly had time tocriticise her figure; for at that moment a brisk gust of the _mistral_swept round the corner, and revealed a foot and ankle so marvelouslyexquisite, that they attracted his eyes, as long as he dared to fix themwithout risking a stare; and kept his thoughts busy till he saw heragain. "_Caramba!_" he muttered, half aloud. "I don't wonder at any onewho has seen _that_ not looking at a nautch-girl afterward. " And hequickened his pace toward Mr. Molyneux's house. He met them before hereached their door. 

"I am going to Miss Tresilyan, " Fanny said. "Isn't it lucky, her firstmorning here being such a delicious one?"

"Ah! I thought that was your point, " answered Keene. "There must be atremendous amount of 'gushing' to be got through still: the accumulationof--how many months? I suppose you only took the rough edge off lastnight. Don't hurt her, please, that's all. And, Hal, you were actuallygoing to preside over the meeting of two young hearts, and gloat overtheir emotions, and spoil their innocent amusements? I wonder at you. Means well, Mrs. Molyneux; but he's _so_ thoughtless. "

Fanny laughed. "I think I could do without him. But we mean to walk thisafternoon, and he may come then; and you too, Major Keene, if you aregood. "

"I'll enter into all sorts of recognizances to keep the peace, " was thereply; "but I should have thought you might trust me by this time. It'sthat excitable husband of yours that wants disciplining. I'll give himsome soda-water by way of a precaution. Then, when you have sacrificedto friendship sufficiently, you will lionize Miss Tresilyan? The Castlefirst, of course. Shall we meet you there at two?"

Harry did not quite see the thing in this light, and looked slightlydisappointed; but he yielded the point, as he always did, and went awaydutifully with his superior officer. 

"Describe the brother, " the latter said, abruptly, when they had gone afew steps. 

"Well, I believe he's the most ignorant man in Great Britain, " answeredMolyneux: "that's his _spécialité_. He never had much education; and hehas been trying to forget that little, 'hard all, ' ever since he waseighteen. You remember how our fellows used to laugh at me about myepistles? I could give him 21lb. , and a beating any day. They say, twomen have to stand over him whenever he tries to write a letter, for no_one_ is strong enough to keep him straight in his spelling and grammar. If he tries it on alone, he gets bewildered in the second sentence, andwanders up and down, knocking his head against particles and parts ofspeech, like the man in the Maze; and throws up the sponge at last, utterly beat. Helplessly devoted to his sister, but rather obstinatewith other people, and apt to be sulky sometimes; but good-natured onthe whole; and drinks _very_ fair. "

"Oh, he drinks fair, does he?" Royston said, meditatively. "Has that anything to do with his brotherly affection? Every body who is fond of MissTresilyan seems to take to liquor. Annesley was pretty sober till heknew her. It's rather odd. I don't suppose she encourages them?"

"Certainly not; at least, I know she has tried to stint Dick in hisbrandy very often. It's the only point she has never been able tocarry. "

"A man must be firm about some one thing, " the other remarked, "orthere's an end of free-agency altogether. He has no intellects to beaffected by it apparently; and I dare say his health does not suffermuch yet. It's a question of constitution, after all. "

He dropped the subject then, and was very silent all the rest of themorning, till they came to the place of meeting. Somehow or another, itdid not occur to him to mention to Harry what he had seen on theterrace. 

They had not waited long before the three women came slowly up thezigzags of the path that wound round the Castle-hill. Dick Tresilyan had"got his pass signed" for the day, and had started off, with hiscourier, to make the lives of several natives a burden to them, on thesubject of _bécasses_ and _bécassines_. 

Cecil might have been known by her walk among ten thousand. She seemedto float along without any visible exertion, as if her dress werebuoyant, and bore her up in some mysterious fashion; but, lookingcloser, and marking how straight and firmly and lightly every footfallwas planted, you gave the narrow arched instep, and the slender roundedankle, the credit they well deserved; marveling only that so delicate asymmetry could conceal so much sinewy power. Upon this occasion, she wasevidently accommodating her pace to that of Mrs. Danvers; and no racingman could have seen the two, without thinking of one of the Flyers ofthe turf walking down by the side of the trainer's pony. 

Miss Tresilyan's hat, of a soft black felt, shaded by a black cock'sfeather, was decidedly in advance of her age: for that very provocativehead-gear, with the many-colored _panaches_, had not then become socommon; and even the Passionate Pilgrim might hope (with luck) to walkalong a pier or a parade, without meeting a succession of RedRovers--each capable of boarding him at a minute's notice, and makingall his affections walk the plank. Her tunic of iron-gray velvet, without fitting tightly to her figure, still did it fair justice; and, from the tie of her neck-ribbon, down to the wonderful boots that slidin and out from under the striped scarlet kirtle over which her dresswas looped up, there was not the minutest detail that might not havechallenged and baffled criticism. 

Royston Keene appreciated all this thoroughly. No man alive held thestale old adage of "Beauty when unadorned, " etc. , in profounder scorn. Apair of badly-fitting gloves, a soiled _collerette_, or a tumbled dress, had cured more than one of the fever fits of his younger days; and hewas ten times as fastidious now. 

He drew a long, slow breath of intense enjoyment, as a thirsty cricketermay do after the first deep draught of claret-cup that rewards a twohours' innings. "It's very refreshing, after weeks of total abstinence, to see a woman who goes in for dress, and does it thoroughly well. " Hehad no time for more, for the others were almost within hearing. 

When the introductions were over, Mrs. Danvers said she was tired, andmust rest a little. Very few words will do justice to her personalappearance. Brevity, and breadth, and bluntness were her chiefcharacteristics, which applied equally to her figure, her face, and herextremities, and, not unfrequently, to her speech too. Her health wasreally infirm, but she never could attain the object of many aninvalid's harmless ambition--looking interesting. Illness made hercheeks look pasty, but not pale; it could not fine down the coarselymoulded features, or purify their ignoble outline. Her voice was againsther, certainly; perhaps this was the reason why, when she bemoanedherself, so many irreverent and hard-hearted reprobates called it"whining. " It was very unfortunate; for few could be found, even in thesomewhat exacting class to which she belonged, more anxious and activein enlisting sympathy. She was looking especially ill-tempered justthen, but Major Keene was not easily daunted, and he went in at herstraight and gallantly--about the weather, it is needless to say, bothbeing English. While Mrs. Danvers was disagreeing with him, Cecil tookher turn at inspection. Royston's name was familiar to her, of course, for no one ever talked to Mrs. Molyneux for ten minutes without hearingit. Though she had scarcely glanced at him in the morning, she haddecided that the tall, erect figure and the enormous mustache, with its_crocs à la mousquetaire_, could only belong to Fanny's Household Word. It was very odd--she had not a shade of a reason for it--but neither had_she_ mentioned that rencontre to her friend. Perhaps they had so manyother things to talk about. She could scan him now more narrowly, forhis face was turned away from her. The result was satisfactory: whenMajor Keene stood up on his feet, not even his habitual laziness coulddisguise the fair proportions and trained vigor of a stalwartman-at-arms; and be it known that Cecil's eye, though not soprofessional as that of Good Queen Bess, loved to light upon suchdearly. 

"Harry, " Mrs. Molyneux observed, "Mr. Fullarton called while I was atthe _Lion d'Or_ this morning, and staid half an hour. He is so veryanxious to get Cecil to lead the singing in church. "

"Yes; he has been, so to speak, throwing his hat up ever since he heardyou were coming, Miss Tresilyan, " was the reply. "I suppose hecalculated on your vocal talents; there's the nuisance of having anEuropean reputation, you are always expected to do something forsomebody's benefit. I hope you'll indulge him, in charity to us. Youhave no idea what it has been. Two Sundays ago, for instance, a Mr. Rolleston and his wife volunteered to give us a lead. He didn't looklike a racing man; and yet he must have been. I never saw any thing moreartistically done. He went off at score, and made the pace so strongthat he cut them all down in the first two verses; and then the wife, who had waited very patiently, came and won as she liked--nothing elsenear her. "

Cecil thought the illustration rather irreverent, and did not smile. Keene saw this as he turned round. 

"The turf slang has got into your constitution, I think, since you wonthat Garrison Cup. It's very wrong of you not to cure yourself, when youknow how it annoys Mrs. Molyneux. He is right, though, Miss Tresilyan;it is a case of real distress: our vocal destitution is pitiable; so, ifyou have any benevolence to spare, do bestow it upon us, and yourpetitioners will ever pray, etc. "

Now it so happened that Fanny valued that same cup above all herearthly possessions, as a mark of her husband's prowess. No testimonialever gave so much satisfaction to a popular rector's wife as that littleugly mug afforded her, albeit it was the very wooden-spoon of racingplate. So she first smiled consolingly at the culprit, who was alreadycontrite, and then looked up at the last speaker with amusement andwonder glittering in her pretty brown eyes. She did not see whatinterest the subject could have for Keene, who had only darkened thechapel doors once since they came. Mr. Fullarton, indeed, was supposedto have alluded to him several times--his discourses were apt to take apersonal and individualizing turn--but he had never had the satisfactionof a "shot in the open" at that stout-hearted sinner. 

Royston caught _la mignonne's_ glance, and understood it perfectly, butnot a line of his face moved. He was waiting for Cecil's reply veryanxiously: he had not heard her speak yet. 

"Mr. Fullarton is rather rash, " she said, "for our acquaintance isslight, and I don't think he ever heard me sing. But I shall do my bestnext Sunday. Every one ought to help in such a case as much as theycan. "

"Yes, and you will do it so beautifully, dearest!" Cecil bit her lip, and colored angrily. Nothing annoyed her like Mrs. Danvers' obtrusivepartisanship and uncouth flattery. 

The gleam of pleasure that shone out on Keene's dark face for a moment, only Harry interpreted rightly. He had scarcely listened to the words, but he thought, "I knew I was right; I knew the voice would match therest!" When they moved on again, he walked by Miss Tresilyan's side, and"still their speech was song. "

His first remark was, "I hope you condescend to ballads sometimes? Iconfess to not deriving much pleasure from those elaborate performanceswhere the voice tries dangerous feats of strength and agility: even atthe Opera they make one rather uncomfortable. Some of the veryscientific pieces suggest ideas of homicide or suicide, as the case maybe, according to my temper at the moment. Of course, I know less thannothing about music; but I don't think this quite accounts for it. Ireally believe that unsophisticated human nature revolts at the_bravura_. "

It was rare good fortune, so early in their acquaintance, to tempt forththe brilliant smile that always betrayed when Cecil was well pleased. 

"Mrs. Molyneux has told you what my tastes are?" she said. "I have nevertried _bravuras_ since I left off masters, and even then I onlyattempted them under protest. But there are some quiet songs I like somuch that I sing them to myself when I am out of spirits, and it does megood. Don't you like the old-fashioned ones best? I fancy, in thosedays, people felt more what they wrote, and did not consider only howthe words would suit the composer. "

"Probably, " Keene replied. "If Charles Edward was of no other use, somegood strong lines were written about him. I do not think he lived invain. There are no partisans now. The only songs of the sort that I eversaw with any _verve_ in them were some seditious Irish ones: ratherspirited--only they had not grammar enough to ballast them. The writereither was, or wanted to be, transported. We are _all_ very fond of theGuelphs--at least every body in decent society is--and that is just thereason why we are not enthusiastic. We are all ready to 'die for thethrone, ' etc. , but we don't see any immediate probability of ourdevotion being tested. So the laureate only rhymes loyally, and he atstated seasons, and in a temperate, professional style. "

"Please don't laugh at Tennyson, " she interrupted; "I suppose it is veryeasy to do so, for so many people try it; but I never listen to them ifI can help it. "

"A premature warning, " was the grave reply; "I had no such idea. Iadmire Tennyson fully as much as you can do, and read him, I dare say, much oftener. I was only speaking of his performances in the _manège_;indeed, there is not enough of these to make a fair illustration, so Iwas wrong to bring them in. When he settles to his stride, few of the'cracks' of last century seem able to live with him. They have not setall his best things to music. A clever composer might do great things, Ifancy, with 'The Sisters, ' and the _refrain_ of 'the wind in turret andtree. '"

"It would never be a very general favorite, " Miss Tresilyan observed. "It seems hardly right to set to music even an imaginary story of greatsin and sorrow. I saw a sketch of it some time ago. The murderess wassitting on a cushion close to the earl's body, with her head bent so lowthat one of her black tresses almost touched his smooth golden curls;you could just see the hilt of the dagger under her left hand. That, andthe corpse's quiet, pale face were the only two objects that stood outin relief; for the storm outside was stirring the window-curtains, andmaking the one lamp flare irregularly. Her features were in the shadow, and you had to fancy how hard, and rigid, and dreary they must be. Itwas the merest sketch, but if it had been worked out, it would have madea very terrible picture. "

"A good conception, " Royston said; "well, perhaps it would not be apleasant song to sing, but better, I should think, than some of thosedreadful sentimental ones. They are not much worse than the Strephon andthe Chloe class, in which our ancestors delighted; still, they areindefensible. If our Lauras find Petrarchs now, they are usually verybeardless ones, and the green morocco cover, with its golden lock, covers their indiscretions. Those who write love ditties for the piano_must_ celebrate a shadow who can't be critical. Imagine any maninsulting a real woman of average intellect with 'Will you love me thenas now!'"

"Yes, " she assented, "they are too absurd as a rule. They make ourcheeks burn, as if we were performing some very ridiculous part in lowcomedy; but they do not warm one's heart, like 'Annie Laurie. '"

"Ah! it's curious how that always suggests itself as the standard tocompare others with: not fair, though, for it makes most of them soundso feeble and effeminate. Douglas of Finland wrote it, you know, in thecampaign which finished him. Long before that the charming Annie hadgiven her promise true to Craigdarroch; and she had to keep it, _tantbien que mal_, for it was pronounced in the Tron Church, instead of onthe braes of Maxwellton. I wonder if she inscribed those verses in herscrap-book? I dare say she did, and sang them to her grandchildren, in acracked treble. "

"I am so sorry you told me that, " Cecil exclaimed; "my romance was quitea different one, and not nearly so sad. I always fancied the man whowrote those lines must have ended so happily! One would despise herthoroughly if she could ever have forgiven herself, or forgotten him. "

Her eyes brightened, and her cheeks flushed as she spoke. The momentaryexcitement made her look so handsome that Keene's glance could notwithhold admiration; but there was no sympathy in it, any more than inhis cold, quiet tones. 

"No, don't despise her, " he said. "She could scarcely be expected towait for a corporal in the Scottish regiment. When the cavaliers sailedfrom home they knew they were leaving every thing but honor behind them;of course, their mistresses went with the other luxuries. They had notmany of these in the brigade, if we can believe history. Fortunately forus (or we should have missed the song) Finland never knew of the 'freshfere' who dried the bright blue eyes so soon. He would not have carriedhis pike so cheerily either, if his eyes had been good enough to seeacross the German Ocean. Well, perhaps the story isn't true; very fewmelodramatic legends are. "

"I shall try not to believe it; but I am afraid you have destroyed anillusion. "

"You don't say so?" was the reply. "I regret it extremely. If I had butknown you carried such things about with you! Indeed, I will be morecareful for the future. We are out-walking the main-guard, I see. Shallwe wait for them here? It is a good point of view. One forgets thatthere are two invalids to be considered. "

Did Royston Keene speak thus purposely, on the principle of thosepracticed periodical writers, who always leave their hero in extremeperil, or their heroine on the verge of a moral precipice, in order tokeep our curiosity tense till the next number? If not, chance favoredhim by producing the very effect he would have desired. 

His companion's fair cheek flashed again, and this time a littlevexation had something to say to it. It was incontestably correct towait for the rest of the party, but she would have preferred originatingthe suggestion. Besides, the conversation had begun to interest her; andshe liked being amused too well not to be sorry for its being cut shortabruptly. She thought Major Keene talked epigrammatically; and theundercurrent of irony that ran through all he said was not so obtrusiveas to seriously offend her. 

It was no light ordeal he had just passed through. First impressions arenot made on women of Cecil Tresilyan's class so easily as they are uponguileless _débutantes_; but they are far more important and lasting. Itis useless attempting to pass off counterfeit coin on those expertmoney-changers; but they value the pure gold all the more when it ringssharp and true. It is always so with those who have once been Queens ofBeauty. A certain imperial dignity attaches to them long after they haveceased to reign: over the brows that have worn worthily the diademthere still hangs the phantasm of a shadowy crown. There need be nothingof repellent haughtiness, or, what is worse, of evident condescension;but, though they are perfectly gentle and good-natured, we risk ourlittle sallies and sarcasms with timidity, or at least diffidence;feeling especially that a commonplace compliment would be an inexcusableprofanation. Our sword may be ready and keen enough against others, butbefore _them_ we lower its point, as the robber did to Queen Margaret inthe lonely wood. We are conscious of treading on ground where stronger, and wiser, and better men have knelt before us; and own that the altaron which things so rare and precious have been laid has a right to befastidious as to the quality of incense. 

Not the less did such glory of past royalty surround the Tresilyanbecause she had abdicated, and never been dethroned. 

CHAPTER VI. 

There is something singularly refreshing in the enthusiasm that onepretty and fascinating woman will display when speaking of anotherhighly gifted as herself--perhaps even more so. It seems to me there ismore honesty here, and less stage-trick and conventionality, than is tobe found in most manifestations of sentiment that take place in politesociety. A perfectly plain and unattractive female may, of course, besincerely attached to her beautiful friend, but her partisanship must besomewhat theoretical; it has not the _esprit de corps_ whichcharacterizes the other class. These last can count victories enough oftheir own to be able to sympathize heartily with the triumphs of theirfellows without envying or grudging them one. What does it matter ifRose has slain her thousands and Lilian her tens of thousands? It isalways "so much scored up to our side. "

Would you like to assist, invisibly, at one of those two-handed"free-and-easies, " where notes are compared and confidences exchanged, where the fair warriors "shoulder their _fans_, and show how fields werewon?" Perhaps our vanity would suffer though our curiosity weregratified. The proverb about listeners has come in since the time ofGyges, it is true; but his luck was exceptional, and would not oftenfollow his Ring. Campaspe _en déshabille_ is not invariably kind. It isa popular superstition that men are apt, at certain seasons, to speakrather lightly, if not superciliously, of the beings whom they ought todelight to honor. If so, be sure the medal has its reverse. When yousecured that gardenia from Amy's bouquet, or that ribbon from Helen'sglove trimming, you went home with a placid sense of self-gratulation, flattering yourself you had done it rather diplomatically, withoutcompromising your boasted freedom by word or sign. Perhaps, two hourslater, you figured conspicuously in a train of shadowy captives adorningthe conqueror's ideal ovation. A change of color of which you wereunconscious, a tremulous pressure of fingers that you riskedinvoluntarily--a sentence that was meant to be careless and indifferent, but ended by being earnest and imploring--all these were commented uponin the select committee, and estimated at their proper value. 

Very keen-sighted are those soft almond eyes ambushed behind theirtrailing lashes, and from them the sternest stoic may not long concealhis wound. The Knight of Persia never groaned, or shrank, or drooped hiscrest when the quarrel struck him; but Amala needed only to look down tosee his blood red upon the waters of the ford. Some penalty must attachitself to unauthorized intruders, even in thought, upon the _Cerealia_. I don't wish to be disagreeable, or to suggest unpleasant misgivings tothe masculine mind, but--do you think we are always compassionated asmuch as we deserve? I own to a horrible suspicion that our betrayals ofweakness form matter of exultation, and that our tenderest emotions arenot unfrequently derided. 

Clearly this delightful sympathy can only exist where fancies, andambitions, and interests do not clash. They seldom need do so: there isroom enough for all. So much disposable devotion is abroad in thisworld, that no one woman can monopolize it. It is a tolerably fairhandicap, on the whole; and even the second horse may land a verysatisfactory stake. Never was night when the moon shone so dazzlingly asto blind us to the brilliancy of "a star or two beside. " Bothwell, andChâtelet, and Rizzio were not the only love-stricken ones in Holyrood. Had the Queen of Scots been thrice as charming, glances, and sighs, andwords enough would still have been found to satisfy the most exacting ofher Maries. 

Fanny Molyneux was a capital specimen of the thorough-paced partisan. She was terribly indignant at dinner on that first day of their meeting, when Major Keene would not endorse _all_ her raptures about herfavorite. He assented to every thing, certainly; but though hisapprobation was decided it was perfectly calm. He intrenched himselfbehind his natural and acquired _sang-froid_, and the fair assailantcould not force those lines. 

"Don't be unreasonable, " Royston said at last. "As Macdonough alwayssays when he has lost the first two rubbers, 'the night is young anddrink is plenty. ' Admiration will develop itself if you only give ittime. I have serious thoughts already of adding another to the manylittle poems that must have been written about Miss Tresilyan. Shall Isend it to the 'United Service Gazette?' It would be a great credit toour branch of the profession. No dragoon has published a rhyme sinceLovelace, I believe. I've got as far as the first line:

 Ah, Cecil! hide those eyes of blue. "

"I think I've heard something very like that before, " Fanny answered, laughing. "She deserves a prettier compliment than a _réchauffé_. "

"Have you heard it before? Well, I shouldn't wonder. You don't expectone to be original and enthusiastic at the same moment, when both areout of one's line? I own it, though. Your princess merits all thevassalage she has found--better than she will meet with here--if onlyfor the perfection of her costume. That _is_ a triumph. Honor to theartist who built her hat. I drink to him now, and I wish the Burgundywere worthier of the toast. (Hal, this Corton does not improve. ) Ishould advise you to secure the address of her _bottier_. You know herwell enough to ask for it, perhaps? It must be a secret. "

"Then you have not found out how very clever she is?"

"Pardon me, " was the reply; "I can imagine Miss Tresilyan perfectly welleducated; so well, that she might dispense with carrying about a livingvoucher in the shape of that dreadful _ex-institutrice_. I never knewwhat makes very nice women cling so to very disagreeable governesses. Perhaps there is a satisfaction in patronizing where you have beenruled, and in conferring favors where you have only received'impositions'--a pleasant consciousness of returning good for evil. There is no other rational way of accounting for it. "

_La mignonne_ was not indignant now, as might have been expected; butshe gazed at the speaker long and more searchingly than was her wont, with something very like pity in her kind, earnest eyes. 

"I suppose you would not sneer so at every thing if you could help it, "she said. "I am not wise enough to do so; but I don't envy you. "

Royston's hard cold face changed for an instant, and the faintest flushlingered there, about as long as your breath would upon polished steel. It was not the first time that one of her random shafts had struck himhome. All the sarcasm had died out of his voice as he answered slowly--

"Don't you envy me? You are right there. And you think you are not wiseenough to be cynical? If there was any school to teach us how to turnour talents to the best account, I know which of us two would have mostto learn. " When he spoke again it was in his usual manner, but uponanother and perfectly indifferent subject. 

Harry had taken no part in the discussion. Always languid, toward nighthe generally felt especially disinclined to any bodily or mentalexertion. At such times there was nothing he liked so well as to lie onhis sofa and assist at a passage-of-arms between his wife and Keene, encouraging either party occasionally with an approving smile, butpreserving a cautious and complete neutrality. On the present occasionhe had his own reasons for not being disappointed about the latter'sappreciation of Miss Tresilyan. Had he felt any such misgivings, theywould have vanished later in the evening. 

The doctor was a stern man; but he must have been more than human tohave stood fast against the entreaties and cajolement with which hispatient backed up the petition, "to be allowed just one cigar beforegoing to roost. " The prospect of this compensating weed had supportedpoor Harry through the dullness and privations of many monotonous days. As the appointed time drew nigh, he would freshen up visibly, just likethe camels when, staggering fetlock deep through the sand-wastes, theyscent the water or sight the clump of palms. Was there more in all thisthan could be traced to the mere soothing influence of the nicotine andflavor of the tobacco? Might not this one old habit still indulged havebeen the only link that sensibly connected the invalid with thosepleasant days, when he enjoyed life so heartily, with so many cheerycomrades to keep him in countenance--when he would have laughed at theidea of any thing short of a sabre-cut, a shot-wound, or a rattling fallover an "oxer, " bringing him down to that state of helpless dependence, when our conception of womankind resolves itself into the ministeringangel? Harry certainly could not have told you if this were so; for aninquiry into the precise nature of his sensations would have posed himat any time quite as completely as a question in hydrostatics or planetrigonometry. At any rate, the consumption of The Cigar was a veryimportant ceremony with him; not conducted in the thoughtless andimprovident spirit of men who smoke a dozen or so a day, but partakingrather of the character of a sacrifice, at once festal and solemn. Therewere times, as we have said before, when he would break out of boundsrecklessly; but upon such occasions he gave himself no time to reflect;so there was nothing then of calm and deliberate enjoyment; and theseescapades grew more and more rare as the warnings of his constitutionspoke more imperiously. 

Among the very few traits of amiability that Major Keene had everdisplayed, were the sacrifices of personal convenience he would make forHarry Molyneux. He had given up a good many engagements to see hiscomrade through that especial hour; and, if the day had left anyavailable geniality in him, it was sure to come out then. Upon thisoccasion, however, he was remarkably silent, and answered several timesat random as if his thoughts were roving elsewhere: they were notunpleasant ones, apparently, for he smiled twice or thrice to himself, much less icily than usual. At last he spoke abruptly, after a longpause--Miss Tresilyan's name had not once been mentioned--"Hal, you knowthat old hackneyed phrase, about 'a woman to die for?' I think we haveseen one to-day who is worth living for; which is saying a good dealmore. "

"You like her, then?" Molyneux asked. 

"Yes--I--like--her. " The words came out as if each one had been weighedto a grain; and his lip put on that curious smile once more. 

Harry did not feel quite satisfied. He would have preferred hearingmore, and inferring less; but acting upon his invariable rose-coloredprinciple, he would not admit any disagreeable surmises, and went to bedunder the impression that "it was all right, " and that Royston was in afair way toward being repaid for the sacrifices he had made tofriendship. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Saturday night is waning, but Molyneux shows no signs of moving yetfrom Keene's apartments. He has been a model of prudence though so far, as to his drinks, and, in good truth, their companion is not amusing, orinstructive, or convivial enough, to tempt or to excuse transgression. 

Dick Tresilyan looks about twenty-five, strongly and somewhat heavilybuilt; rather over the middle height, even with the decided stoop of hisbroad, round shoulders. He carries far too much flesh to please aprofessional eye, and by the time he is fifty will be very unwieldy; butthere is more activity in him than might be supposed, and he walksstrongly and well, as you would find if you tried to keep pace with himthrough the turnips on a sultry September day. His face, without apretension to beauty in itself, suggests it--just the face that makesyou say, "that man must have a handsome sister;" indeed, it bears anabsurdly strong family likeness to Cecil's, amounting to a parody. Butthe outline of feature which in her is so fine and clear, is dull andfilled out even to coarseness. It reminded one of looking at the samelandscape, first through the medium of a bright blue sky, and thenthrough driving mist, when crag, and cliff, and wood still showthemselves, but blurred and dimly. His hair and eyes are, by severalshades, the lighter of the two. The great difference is in the mouth. Cecil's is so delicately chiseled, so apt at all expressions, fromtender to provocative, that many consider it one of her best points; herbrother's is so weak and undecided in its character (or rather want ofcharacter), that it would make a more intellectual face vacuous andinane. 

The "Tresilyan constitution" holds its own gallantly against the inroadsof hardish living, and Dick looks the picture of rude health. Menendowed with an invincible obtuseness of intellect and feeling, have nomental wear and tear, and if the machine starts in good order, it seemsas if it might last out indefinitely; so it would, I dare say, if itwere not for a propensity to drink, and otherwise to abuse their bodilyadvantages, peculiar to this class. But for this neutralizing element intheir composition perhaps they would live as long as crows or elephants, and we should be visited by a succession of stupid Old Parrs; whichwould be a very dreadful dispensation indeed. The present subject takesa good deal of exercise, to be sure, and naturally, few cares have evertroubled him; he has always had more money than he knew what to do with, and--as for serious annoyances, a certain train of thought is necessaryto form them, while our poor Dick's brain is utterly incapable ofholding more than one idea at a time. Whatever may happen to be thedominant thought, reigns with an undivided empire, and will not endure arival even near its throne, till it is violently thrust out andannihilated by its successor, on the principle of

 The priest that slays the slayer, And shall himself be slain. 

He never originates a conception, of course, but is always open to afair offer in the way of a suggestion from any body, and adopts it withthe blind zeal of a proselyte. It follows that chance occurrences maybother him for the moment, but he is saved an infinity of trouble bybeing independent of foresight and memory. To this last defect there isone exception. If he is crossed, or vexed, or injured, he cherishesagainst the offender a dull, misty, purposeless sort of resentment, scarcely amounting to animosity, but can not explain, either to you orto himself, _why_ he does so. Fortunately he is tolerably harmless andunsuspicious, for to reconcile him would be simply impossible. 

Not one _mésalliance_ could be detected in the main line of theTresilyans; but there must have been a blot somewhere, a link of basemetal in the golden chain, of which an adulteress and her confessorcould have told. Perhaps the son of the transgressor bore no stigma onhis forehead, and ruffled it among his peers as bravely as the best ofthem, never witting of his mother's dishonor; but the stain had come outin this generation. Even the faults and vices of that strong, stubbornrace were curiously distorted and caricatured in their representative. His pride, for instance, chiefly displayed itself in a taste for lowcompany, where he could safely lord it over his inferiors. He did thiswhenever he had a chance, but, to do him justice, by no means in anill-natured or bullying way. He had resided almost entirely on his ownestates; and, during his rare visits to London, had not extended hisknowledge of the world beyond the experience that may be picked up byfrequenting divers equivocal places of public resort, and fromoccasional forays on the extreme frontier of the _demi-monde_. Theresult was, that in general society he felt himself in a false position, and was evidently anxious to escape into a more congenial atmosphere. 

Can you guess why I have lingered so long over a portrait that mightwell have been dispatched in three lines? It is because, in the eyes ofthose who knew Cecil Tresilyan, some interest must attach itself to thebasest thing that bears her name; it is because there are men alive whothink that the broidery of her skirt, or the trimming of her mantle, deserve describing better than the shield of Pelides; who hold that oneof her dark chestnut tresses is worthier of a place among the stars thanimperial Berenicè's hair. A lame excuse, I admit, to the many that neversaw her--even in their dreams. 

On this particular evening Dick was supremely happy. Keene had got himupon shooting--the only subject on which that unlucky man could talkwithout committing himself; and, by the time he was well into his fourthtumbler of iced Cogniac and water, he was achieving a rareconversational triumph; for he had left off answering monosyllabically, had volunteered an observation or two, and even ventured to banter hiscompanions about their not availing themselves sufficiently of thesporting resources in the neighborhood. 

"There are several boars near here, " he was saying; "they shoot themsometimes, and you can go if you manage properly. I wonder you men neverfound that out. "

"Ah! they _did_ talk a good deal about pigs, " Royston remarkedindifferently. "But, you see, we used to stick them in the Deccan. Thefirst time I heard of their way of doing it here, I felt very likeDeering when they asked him to shoot a fox in Scotland. Tom Deering, youknow, the old boy that has hunted with the Warwickshire and Atherstonefor thirty seasons, and could tell you the names, ages, and colors ofthe hounds better than he could those of his own smallfamily--pedigrees, too, I shouldn't wonder. "

Dick tried to look as if he had known the man from his childhood, andsucceeded but very moderately. 

"Well, " the other went on, "they were beating a cover for roe, and thegillie suggested a particular pass, as the most likely to get a shot atwhat he called a 'tod. ' It was some time before Tom realized the fullhorror of the proposition: when he did, he shut his eyes like a bullthat is going to charge, and literally _fell_ upon the duinhe-wassel, bellowing savagely. He had no more idea of using his hands than afractious baby; but it is rather a serious thing when sixteen stone ofsolid flesh becomes possessed by a devil. Robin Oig was overborne by theonset, and did not forget the effects of it that season. "

Tresilyan laughed applaudingly, as he always did when he couldunderstand more than half a story. 

"I suppose it's pretty good fun hunting them out there?" he said, goingoff at score, as usual, on the fresh theme. 

"Not bad, " Keene replied; "sharp going while it lasts, and a littleknack wanted to stick them scientifically. Some say it's more excitingthan fox-hunting, but that's childish; I never heard a man assert itwhose liver was not on the wane. It's more dangerous, certainly. Aheader into the Smite or the Whissendine is nothing to a fall backwardinto a nullah, with a beaten horse on the top of you. "

Molyneux woke up from a reverie. The familiar word stirred his bloodlike a trumpet, and it flashed up brightly in his pale cheek as hespoke. "Ah! we have had a brushing gallop or two in the gay old times, before we got married, and invalided, and all that sort of thing. Dick, I should like to tell you how I got my first spear. "

"Of course you would, " the major said, resignedly; "it's my fault forstarting the subject. Get over it quickly then, please. " He did not stophim, though, as he would have done on another occasion--_pour cause_. 

"I had been entered some time at boar, " Harry began, "before I had anyluck at all. Ride as hard as I would at the start, the old hands _would_creep up at the finish, just in time to get 'first blood. ' I gave longprices for my Arabs, too, and didn't spare them. I own I gotdiscouraged, and thought the whole thing a robbery, a delusion, and asnare. One day, however, we had a good deal of deep, marshy ground atfirst, and a quick gallop afterward, which served my light weight well. I had it all to myself when he came to bay; so I went in, full ofconfidence, and gave point, as I thought, well behind theshoulder-blade. I did not calculate on the pace we were going, and I wasjust three inches too forward. My horse was as young and hot as I was, and though he had no idea of flinching, didn't know how to take care ofhimself. The instant the brute felt the steel he wheeled short round, and cut The Emperor's forelegs clean from under him. We all came down ina heap; my spear flew yards away; and there I was on my face, clear ofmy horse, with my right wrist badly sprained. Would you have fancied theposition? _I_ didn't. The devil was too blown to begin offensiveoperations at once, for we had burst him along pretty sharply, but hestood right over me, champing and rasping his tusks, and getting hiswind for a good vicious rip. I felt his boiling foam dropping upon me asI lay quite still. I thought that was the best thing to do. All at oncehoofs came up at a hard gallop; something swept above me with a rush;there was a short, smothered sound like a tap on a padded door, and thenthe beast stretched himself slowly out across my legs, and shivered, anddied. That man opposite to you had leapt his horse over us both, and, while he was in the air, speared the boar through the spinal marrow. Ifhe had been struck any where else he might still have torn me badlybefore the life was out of him. Neatly done, wasn't it?"

Harry drank off the remains of his sherry and seltzer rather excitedly, and then sighed. He was thinking how often, in other days, when healthand nerves were to the fore, he had drained a stronger and deeperdraught to "Snaffle, spur, and spear!"

"A mere stage trick, " Keene remarked; "effective, but not in the leastdangerous, with a horse under you as steady as poor old Mahmoud. May hisrest be glorious! Gilbert killed a tiger that had got loose in the sameway, which _was_ something to talk about, for even clean-bred Arabsdon't like facing tigers. You made rather better time than usual overthat story to-night, Hal; it's practice, I suppose. "

Tresilyan's eyes fastened on the speaker, full of a heavy, pertinaciousadmiration. You might have told him of the noblest action of generosityor self-denial that ever constituted the stock in trade of a moral hero, and he would have listened patiently, but without one responsiveemotion. Bodily prowess and daring he could appreciate. Keene's physical_prestige_ was just the thing to captivate his limited imagination;besides which the ground was prepared for the seed-time. He had somesoldier friends, and dining with these at the "Swashing Buckler, " he hadheard some of those club chronicles in which the Cool Captain's namefigured prominently. 

The latter interpreted perfectly well the gaze that was riveted uponhim, without being in the least flattered by it. He felt, perhaps, thesame sort of satisfaction that one experiences when, fighting for theodd trick, the first card in our hand is a heavy trump. Dick's thoroughand undivided allegiance once secured, was a good card in the game hewas playing at the moment. Whatever his thoughts might have been, hisface told no tales. He had been flooring glass for glass with his guesttill the liquor began to work its way into the cracks even of such aseasoned vessel; but, for any outward or visible sign in feature, speech, or manner, he might have been assisting at a teetotaller's_soirée_. 

Very often--late on guest-nights, or other tournaments of deep drinking, where Trojan and Tyrian met to do battle for the credit of theirrespective corps--the calm, rigid face, never flushing beyond a clearswarthy brown, and the cold, bright, inevitable eyes, had strickenterror into the hearts of bacchanalian Heavies, and given consolation, if not confidence, to the Hussars, who were failing fast: these knewthat though their own brains might be reeling and their legsrebelliously independent, their single champion was invincible. As thelast of the Enomotæ went down, he saw Othryades standing steadfastly, with never a trace of wound or weakness, still able and willing to write[Greek: NIKH] on his shield. 

When our poor Dick was once thoroughly impressed, for the first time, with awe or admiration, either for man or woman, he generally fell intoa species of trance, from which it was exceedingly difficult to bringhim round. He would have sat there, staring stupidly, till morning, withperfect satisfaction to himself, if Molyneux had not attacked him with adirect question, "How long do you think of staying at Dorade? And haveyou made any plans afterward?"

_Le mouton qui rêvait_ roused himself with an effort, and searched thebottom of his empty glass narrowly for a reply. Eventually he succeededin finding one:

"Cecil talks about two months; then we are to go on by Nice, Genoa, Florence, Rome, and Naples, and so come back by--Italy. " He had got upthe first names by rote, and run them off glibly enough, but wasevidently at fault about the last one. I fancy he had some vague idea ofAustrian troops being quartered in these regions, and looked uponHesperia in the light of an obscure state or moderate-sized townsomewhere in the north of Europe. 

Harry was balked in his inclination to laugh; the rising smile waschecked upon his lip, just in time, by a glance from his chief, severelyauthoritative. 

"Italy?" the latter said, without a muscle moving; "well, I shouldn'tadvise you to stay long there. It's rather a small place, and verystupid; no society whatever. The others will amuse you, as you havenever seen them. "

He rose as he spoke the last words. Perhaps he thought he had done thatnight "enough for profit and more than enough for glory. " The CoolCaptain seldom suffered himself to be bored without an adequate objectvery clearly in view. 

"Hal, I am going to turn you out. It is far too late for you to besitting up, and we have a good deal to do to-morrow. "

Molyneux did not quite comprehend what extraordinary labors were beforeany of them, but he rose without making an objection, and Tresilyanprepared to accompany him. Dick considered that individually he had beenremarkably brilliant, and had left a favorable impression behind him. But all this newly-acquired confidence, and much strong drink were notsufficient to embolden him to risk, as yet, a _tête-à-tête_ with RoystonKeene. 

Long after they had departed the major sat gazing steadfastly at thelogs burning on the hearth. If he had gone straight to bed, the enormousdullness of one of the party would have weighed him down like anightmare. 

Is there one of us who can not remember having seen prettier pictures ina flame-colored setting than the Royal Academy has ever shown him? Whatearthly painter could emulate or imitate the coquettish caprice of lightand shadow, that enhances the charms, and dissembles all possibledefects in those fair, fleeting Fiamminas? Something like this effectwas to be found in the miniatures that were in fashion a dozen yearsago; where part only of a sweet face and a dangerously eloquent eyelooked at you out of a wreath of dusky cloud, that shrouded all the restand gave your imagination play. Truly it was not so utterly wrong, theancient legend that wedded Hephæstus to Aphroditè. The Minnesingers andtheir coevals spoke fairly enough about Love, and probably had studiedtheir subject; but, rely upon it, passionate Romance died in Germanywhen once the close stoves prevailed. Don't you envy the imagination ofthe dreamer who could trace a shape of loveliness in those dreadfulglazed tiles?

Being rather a _Guebre_ myself, I once got enthusiastic on the subjectin the company of an eccentric character, who very soon made me repentmy expansiveness. If he had committed any atrocious crime (he was asmall sandy-haired creature, and wore colored spectacles), no one knewof it, and he never hinted at its nature; but his whole ideas seemedtinged with a vague gloomy remorse that made him a sadder, but scarcelya wiser or better man. Perhaps it was a monomania; let us hope so. Onthat occasion he heard me out quite patiently; then the blue glassesraised themselves to the level of my eyes, and I felt convinced theirowner was staring spectrally behind them. Considering that he measuredabout thirty-four inches round the chest, his voice was extraordinarilydeep and solemn: it sounded preternaturally so as he said very slowly, "There is one face that does not often leave me alone here, and willfollow me, I think, when I go to my appointed place: I see it now, as Ishall see it throughout all ages--always _by firelight_. "

I felt very wroth, for surely to suggest a new and unpleasant train ofideas is an infamous abuse of a _tête-à-tête_. I told my friend so; and, as he declined to retract or apologize, or in any wise explain himself, departed with the conviction that, though a clever man and an originalthinker, he was by no means an exhilarating or instructive companion. Ishould have borne him a grudge to this day, but as I was walking home, decidedly disconsolate (there's no such bore as having a pet fancyspoiled, it is like having your favorite hunter sent home with twobroken knees), it suddenly occurred to me that if the penitent was inthe habit of looking at the fire through those blue barnacles, it wasnot likely there would be much rose-color in his visions. In greattriumph I retraced my steps, and knocked the culprit up to put in this"demurrer. " I flatter myself it floored him. He did attempt some lameexcuse about "taking his spectacles off at such times, " but I refused tolisten to a word, and marched out of the place with drums beating andcolors flying, first exasperating him by the assurance of my completeforgiveness. Since then, if sitting alone, _ligna super foco largèreponens_, I involuntarily recur to that ill-favored conception, itsuffices to contrast with it the grotesque appearance of its originator, and the pale phantom evanisheth. 

I have no excuse to offer for this long and egotistical anecdote, exceptthe pendant which Maloney used to attach to his ultra-_marine_stories--"The point of it is, that--it's strictly true. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

Another and a much more reputable Council of Three sat that night inMiss Tresilyan's apartments. Mr. Fullarton represented the male elementthere, and was in great force. The late accession to his flock haddecidedly raised his spirits: he knew how materially it would strengthenhis hands; but, independently of all politic consideration, Cecil'sgrace and beauty exercised a powerful influence over him. Do notmisconstrue this. I believe a thought had never crossed his mindrelating to any living woman that his own wife might not have known andapproved; nevertheless was it true, that Mr. Fullarton liked hispenitents to be fair: not a very eccentric or unaccountable tasteeither. It is a necessity of our nature to take more delight in thewelfare and training of a beautiful and refined being, than in that ofone who is coarse and awkward and ugly. Even with the merely animalcreation we should experience this; and not above one divine in fifty is_more_ than human, after all. 

So, gazing on the fair face and queenly figure that were then beforehim, and feeling a sort of vested interest in their possessor, the heartof the pastor was merry within him; and he, so to speak, caroused overthe profusely-sugared tea and well-buttered _galette_ with a decorousand regulated joviality; ever as he drank casting down the wreaths ofhis florid eloquence at the feet of his entertainers. In any atmospherewhatsoever, no matter how uncongenial, those garlands were sure tobloom. His zeal was such a hardy perennial that the most chillingreception could not damage its vitality. Principle and intention wereboth all right, of course, but they were clumsily carried out, and thewhole effect was to remind one unpleasantly of the clockmaker puffinghis wares. At the most unseasonable times and in the most incongruousplaces, Mr. Fullarton always had an eye to business, introducing andinculcating his tenets with an assurance and complacency peculiar tohimself. Sometimes he would adopt the familiarly conversational, sometimes the theatrically effective style; but it never seemed to crosshis mind that either could appear ridiculous or grotesque. Some absurdstories were told of his performances in this line. On one occasion, they say, he addressed his neighbor at dinner, to whom he had just beenintroduced, abruptly thus: "You see, what we want is--more faith, " inprecisely the manner and tone of a _gourmet_ suggesting that "the soupwould be all the better for a little more seasoning;" or of Mr. Choulerasserting, "the farmers must be protected, sir. " On another, meeting forthe first time a very pious and wealthy old man (I believe a joint-stockbank director), he proceeded to sound him as to his "experiences. " Theunsuspecting elder, rather flattered by the interest taken in hiswelfare, and never dreaming that such communications could be any thingbut privileged and confidential, parted with his information prettyfreely. Mr. Fullarton was so delighted at what he had heard that heturned suddenly round to the mixed assembly and cried out. "Why, here'sa blessed old Barzillai!" His face was beaming like that of anenthusiastic numismatist who stumbles upon a rare Commodus or anauthentic Domitian. There were several people present of his own way ofthinking; but some, even among those, felt very ill afterward from theirefforts to repress their laughter. The miserable individual thus enduedwith the "robe of honor" would have infinitely preferred the mostscandalously abusive epithet to that fervid compliment. He would haveparted with half his bank shares at a discount (they were paying about14 per cent. Then--you can get them tolerably cheap now) to have beenable to sink into his shoes on the spot; indeed these were almost largeenough to form convenient places of refuge. It had a very bad effect onhim: he never again unbosomed himself on any subject to man, woman, orchild. Even in his last illness--though he must have had one or twotroublesome things on his mind, unless he had peculiar ideas, as to thepropriety of ruining widows and orphans--he declined to commit himself, But locked the secret in his breast, And died in silence, unconfessed. 

On that Saturday night, to one of the party at all events, Mr. Fullarton's presence was very welcome. Mrs. Danvers was somewhat of ahard drinker in theology, and, like other intemperate people, was notover particular as to the quality of the liquors set before her, provided only that they were hot and strong, and unstinted. Thesucculent and highly-flavored eloquence to which she was listeningsuited her palate exactly, besides which, the chaplain's peculiaropinions happened to coincide perfectly with her own. As the eveningprogressed she got more and more exhilarated; and at length could notforbear intimating "how sincerely she valued the privilege of sittingunder so eminent a divine. "

The latter made a scientific little bow, elaborated evidently by longpractice, expressive at once of gratification and humility. 

"A privilege, if such it be, dear Mrs. Danvers, that some of mycongregation estimate but very lightly. You would hardly believe howmany members of my flock I scarcely know, except by name. It is a soretemptation to discouragement. I fear that Major Keene's perniciousexample is indeed contagious, and that his evil communications havecorrupted many--alas! too many. " He rounded off the period with aponderous professional sigh. 

Miss Tresilyan was leaning back in her arm-chair: as the wood-firesprang up brightly and sank again suddenly, her great deep eyes seemedto flash back the fitful gleams. It was long since she had spoken. Intruth, she had been drawing largely upon her piety at first, to makeherself feel interested, and, when this failed, upon her courtesy, toappear so; but she was conscious of relapses more and more frequent intothe dreary regions of Boredom. Every body _would_ agree with every bodyelse so completely! A bold contradiction, a stinging sarcasm, or acaustic retort, would have been worth any thing just then to take offthe cloying taste of the everlasting honey. She roused herself at theselast words enough to ask languidly, "What has he done?"

There could not be a simpler question, nor one put more carelessly; butit was rather a "facer" to Mr. Fullarton, who dealt in generalities as arule, and objected to being brought to book aboutparticulars--considering, indeed, such a line of argument as indicativeof a caviling and narrow-minded disposition in his interlocutor. 

"Well, " he said, not without hesitation, "Major Keene has only once beento church; and, I believe, has spoken scoffingly since of the discoursehe heard delivered there. Yet I may say I was more than usually'supported' on that occasion. " The man's thorough air of convictionsoftened somewhat the absurd effect of his childish vanity. 

Cecil would have been sorry to confess how much excuse she felt inclinedto admit just then for the sins both of commission and omission--sinsthat, at another time, when her faculties were fresh and her judgmentunbiassed, she might have looked upon as any thing but venial. Ah! Mr. Fullarton, the seed you have scattered so profusely to-night isbeginning to bear fruit already you never dreamed of. Beet-root andturnips will not succeed on _every_ soil. It must be long before aremunerative crop of these can be gathered from the breezy upland whichfor centuries, till the heather was burned, has worn a robe ofuncommercial but imperial purple. 

Nevertheless, Miss Tresilyan frowned perceptibly. It looked very much asif Keene had been amusing himself at her expense when he affected aninterest in her leading the choir. Unwittingly to "make sport for themen of war in Gath" by no means suited the fancy of that haughty ladye. 

"It is very wrong of him not to come to church, " she observed after apause (for the sin of sarcasm disapproval was not so ready, and she madethe most of scanty means of condemnation). "Yet I scarcely think he canbe actively hostile. You know he almost lives with the Molyneuxs, andhas great influence with them. Do they not attend regularly?"

Mr. Fullarton admitted that they did. "But, " said he, "constantintercourse with such a man must ere long have its injurious effect. Indeed, I felt it my bounden duty to warn Mrs. Molyneux on the subject. I grieve to say she treated my admonition with a very unwarrantablelevity. "

Mrs. Danvers's sympathetic groan was promptly at the service of thespeaker; fortunately, turning to thank her for it by a look, he misseddetecting her pupil's smile. She could fancy so well Fanny's little_moue_, combining amusement, vexation, and impertinence, whileundergoing the ecclesiastical censure. 

"You must be merciful to Mrs. Molyneux, " she remarked, with a demuregravity that did her credit under the circumstances. "She is my greatestfriend, you know. When a wife is so very fond of her husband, surelythere is some excuse for her adopting his prejudices for and againstpeople?"

The pastor brightened up suddenly: he had just recollected another factto fire off against the _bête noir_. 

"I forgot to tell you that Major Keene is much addicted to play, and, besides, is intimate with the Vicomte de Châteaumesnil. _Noscitur asociis. _" The reverend man was an indifferent classic, but he had a wayof flashing scraps out of grammars and _Analecta Minora_ before womenand others unlikely to be down upon him, as if they were quotations fromsome recondite author. 

"You can not mean that cripple who is drawn about in a wheel-chair?"Cecil asked. "We saw him to-day, only for a moment, for he drew hiscloak over his face as we passed. I never saw such a melancholy wreck, and I pitied him so much that I fear he will haunt me. "

Far deeper would have been the compassion had she guessed at the pangthat shot straight to Armand's heart as he veiled his blasted featuresand haggard eyes, feeling bitterly that such as he were not worthy tolook upon her in the glory of her brilliant beauty. 

"A notorious atheist and profligate, " was the reply. "We can not regardhis sore affliction in any other light than a judgment--a manifestjudgment, dear Miss Tresilyan. "

There was grave disapproval and just a shade of contempt in the face ofone of his hearers as she said, "The hand of God is laid so heavilythere that man may surely forbear him. " But Mrs. Danvers struck in toher favorite's rescue, rejoicing in an opportunity of displaying herpartisanship. 

"A judgment, of course. It would be sinful to doubt it. Besides, do not_others_ suffer?" (She cast up her eyes here pointedly, as though shesaid, "There may be more perfect saints, but if you want a fair specimenof the fine old English martyr--_me voici_. ") "Cecil, my love, I wonderyou did not perceive Major Keene's true character at once. You weretalking to him a good deal the other day. "

"He did not favor me with any remarkably heretical opinions, " MissTresilyan replied, carelessly. "Perhaps they have been exaggerated. Atall events, he is not likely to do us much harm. Don't you think _we_are safe, Bessie? Dick does not care much for play; and his ideas onreligious subjects are so very simple that it would be hard to unsettlethem. "

Clearly she thought the topic was exhausted, but it had a strangefascination for Mr. Fullarton. One of the many good-natured people, whoespecially abound in those semi-English Continental towns, had been kindenough to quote or misquote to him a remark of Royston's about thatsermon; and on this topic the chaplain was very vulnerable. He wouldhave forgiven a real substantial injury far sooner than a depreciationof his discourses. 

Was he one whit weaker or more susceptible than his fellows? I thinknot. All the philosophy on earth will not teach us to endure withoutwincing a mosquito's bite. The hardiest hero bears about him one spotwhere an ivy-leaf clinging intercepted the petrifying water--a tinyout-of-the-way spot, not very near the head or heart, but palpableenough to be stricken by Paris's arrow or Hagen's spear. Cæsar is verysensitive about that bald crown of his, and fears lest even the laurelwreath should cover it but meagrely. Many wars, since that which broughtIlium to the dust, might have been traced to slighted vanity, and manyexcellent Christians have waxed quite as wroth as the queen ofheathenish heaven about the _spretæ injuria formæ_. (Do you think thisis a peculiarly feminine failing? I have seen a first-class man andIreland scholar look massacres at the child of his bosom friend, whenthe unconscious innocent made disagreeable remarks on his personalappearance, alluding particularly to the shape of his nose, which was_not_ Phidian. He has since been heard to speak of that terrible deed inBethlehem as a painful but justifiable measure of political expediency;and is inclined, on many grounds, to excuse and sympathize with the stemIdumean. ) The insult offered to the embassador in Tarentum was only theoutbreak of a single drunkard's brutality, but all the wealth of thefair city of Phalanthus did not suffice to pay the account for washingthe soiled robe white again; and blood enough ran down her streets tohave quenched some blazing temples before the Romans would give her areceipt in full. 

Arguing from these _data_, we may conclude that Mr. Fullarton waslaboring under a slight delusion in believing (which he did sincerely)that only a pure and disinterested zeal for the welfare of his flockimpelled him to say, "I shall make it my business to inquire more fullyinto Major Keene's antecedents. I am convinced there is somethingdiscreditable in the background, and it may be well to be armed withproofs in case of need. "

Though _he_ may have deceived himself completely as to the nature of thespirit that possessed him, Cecil Tresilyan was more clear-sighted. Shehad not failed to remark a certain vicious twinkle in the speaker's eyeand a deeper flush on his ruddy countenance, betokening rather a mundaneresentment. Her lip began to curl. 

"How very disagreeable some of your duties must be. No doubt youinterpret them correctly, but in this case perhaps it would be well tobe _quite_ sure before acting on the offensive. If I were a man--even aclergyman--I don't think I should like to have Major Keene for mydeclared enemy. "

The text with which the chaplain enforced his reply--expressive of adetermination to keep his own line at all hazards, strong in therectitude of his cause--had better not be quoted here, especially as itwas not apposite enough to "lay" the contradictory spirit that was alivein his fair opponent. (How very angry Cecil would have been if she hadbeen told ten minutes ago that such an expression would apply to her!)The temptation to answer sharply was so powerful that she took refuge indistant coldness. 

"You quite misunderstand me, Mr. Fullarton. I never dreamed of offeringadvice; it would have been excessively presumptuous in me, especially asI have not the faintest interest in the subject we have been talkingabout. Need we discuss it any longer? I think Major Keene has been toohighly honored already. "

That weary look was so manifest now on the beautiful face that even thechaplain, albeit tenacious of his position as a sea-anemone, felt that, for once, he had overstaid his time and was periling his popularity. So, after an expansive benediction, and an entreaty that they would be earlyat church on the morrow, he went "to his own place. "

With a sigh of admiration--"What an excellent man, and how well hetalks!" said Bessie Danvers. 

With a sigh of relief--"He talks a great deal, and it is very late, "said Cecil Tresilyan. 

CHAPTER IX. 

From his "coign of vantage" in the reading-desk the next morning, Mr. Fullarton surveyed a crowded congregation, serenely complacent andhopeful, as a farmer in August looking down from the hill-side on goldenbillows of waving grain. Visitors had been pouring in rather fast duringthe week; and there was a vague, general impression, which no individualwould have owned, that they were to hear something unusually good. Foronce expectation was not to be disappointed--a remarkable fact, when oneconsiders how much dissatisfaction is created, as a rule, in the popularmind, by the shortcomings of eclipses, processions, Vesuvian eruptions, new operas, and other advertised attractions, natural and artificial. The singing was really a success. Miss Tresilyan's magnificent voice didits duty nobly, and did no more. Without overpowering or singling itselfout from the others, it lured them on to follow where they could neverhave gone alone: the choir was kept in perfect order without evenknowing that it was disciplined. 

There was an elderly Englishman who had resided at Dorade ever since hehad a slight difference of opinion with the Bankruptcy Court a quarterof a century back. Drifting helplessly and aimlessly about Europe insearch of employment, he had taken root where he came ashore, andvegetated, as floating weeds will do. He picked up rather a precariouslivelihood by acting as a species of factotum to his countrymen in theseason, ministering, not injudiciously, to their myriad whims andnecessities. Among his multifarious functions, perhaps the mostrespectable and permanent was that of clerk to the English chapel. Hewas by no means a very religious man, nor were his morals quiteunexceptionable, but he had completely identified himself with thefortunes and interests of that modest building. A sneer at itscapabilities or a doubt as to its prospects would exasperate him at anytime far more than a direct insult to himself (to be sure there waslittle self-respect left to be offended). When disguised in drink, whichwas the case tolerably often, he generally proposed to settle thequestion by the ordeal of battle, and was only to be appeased by anapology or a great deal more liquor. 

On this occasion the success and the singing combined--for excess andhardship had not quite deadened a good ear for music--moved the oldcastaway strangely. His thoughts wandered back to the misused days whenhe had friends, and a position, and character; when he was a householderand vestryman, and even dreamt ambitiously of a churchwardenship. Hecould see distinctly his own pew, with the gray, worm-eaten panels, where he had sat many and many a warm afternoon, resisting sternly, asbecame a man of mark in the parish, treacherous inclinations to slumber. He saw the ponderous brown gallery--eyesore to archæologists--which heldthe village choir: there they were, with the sun streaming in on theirheads through the western window, till even the faded red cushion infront deepened into rich crimson, chanting their quaint old anthems withright good courage, though every one got lost in the second line, and, after much independent exertion of the lungs, just came up in time tojoin in the grand final rally. He saw the mild-faced, gray-haired parsonmounting slowly the pulpit stairs, adjusting and manoeuvring therefractory gown that _would_ come off his shoulders with the nervousgesture which, beginning in timidity, had grown into a habit that waspart of the man. More plainly than all--he saw a low, green mound, justbeyond the chancel walls, where one was sleeping who had lavished on himall the treasures of a rare, unselfish, trusting love; the dear, meek, little wife, who was so proud of her husband's few poor talents, soindulgent to his many failings, who ever had an excuse ready to answerhis self-reproaches, whose weak, thin hand was always strong enough topluck him back from ruin and dishonor, till it grew stiff and cold. Sheknew it, too, for he remembered the wail that burst from her lips whenshe thought she was alone, the night before she died--"Ah! who will savehim now that I am gone?" How miserable and lonely he was long after theyburied her! How incessantly he used to repeat those last words, meant tobe comforting, that she spoke, with her arm wound round his neck, "Darling, you have been so very, very kind to me!" So it went on, tillthe devil of drink, choosing his time cunningly, entered into him, andbattled with and drove out the angel. A strange resurrection! Memoriesthat had died years ago, withering from very shame, began to curl andtwine themselves round the hard, battered heart as tenderly as ever. These pictures of the past were still vivid and clear, when he becameaware of a dimness in his eyes that blinded them to all real surroundingobjects; he felt so surprised that it broke the spell; tears had almostforgotten the way to his eyes. 

Not very probable, is it, that a prosaic elderly clerk should dream ofall this during the three last verses of a hymn? Well, the steadiestimagination is apt to disregard sometimes the proprieties of place; andas for space--of course the visions of the night are quicker on the wingthan their rivals of the day; yet there must be some analogy, and, theysay, we pass through the vicissitudes of half a lifetime in the fewseconds before we wake. 

Cecil was really pleased with the result of the singing. She would havebeen even more so had it not been for the marked expression of approvalon the face of Royston Keene. It was evident she had been on her trial. The cool, tranquil, appreciative smile was very provoking. It made herfeel for the moment like a _prima donna_ on her first appearance at anew theatre. 

Unusually eloquent and verbose was the sermon that day, for not only wasthe preacher aware that bright eyes looked upon his deeds, but he sawhis enemies in the front of the battle. Surely all extemporaneousspeakers, in court, pulpit, or senate, must be accessible to suchexternal influences. It ought not to be so, of course, but I fancy it_is_. Would John Knox have been so fiery in denunciation if those wickedmaids of honor had not derided him? I doubt if a discourse delivered ina Union would ever soar to sublimity, even if the excellent pauperscould be supposed to understand it. So, with every sentence moreplaintive grew Mr. Fullarton's lamentations over worldlings and theirvanities, more bitter his invectives against those who, havingthemselves broken out of the fold, seek to lead others astray. Anoccasional gesture--something too expressive--was not needed to pointhis animadversions. The object of them sat with his head slightly bent, neither by frown nor smile betraying that a single allusion had gonehome. The simple truth was, that he scarcely caught one word. The lastcadence of sweeter tones was still lingering in his ears, and had lockedthem fast against all other sounds. The energetic divine might havepoured out upon his guilty head yet stormier vials, and he would neverhave heard one roll of the thunder. However, the dearest friends mustpart, and all orations must come to an end, except those of themuch-desiderated Chisholm Anstey, of whom an old-world parliament wasnot worthy; so, after "a burst of forty-five minutes without a check, "the chaplain dismissed his beloved hearers to their digestion. 

The stream, as it flowed out, divided, and broke up into small pools ofconversation. Miss Tresilyan and her chaperone joined the Molyneuxparty, just as Fanny was saying to Keene that "she hoped he would profitby much in the sermon that was evidently meant for him. "

"_Was_ he personal?" the latter asked, so indifferently; "I didn'tnotice it. Well, I suppose it amuses him, and it certainly does not hurtme. " (Mrs. Danvers sniffed indignantly--a form of protest to which hernose, from its construction, was eminently adapted; but he went onbefore she could speak) "Miss Tresilyan, will you allow perhaps theunworthiest member of the congregation to express an opinion that thesinging went off superbly?"

Her beautiful eyes glittered somewhat disdainfully. "Thank you, you arevery good. But I think you have hardly a right to be critical. I shouldlike to have some one's opinion who is _really_ interested in thechapel. It was scarcely worth taking so much trouble to appear so theother day. You know what Liston said about the penny? 'It is not thevalue of the thing, but one hates to be imposed upon. ' Delusions are notso agreeable as illusions, Major Keene. "

Royston was very much pleased. He liked above all things to see a womanstand up to him defiantly; indeed, if they were worth "setting to with, "he always tried to get them to spar as soon as possible, to find out ifthey had any idea of hitting straight. He did not betray hissatisfaction, though, as he answered quite calmly, "Pardon me, I couldnot be so impertinent as to attempt a 'delusion' on so short anacquaintance. I deny the charge distinctly. I believe that residence inDorade, and a certain amount of subscription, constitute a member of Mr. Fullarton's congregation, and give one a franchise. He has not thoughtfit to excommunicate me publicly as yet. I really was interested in thesubject, for I fully meant to go to church this morning, and I mean togo again. "

Insensibly they had walked on in advance of the others. She shook herhead with a saucy incredulity--"I am no believer in sudden conversions. "

"Nor I; I was not speaking of such; but I am very fond of good singing, and I would go any where to hear it. Did our chaplain include hypocrisyamong my other disqualifications for decent society last night? Iunderstand he is good enough to furnish a catalogue of them to all newcomers. "

Cecil certainly had not abused him then; so there was not the slightestnecessity for her looking guilty and conscious, both of which she feltshe was doing as she replied--"I am sure Mr. Fullarton would not asperseany one's character knowingly. He could only speak from a sense of duty, perhaps not a pleasant one. "

"Quite so, " said Royston; "I don't quarrel with him for any fairprofessional move. If he thinks it necessary or expedient to prejudiceindifferent people against me, he is clearly right to do so. Ah! I see, you think I dislike him. I don't, indeed. Morally and physically, heseems a little too unctuous, that's all. Capital clergyman for a coldclimate! Fancy how useful he would be in an Arctic expedition. Theymight save his salary in Arnott's stoves: I'm certain he _radiates_. "

Miss Tresilyan knew that it was wrong to smile. But she had anunfortunately quick perception of the ridiculous, and the struggles ofprinciple against a sense of humor were not always successful. She wouldnot give up her point, though. "I can not think that you judge himfairly, " she persisted. 

"Perhaps not; but there is a large class who would scarcely be muchmoved by stronger and abler words than, I suppose, we heardto-day--spoken as they were spoken. These preachers won't study thefitness of things; that's the worst of it. I have known a garrisonchaplain deliver a discourse that, I am convinced, was composed for avisitation. It seems absurd to hear a man warning us against aparticular sin, and threatening us with all sorts of penalties if weindulge in it, when it is impossible that he himself should ever havefelt the temptation. We want some one who can find out the harmless sideof our character, as well as the diseased part, and work upon it. Such aperson may be as strict and harsh as he pleases, but he is listened to. "He paused for a moment, and went on in a graver tone--"I think it mighthave done even _me_ some good, when I was younger, to have talked forhalf an hour with the man who wrote 'How Amyas threw his sword away. '"

Cecil could not disagree with him now, nor did she wish to do so. Sheliked those last words of his better than any he had spoken. Remember, she was born and bred in the honest west country, where one, at least, of their own prophets hath honor. If you want to indulge your enthusiasmfor the Rector of Eversley, let your next walking-tour turn thitherward;for on all the sea-board from Portsmouth to Penzance, there is never awoman--maid, wife, or widow--that will say you nay. 

Keene saw his advantage, but was far too wise to follow it up then. Theweaker sex, as a rule, are acute but not very close reasoners; they mixup their majors and minors with a charming recklessness; and, ifinnocent of nothing else, are generally guiltless of a syllogism. Itfollows that, in the course of an argument, it is easy enough toentangle them in their talk. When such a chance occurs, don't come downon your pretty antagonist with "I thought you said so and so, " but bepolitic as well as generous, and pass it by. They will do more justiceto your self-denial than they would have done to your dialectic talents. Corinna loves to be contradicted, but hates to be convinced, and dreadsno monster so much as a short-horned--dilemma. She may forgive the firstoffense as inadvertent, but "one more such victory and you are lost. "Think how often clemency has succeeded where severity would have failed. What did that discreet Eastern emir, when he found his fair young wifesleeping in a garden, where she had no earthly business to be? He laidhis drawn sabre softly across her neck, and retired without breaking herslumbers. The cold blade was the first thing Zuleika felt when she woke;I can not guess what her sensations were; but when she gave the weaponback to her solemn lord, she pressed her rosy lips thrice on the bluesteel, and made a vow that she most probably kept; and Hussein Beynever was happier, than when he drew her back to his broad breast, looking into her face silently with his calm, grave smile. 

I fancy our sisters enter into an argument with more simple good faithand eagerness than we are wont to indulge in; so that it is probablyeasier to tease and exasperate them, which is amusing enough while itlasts. But no doubt it hurts them sometimes more than we are aware of;and, after all, breaking a butterfly on the wheel is poor pastime, andnot a very athletic sport. The glory, too, to be won is so small that itscarcely compensates for the pain we inflict, and may, perchance, eventually _feel_. Is Achilles inclined to be proud of the strength ofhis arm, or the keenness of his falchion, as he grovels in the dust atthe slain Amazon's side? Nay, he would give half his laurels to be ableto close that awful gaping wound--to see the proud lips soften for amoment from their immutable scorn--to detect the faintest tremor in thelong white limbs that never will stir again. 

The solemnity of these illustrations, in which battles, murders, andsudden deaths are mingled, will prove that I regard the subject as by nomeans trivial, but am sincerely anxious to warn my comrades againstyielding to a temptation which assails us daily. 

On these principles the Cool Captain acted, then. His gay laugh opened abridge to the retreating enemy as he said, "How my poor character musthave been worried last night! I wish Mrs. Molyneux had been there. Sheis good enough to stand up for her old friend sometimes. I could hardlyexpect _you_ to take so much trouble for a very recent acquaintance. "

"Of course not, " replied Cecil. "I was not in a position to contradictany thing, even if I had wished to do so. But, I remember, I thought Iwould speak to you about my brother. You know enough of him already toguess why I am nervous about him. I almost forced him to take me abroad;and he is exposed to so many more dangers here than at home. Please, don't encourage him to play, or tempt him into any thing wrong. Indeed, I don't mean to speak harshly or uncourteously, so you need not beangry. "

She raised her eyes to her companion's with a pretty pleading. He metthem fairly. Whatever his intentions might be, no one could say that themajor ever shrank from looking friend or foe in the face. 

"I am sorry that you should think the warning necessary. Supposing thatit were so--on my honor, he is safe from me. I should like to alter youropinion of me, if it were possible. Will you give me a chance?" Theothers joined them before she could reply; but more than once that dayCecil wondered whether, even during their short acquaintance, she hadnot sometimes dealt scanty justice to Royston Keene. 

CHAPTER X. 

There is a pleasant theory--that every woman may be loved, once at leastin her life, if she so wills it. It must be true: how, otherwise, canyou account for the number of hard-featured visages--lighted up by noredeeming ray of intellect--that preside at "good men's feasts, " andconfront them at their firesides? How do the husbands manage? Do they, from constantly contemplating an inferior type of creation, lose theircomparing and discriminating powers, so that, like the Australian andPacific aborigines, they come to regard as points of beautypeculiarities that a more advanced civilization shrinks from? Or dotheir visual organs actually become impaired, like those of captives whocan see clearly only in their own dungeon's twilight, and flinch beforethe full glare of day? If neither of these is the case, they mustsometimes sympathize with that dreary dilemma of Bias which the adustAldrich quotes in grim irony--[Greek: _Ei men kalên, exeis koinên, ei d'aischran, poinên_] (Whether of the two horns impaled the sage ofPriene?) Some, of course, are fully alive to the outward defects oftheir partners; but few are so candid as the old Berkshire squire, who, looking after his spouse as she left the room, said, pensively, "Excellent creature, that! I've liked her better every day for twentyyears, but I've always thought she's the plainest-headed woman inEngland!" Fewer still would wish to emulate the sturdy plain-speaking ofthe "gudeman" in the Scottish ballad, who, when his witch-wife boastedhow she bloomed into beauty after drinking the "wild-flower wine, "replied, undauntedly, "Ye lee, ye lee, ye ill womyn, Sae loud I hear ye lee; The ill-faured'st wife i' the kingdom of Fife Is comely compared wi' thee. "

He could stand all the other marvels of the Sabbat, but _that_ was toomuch for his credulity. 

No doubt many of these Ugly Princesses are endowed with excellentsterling qualities. The old Border legend says there never was a happiermatch than that of "Muckle-mou'ed Meg, " though her husband married herreluctantly with a halter tightening round his neck. But such advantageslie below the surface, and take some time in being appreciated. Thefirst process of captivation is what I don't understand--unless, indeed, there are sparkles in the quartz, invisible to common eyes, that tellthe experienced gold-seeker of a rich vein near. 

Well, we will allow the proposition with which we started; but do yousuppose its converse would hold equally good--that every woman could_love_ once if she wished it? Nine out of ten of them would, I dare say, answer boldly in the affirmative; but in a few rather sad and wearyfaces you might read something more than a doubt about this; and lips, not so red and full as they once were, on which the wintry smile comesbut rarely, could tell perhaps a different story. The precise mould thatwill fit _some_ fancies is as hard to find as the slipper of Cendrillon;and so, in default of the fairy _chaussure_, the small white foot goeson its road unshod, and the stones and briers gall it cruelly. 

With men it does not so much matter. They have always the counteractingresources of bodily and mental exertion, against which the affectionscan make but little head. Indeed, some of the most distinguished inarts, in arms, if not in song, seem to have gone down to their graveswithout ever giving themselves time to indulge in any one of these. Perhaps they never missed a sentiment which would have been very much intheir way if they had felt it. If all tales are true, mathematics are avery effectual Nénuphar. But with women it is different. _They_ can't bealways clambering up unexplored peaks, or inventing improvements ingunnery, or commanding irregular corps, or bringing in faultless reformbills, or finding out constellations, or shooting big game, or resortingto any of _our_ thousand-and-one safety-valves to superfluousexcitement. Are crochet, or crossed letters, or charity-schools, or evenCochins and _Crève-coeurs_, so entirely engrossing as to drown foreverthe reproaches of nature, that will make herself heard? If not, surelythe most phlegmatically proper of her sex does sometimes feel sad anddissatisfied when she thinks that she has never been able to care forany one more than for her own brother. It must seem hard that, when thefrost of old age comes on, she shall not have even a memory to look uponto warm her. But in the world here, such temptations to discontentabound; but the most guileless votary of the _Sacré Coeur_ mightconfess regrets and misgivings like these without meriting any extraallowance of fast and scourge. 

If we were to reckon up the cases we have heard of women who have "gonewrong, " and made, if not _mésalliances_, at least marriages inexplicableon any rational grounds, it would fill up a long summer's day, evenwithout drawing on darker recollections of post-nuptial transgression. In these last cases, perhaps, the altar and absolute indifference was amore dangerous element than Mrs. Malaprop's "little aversion, " which is, at all events, a _positive_, thing to work upon. Lethargies are harderto cure, they say, than fevers. Certainly they have the warning examplesof others who have so erred, and paid for it by a life-long repentance;but that never has stopped them yet, and never will. Remember the replyof the _débutante_ to her austere parent when the latter refused to takeher to a ball, saying that "_she_ had seen the folly of such things. " "Iwant to see the folly of them too. " Few of us men can realize thefeeling that, with our sisters, may account for, though not excuse, muchfolly and sin. They see others happy all around them: it is hard to fastwhen so many are feasting. So there comes a shameful sense ofignorance--a vague, eager desire for knowledge--a terror of an isolationdeepening and darkening upon them, and a determination, at any risks, tobalk at least _that_ enemy--and so, like the poor lady of Shalott, theygrow restless, and reckless, and rebellious at last. They are safe wherethey are, but the days have so much of dull sameness that there is asore temptation in the unknown peril. "Better, " they say, "than theclose atmosphere of the guarded castle and the phantasms of fairy-land, one draught of the fresh outer air--one glimpse of real life andnature--one taste of substantial joys and sorrows that shall wake allthe pulses of womanhood, even though the experience be brief and dearlybought, though the web woven while we sat dreaming must surely be rentin twain--ay, even though the curse, too, may follow very swiftly, andthe swans be waiting at the gate that shall bear us down to ourburying. "

If staid and cold-blooded virgins and matrons are not exempt from thesedisagreeable self-reproaches, how did it fare with Cecil Tresilyan, inwhom the energy of a strong temperament was stirring like the spring-sapin a young oak-tree? Should she die conscious of the possession of sucha wealth of love, with none to share or inherit it? She had seen suchnumbers of her friends and acquaintance "pair off, " that she began toenvy at last the facility of attachment that she had been wont to holdin scorn. Very many reflections of "lovers lately wed" had been castupon her mirror, and yet the One knightly shadow was long in coming. Canit be that yonder gleam through the trees is the flash of his distantarmor?

I hope this illustrated edition of rather an old theory has not boredyou much; because it would have been just as simple to have said at oncethat, as the days went on in Dorade, and they were thrown constantlyinto each other's society, Major Keene began to monopolize much more ofCecil Tresilyan's thoughts than she would have allowed if she could havehelped it; for, though she considered Mr. Fullarton's testimony unfairlybiased by prejudice, she could not doubt that Royston was by no meansthe most eligible object to centre her young affections upon. Hecarefully avoided discussion or display of any of his peculiar opinionsin her presence, and on such occasions seemed inclined to soften hishabitually sardonic and depreciatory tone. Once or twice, when they diddisagree, she observed that he contrived to make some one else take herside, and then argued the point, as long as he thought it worth while, with the last opponent. Beyond the courtesy which invariably marked hisdemeanor toward her sex, this was the only sign of especial deferencethat he had shown. She never could detect the faintest approach to theadulation that hundreds had paid her, and which she had wearied of longago. Nevertheless, she knew perfectly that on many subjects, generallyconsidered all-important, they differed as widely as the poles. 

Perpetual struggles between the spirit and the flesh made Cecil's heartan odd sort of debatable land; if she could not always insure successand supremacy to the right side, she certainly did endeavor to preservethe balance of power. Personally she rather disliked Mr. Fullarton, butshe seemed to look upon him as the embodiment of a principle, and thesymbol of an abstraction. He represented there the Establishment whichshe had always been taught to venerate; and so she felt bound, as far aspossible, to favor and support him; just as Goring and Wilmot, and manymore wild cavaliers, fearing neither God nor devil, mingled in theirwar-cry church as well as king. (Rather a rough comparison to apply to awell-intentioned demoiselle of the nineteenth century, but, I fancy, acorrect one. ) Thus, if she indulged herself in a long _tête-à-tête_ withKeene, she was sure to be extraordinarily civil to the chaplain soonafter; and if she devoted herself for a whole evening to the society ofthe priest and his family, the soldier was likely to benefit by it onthe morrow. Unluckily, the sacrifice of inclination was all on _one_side. 

The antagonists had never, as yet, come into open collision. It was notrespect or fear that made them shy of the conflict, but rather afeeling, which neither could have explained to himself, resembling thatof leaders of parties in the House, who decline measuring their strengthagainst each other on questions of minor importance, reservingthemselves for the final crisis, when the want-of-confidence vote shallcome on. Once only there was a chance of a skirmish--the merest affairof outposts. 

Keene had been calling on the Tresilyans one evening, in the officialcapacity of bearer of a verbal message from Mrs. Molyneux. It was thesimplest one imaginable; but as graver embassadors have done before him, liking his quarters he dallied over his mission. (If Geneva, instead ofParis, were chosen for the meeting of a Congress, would not severalknotty points be decided much more speedily?) When, at last, all wassettled, it seemed very natural that he should petition Cecil for "justone song;" and you know what that always comes to. Royston never would"turn over" if he could possibly avoid it; he considered it a willfulwaste of advantages, for the strain on his attention, slight as it mightbe, quite spoiled his appreciation of the melody. Perhaps he was right. As a rule, if one wanted to discover the one person about whose approvalthe fair _cantatrice_ is most solicitous, it would be well to look _not_immediately behind her ivory shoulder. At all events, he had made hispeace with Miss Tresilyan on this point long ago. So he drew hisarm-chair up near the piano, but out of her sight as she sang, and satwatching her intently through his half-closed eyelids. 

I marvel not that in so many legends of witchery and seduction since the_Odyssey_ the [Greek: _thespesiê aoidê_] has borne its part. "But, " theWanderer might say, replying against Circè's warning, "have we notlearned prudence and self-command from Athenè, the chaste Tritonid? Havenot ten years under shield before Troy, and a thousand leagues ofseafaring, made our hearts as hard as our hands, and our ears deaf tothe charms of song? Thus much of wisdom, at least, hath come withgrizzled hair, that we may mock at temptations that might have won uswhen our cheeks were in their down. O most divinely fair of goddesses!have we not resisted your own enchantments? Shall we go forth scathlessfrom Ææa to perish on the Isle of the Sirens?" But the low, green hillsare already on the weather beam, and we are aware of a sweet weird chantthat steals over the water like a living thing, and smooths the ripplewhere it passes. How fares it with our philosophic Laertiades? Thosesigns look strangely unlike incitements to greater speed; and what meanthose struggles to get loose? Well, perhaps, for the hero that the goodhemp holds firm, and that Peribates and Eurylochus spring up tostrengthen his bonds; well, that the wax seals fast the ears of thosesturdy old sea-dogs who stretch to their oars till Ocean grows hoarybehind the blades; or nobler bones might soon be added to the myriadsthat lie bleaching in the meadow, half hidden by its flowers. It wasnot, then, so very trivial, the counsel that she gave in partingkindness--

 [Greek: _Kirkê euplokamos, deinê theos audêessa_. ]

Are we in our generation wiser than the "man of many wiles?" Dinner isover, and every one is going out into the pleasance, to listen to thenightingales. 

"It will be delicious; there is nothing I should like so much; but I--Isprained my ankle in jumping that gate; and Amy" (that's "my cousin whohappens to sing"), "I heard you cough three times this morning. _You_won't be so imprudent as to risk the night air? Ah! they are gone atlast; and now, Amy dear--good, kindest Amy!--open the especial crimsonbook quickly, and give me first your own pet song, and then mine, andthen 'The Three Fishers, ' and then 'Maud, ' and then, I suppose, theywill be coming back again; but by that time, they may be as enthusiasticas they please, we shall be able to meet them fairly. "

Things have changed since David's day; spirits are raised sometimes now, as well as laid, by harp and song. In good truth, they are not alwaysevil ones. 

On that night, Royston Keene listened to the sweet voice that seemed toknock at the gates of his heart--gates shut so long that the bars hadrusted in their staples--not loudly or imperiously, but powerful in itsplaintive appeal, like that of those one dearly loved, standing withoutin the bitter cold, and pleading--"Ah! let me in!" He listened till apleasant, dreamy feeling of _domesticity_ began to creep over him thathe had never known before. He could realize, then, that there werecircumstances under which a man might easily dispense with high play, and hard riding, and hard flirting (to give it a mild name), and harddrinking, and other excitements which habit had almost turned intonecessities, without missing any one of them. There were two words whichought to have put all these fancies to flight, as the writing on thewall scattered the guests of Belshazzar--"Too Late. " But he turned hishead away, and would not read them. He had actually succeeded inignoring another disenchanting reality--the presence of Mrs. Danvers. That estimable person seemed more than usually fidgetty, and disposed tomake herself, as well as others, uncomfortable. There was evidentlysomething on her mind from her glancing so often and so nervously at thedoor. It opened at last softly, just as Cecil had finished "TheSwallow, " and revealed Mr. Fullarton standing on the threshold. Thelatter was not well pleased with the scene before him. There was an airof comfort about it which, under the circumstances, he thought decidedlywrong; besides which he could not get rid of a vague misgiving (therarest thing with him!) that his visit was scarcely welcome or welltimed. 

Miss Tresilyan rose instantly to greet the intruder (yes, that's theright word) with her usual calm courtesy. Very few words had beenexchanged for the last hour, but she was perfectly aware--what woman isnot?--of the influence she had exercised over her listener. Thatconsciousness had made her strangely happy. So, _she_ certainly couldhave survived the chaplain's absence. Royston Keene rose too, quiteslowly. There are compounds, you know, that always remain soft andductile in a certain temperature, but harden into stone at the firstcontact with the outer air. It was just so with him. Even as he moved, all gentle feelings were struck dead in his heart, and he stood up aharder man than ever, with no kinder emotion left than bitter anger atthe interruption. He could not always command his eyes, he knew; and, ifhe had not passed his hand quickly over his face just then, theirexpression might have thrilled through the new-comer disagreeably. 

"Cecil, dearest, " Mrs. Danvers said, with rather an awkward assumptionof being perfectly at her ease, "Mr. Fullarton was good enough to say hewould come and read to us this evening, and explain some passages. Idon't know why I forgot to tell you. I meant to do so, but--" Her lookfinished the sentence. Royston, like the others, guessed what she meant, and _you_ may guess how he thanked her. 

Cecil colored with vexation. She was so anxious to prevent Mrs. Danversfrom feeling dependent that she allowed her to take all sorts ofliberties, and the amiable woman was not disposed to let the privilegefall into disuse. On the present occasion there was such an absurdincongruity of time and place that she might possibly have tried toevade the "exposition, " but she happened just then to meet Keene's eye. The sarcasm there was not so carefully veiled as it usually was in herpresence. Never yet was born Tresilyan who blenched from a challenge; soshe answered at once to express "her sense of Mr. Fullarton's kindness, and her regret that he had not come earlier in the evening. " If Roystonhad known how bitterly she despised herself for disingenuousness hewould have been amply avenged. 

Even while she was speaking he closed the piano very slowly and softly. It did not take him long to put on his impenetrable face, for when heturned round there was not a trace of anger left; the scarce suppressedtaunt in Cecil's last words moved him apparently no more than Mrs. Danvers's glance of triumph. 

"I owe you a thousand apologies, " he said, "for staying such anunwarrantable time, and quite as many thanks for the pleasantest twohours I have spent in Dorade. Don't think I would detain you one momentfrom Mr. Fullarton and your devotional exercises. You know--no, you_don't_ know--the verse in the ballad:

 'Amundeville may be lord by day, But the monk is lord by night; Nor wine nor wassail would stir a vassal To question that friar's right. '"

He went away then without another word beyond the ordinary adieu. Royston had a way of repeating poetry peculiar to himself--rathermonotonous, perhaps, but effective from the depth and volume of hisvoice. You gained in rhythm what you lost in rhyme. The sound seemed tolinger in their ears after he had closed the door. 

As the echo of the firm, strong footstep died away, a virtuousindignation possessed the broad visage of the divine. 

"It is like Major Keene, " said he, "to select as his text-book the mostgodless work of the satanic school; but I should have thought that evenhe would have paused before venturing, in this presence, on a quotationfrom _Don Juan_. "

At that awful word Mrs. Danvers gave a little shriek as if "a bee hadstung her newly. " Had she been a Catholic she would have crossed herselfan indefinite number of times: will you be good enough to imagine herprotracted look of holy horror? Cecil's eyes were glittering withscornful humor as she answered, very demurely, "What an advantage it isto be a large, general reader! It enables one to impart so muchinformation. Now Bessie and I should never have guessed where thoselines came from if you had not enlightened us. They seemed harmlessenough in themselves, and Major Keene was considerate enough to leave usin our ignorance. So Byron comes within the scope of your studies, Mr. Fullarton. I thought you seldom indulged in such secular authors?" Thechaplain was quite right in making his reply inaudible: it would havebeen difficult to find a perfectly satisfactory one. However, the hourwas late enough to excuse his beginning the reading without fartherdelay. It was not a success. There was a stoppage somewhere in thecurrent of his mellifluous eloquence; and the exposition was concludedso soon, and indeed abruptly, that Mrs. Danvers retired to rest with afeeling of disappointment and inanition, such as one may haveexperienced when, expecting a "sit-down" supper, we are obliged tocontent ourselves with a meagrely-furnished _buffet_. For some minutesafter Mr. Fullarton had departed Miss Tresilyan sat silent, leaning herhead upon her hand. At last she said, "Bessie, dear, you know I wouldnot interfere with your comforts or your arrangements for the world;but, the next time you wish to have a repetition of this, would you beso very good as to tell me beforehand? I think I shall spend thatevening with Fanny Molyneux. I do not quite like it, and I am sure itdoes me no real good. "

She spoke so gently that Mrs. Danvers was going to attempt one of herquerulous remonstrances, but she happened to look at the face of herpatroness. It wore an expression not often seen there; but she was wiseenough to interpret it aright, and to guess that she had gone farenough. It was ever a dangerous experiment to trifle with the Tresilyanswhen their brows were bent. So she launched into some of heraffectionate platitudes and profuse excuses, and under cover of theseretreated to her rest. It is a comfort to reflect that she slept verysoundly, though she monopolized all the slumber that night that ought tohave fallen to Cecil's share. 

What did Royston Keene think of the events of the evening? As he wentdown the stairs I am afraid he cursed the chaplain once heartily, but onthe whole he was not dissatisfied. At all events, the short walk down tothe club completely restored his _sang-froid_, and the last trace ofvexation vanished as he entered the card-room and saw the "light ofbattle" gleam on the haggard face of Armand de Châteaumesnil. 

CHAPTER XI. 

There was in Dorade a stout and meritorious elderly widow, who formed asort of connecting link between the natives and the settlers. English bybirth, she had married a Frenchman of fair family and fortune, so thather habits and sympathies attached themselves about equally to the twocountries. You do not often find so good a specimen of the hybrid. Shegave frequent little _soirées_, which were as pleasant and exciting assuch assemblages of heterogeneous elements usually are--that is to say, very moderately so. The two streams flowed on in the same channel, without mingling or losing their characteristics. I fancy the fault wasmost on our side. 

We no longer, perhaps, parade Europe with "pride in our port, defiancein our eye;" but still, in our travels, we lose no opportunity ofmaintaining and asserting our well-beloved dignity, which, if rather amyth and vestige of the past, at home, abroad, is a very stern reality. Have you not seen, at a crowded _table d'hôte_, the British motherencompass her daughters with the double bulwark of herself and theirstaid governess on either flank, so as to avert the contamination whichmust otherwise have certainly ensued from the close proximity of acourteous white-bearded Graf, or a _fringante_ vicomtesse whose eyesoutshone her diamonds? May it ever remain so! Each nation has its vanityand its own peculiar glory, as it has its especial produce. O cottonmills of Manchester! envy not nor emulate the velvet looms of Genoa orLyons; you are ten times as useful, and a hundredfold more remunerating. What matters it if Damascus guard jealously the secret of her fragrantclouded steel, when Sheffield can turn out efficient sword-blades at therate of a thousand per hour? _Suum cuique tribuito. _ Let others aspireto be popular: be it ours to remain irreproachably and unapproachablyrespectable. 

So poor Mdme. De Verzenay's efforts to promote an _entente cordiale_were lamentably foiled. When the English mustered strong, they wouldimmediately form themselves into a hollow square, the weakest in thecentre, and so defy the assaults of the enemy. Now and then a daringGaul would attempt the adventure of the Enchanted Castle, determined, ifnot to deliver the imprisoned maidens, at least to enliven theirsolitude. See how gayly and gallantly he starts, glancing a saucy adieuto Adolphe and Eugène, who admire his audacity, but augur ill for itssuccess. _Allons, je me risque. Montjoie St. Denis! France à larescousse!_ He winds, as it were, the bugle at the gate, with awell-turned compliment or a brilliant bit of _badinage_. Slowly thejealous valves unclose; he stands within the magic precinct--an eeriesilence all around. Suppose that one of the Seven condescends to parleywith him; she does so nervously and under protest, glancing ever overher shoulder, as if she expected the austere Fairy momentarily toappear; while her companions sit without winking or moving, coweringtogether like a covey of birds when the hawk is circling over theturnip-field. How can you expect a man to make himself agreeable undersuch appalling circumstances? The heart of the adventurer sinks withinhim. Lo! there is a rustling of robes near; what if Calyba or Urgandawere at hand? _Fuyons!_ And the knight-errant retreats, with droopingcrest and smirched armor--a melancholy contrast to the _preux chevalier_who went forth but now chanting his war-song, conquering and to conquer. The remarks of the discomfited one, after such a failure, were, I fear, the reverse of complimentary; and the unpleasant word _bégueule_ figuredin them a great deal too often. 

Cecil and Fanny Molyneux were certainly exceptions to the rule ofunsociability, but the general dullness of those _réunions_ infectedthem, and made the atmosphere oppressive; it required a vast amount ofleaven to make such a large, heavy lump light or palatable. Besides, itis not pleasant to carry on a conversation with twenty or thirty peoplelooking on and listening, as if it were some theatrical performance thatthey had paid money to see, and consequently had a right to criticise. The fair friends had held counsel together as to the expediency ofgratifying others at a great expense to themselves on the presentoccasion, and had made their election--not to go. 

Early the next morning Miss Tresilyan encountered Keene; theirconversation was very brief; but, just as he was quitting her, thelatter remarked, in a matter-of-course way, "We shall meet this eveningat Madame de Verzenay's?"

She looked at him in some surprise, for she knew he must have heard fromMrs. Molyneux of their intention to absent themselves. She told him asmuch. 

"Ah! last night she did not mean to go, " replied Royston; "but shechanged her mind this morning while I was with them. When I left them, ten minutes ago, there was a consultation going on with Harry as to whatshe should wear. I don't think it will last more than half an hour; andthen she was coming to try to persuade you to keep her fickleness incountenance. "

Now the one point upon which Cecil had been most severe on _la mignonne_was the way in which the latter suffered herself to be guided by herhusband's friend. It is strange how prone is the unconverted and unmatedfeminine nature to instigate revolt against the Old Dominion--never moreso than when the beautiful _Carbonara_ feels that its shadow is creepingfast over the frontier of her own freedom. Nay, suppose the conquestachieved, and that they themselves are reduced to the veriest serfdom, none the less will they strive to goad other hereditary bondswomen intostriking the blow. Is it not known that steady old "machiners, " brokenfor years to double harness, will encourage and countenance their"flippant" progeny in kicking over the traces? How otherwise could thename of mother-in-law, on the stage and in divers domestic circles, havebecome a synonym for firebrand? Look at your wife's maid, for instance. She will spend two thirds of her wages and the product of many silkdresses ("scarcely soiled") in furnishing that objectionable anddisreputable suitor of hers with funds for his extravagance. He hasbeggared two or three of her acquaintance already, under the same flimsypretense of intended marriage, that scarcely deludes poor Abigail; shehas sore misgivings as to her own fate. Alternately he bullies andcajoles, but all the while she knows that he is lying, deliberately andincessantly, yet she never remonstrates or complains. It is true that, if you pass the door of her little room late into the night, you willprobably go to bed haunted by the sound of low, dreary weeping; but itwould be worse than useless to argue with her about her folly; shecherishes her noisome and ill-favored weed as if it were the fairest offragrant flowers, and will not be persuaded to throw it aside. Well, ifyou could listen to that same long-suffering and soft-hearted youngfemale, in her place in the subterranean Upper House, when the conductof "Master" (especially as regards Foreign Affairs) is being canvassed;the fluency and virulence of her anathemas would almost take your breathaway. Even that dear old housekeeper--who nursed you, and loves youbetter than any of her own children--when she would suggest an excuse ordenial of the alleged peccadilloes, is borne away and overwhelmed by theabusive torrent, and can at last only grumble her dissent. Very fewwomen, of good birth and education, make _confidantes_ nowadays of theirpersonal attendants; and the race of "Miggs" is chiefly confined to theclass in which Dickens has placed it, if it is not extinct utterly. Butthere is a season--while the brush passes lightly and lingeringly overthe long trailing "back hair"--when a hint, an allusion, or aninsinuation, cleverly placed, may go far toward fanning into flame theembers of matrimonial rebellion. I know no case where such seriousconsequences may be produced, with so little danger of implication tothe prime mover of the discontent, except it be the system of thepatriotic and intrepid Mazzini. Many outbreaks, perhaps--quelled aftermuch loss on both sides, in which the monarchy was only saved by thejudicious expenditure of much _mitraille_--might have been traced to thecovert influence of that mild-eyed, melancholy _camériste_. 

Cecil, who was not exempt from these revolutionary tendencies, any morethan from other weaknesses of her sex, was especially provoked by thisfresh instance of Fanny's subordination. 

"Mrs. Molyneux is perfectly at liberty to form her own plans, " she said, very haughtily. "Beyond a certain point, I should no more dream ofinterfering with them than she would with mine. She is quite right tochange her mind as often as she thinks proper, only in this instance Ishould have thought it was hardly worth while. "

"Well, " Keene answered, in his cool, slow way, "Mrs. Molyneux has gotthat unfortunate habit of consulting other people's wishes andconvenience in preference to her own; it's very foolish and weak; but itis so confirmed, that I doubt even _your_ being able to break her of it. This time I am sure you won't. It is a pity you are so determined ondisappointing the public. I know of more than one person who has put offother engagements in anticipation of hearing you sing. "

He was perfectly careless about provoking her now, or he would have beenmore cautious. That particular card was the very last in his hand tohave played. Miss Tresilyan was good-nature itself in placing hertalents at the service of any man, woman, or child who could appreciatethem. She would go through half her _repertoire_ to amuse a sick friendany day; neither was she averse to displaying them before the world ingeneral at proper seasons, but she liked the "boards" to be worthy ofthe prima donna, and had no idea of "starring it in the provinces. " Allthe pride of her race gathered on her brow just then, like athunder-cloud, and her eyes flashed no summer lightning. 

"Madame de Verzenay was wrong to advertise a performer who does notbelong to her _troupe_. I hope the audience will be patient under theirdisappointment, and not break up the benches. If not, she must excuseherself as best she may. I have signed no engagement, so my conscienceis clear. I certainly shall not go. "

The bolt struck the granite fairly, but it did not shiver off onesplinter, nor even leave a stain. Royston only remarked, "Then forto-day it is useless to say _au revoir_;" and so, raising his cap, passed on. 

The poor _mignonne_ had a very rough time of it soon afterward. Cecilwas morally and physically incapable of scolding any one; but she wasvery severe on the sin of vacillation and yielding to unauthorizedinterference. The culprit did not attempt to justify herself; she onlysaid, "They both wanted me to go so much, and I did not like to vexHarry. " Then she began to coax and pet her monitress in the pretty, childish way which interfered so much with matronly dignity, till thelatter was brought to think that she had been cruelly harsh and stern;at last she got so penitent that she offered to accompany her friend, and lend the light of her countenance to Madame de Verzenay. For thisinfirmity of purpose many female Dracos would have ordered her off toinstant execution--very justly. That silly little Fanny only kissed her, and said, "She was a dear, kind darling. " What can you expect of suchirreclaimably weak-minded offenders? They ought to be sentenced to sixmonths' hard labor, supervised by Miss Martineau; perhaps even thiswould not work a permanent cure. Still, on The Tresilyan's part, it wasan immense effort of self-denial. She was well aware how she laidherself open to Royston Keene's satire, and how unlikely he was thistime to spare her. Only perfect trust or perfect indifference can makeone careless about giving such a chance to a known bitter tongue. 

However, having made up her mind to the self-immolation, she proceededto consider how best she should adorn herself for the sacrifice. Othershave done so in sadder seriousness. Doubtless, Curtius rode at his lastleap without a speck on his burnished mail: purple, and gold, and gemsflamed all round Sardanapalus when he fired the holocaust in Nineveh:even that miserable, dastardly Nero was solicitous about the marblefragments that were to line his felon's grave. So it befell that, onthis particular evening, Cecil went through a very careful toilet, though it was as simple as usual; for the ultra-gorgeous style sheutterly eschewed. The lilac trimmings of her dress broke the dead whitesufficiently, but not glaringly, with the subdued effect of color thatyou may see in a campanula. The _coiffure_ was not decided on tillseveral had been rejected. She chose at last a chaplet of those soft, silvery Venetian shells--such as her bridesmaids may have woven into thenight of Amphitritè's hair when they crowned her Queen of theMediterranean. 

It was a very artistic picture. So Madame de Verzenay said, in the midstof a rather too rapturous greeting; so the Frenchmen thought, as a lowmurmur of admiration ran through their circle when she entered. Fanny, too, had her modest success. There were not wanting eyes that turned fora moment from the brilliant beauty of her companion to repose themselveson the sweet girlish face shaded by silky brown tresses, and on theperfect little figure floating so lightly and gracefully along amid itsdraperies of pale cloudy blue. 

Miss Tresilyan felt that there might be _one_ glance that it would be atrial to meet unconcernedly, and she had been schooling herselfsedulously for the encounter. She might have spared herself sometrouble; for Royston Keene was not there when they arrived. She knewthat Mrs. Molyneux had told him of the change in their plans; but thelatter did not choose to confess how she had been puzzled by the verypeculiar smile with which the major greeted the intelligence: it was theonly notice he took of it. So the evening went on, with nothing to raiseit above the dead level of average _soirées_. Cecil delayed going to thepiano till she was ashamed of making more excuses, and was obliged to"execute herself" with the best grace she could manage. Even while shewas singing, her glance turned more than once toward the door; but thestalwart figure, beside which all others seemed dwarfed andinsignificant, never showed itself. It was clear _he_ was not amongthose who had given up other engagements to hear her songs. If we havebeen at some trouble and mental expense in getting ourselves into anyone frame of mind--whether it be enthusiasm, or self-control, orfortitude, or heroism--it is an undeniable nuisance to find out suddenlythat there is to be no scope for its exercise. Take a very practicalinstance. Here is Lieutenant Colonel Asahel ready on the ground, looking, as his conscience and his backers tell him, "as fine as a star, and fit to run for his life;" at the last moment his opponent paysforfeit. Just ascertain the sentiments of that gallant fusileer. Doesthe result at all recompense him for the futile privations and wastedasceticism of those long weary months of training--when pastry was, asit were, an abomination unto him--when his lips kept themselvesundefiled from dryest Champagne or soundest claret--when he fled, fastas Cinderella, from the pleasantest company at the stroke of themidnight chimes? Of course he feels deeply injured, and would haveforgiven the absentee far more easily if the latter had beaten himfairly, on his merits, breasting the handkerchief first by half a dozenyards. 

On this principle, Miss Tresilyan labored all that evening under animpression that Keene had treated her very ill, and was prepared toresent it accordingly. Another there besides herself felt puzzled anduncomfortable. Harry Molyneux could not understand it at all. Roystonhad seemed so very anxious in the morning to induce Fanny to go--aproceeding which would probably involve the presence of her"inseparable;" and disinterested persuasion was by no means in the CoolCaptain's line. So Harry went wandering about in a purposeless, disconsolate fashion for some time, till he found himself near Cecil. Ifancy he had an indistinct idea that some apology was owing to _her_ forhis chief's unaccountable absence; at all events, he began to confidehis misgivings on the subject as soon as the men who surrounded hermoved away. They soon did so; for The Tresilyan had a way, quitepeculiar to herself, of conveying to those whom she wished to get rid ofthat their audience was ended, without speaking one word. There was avery unusual element of impatient pettishness in her reply. 

"What a curious fascination Major Keene appears to exercise over hisfriends! I suppose you would think it quite wrong to be amused any whereunless he were present to sanction it. Do you become a free agent againwhen you are given up entirely to your own devices? And do _all_subalterns keep up that veneration for their senior officers after theyhave left the service? It seems to be carrying the _esprit du corps_rather far. "

Harry laughed out his own musical laugh; even the imputation ofdependency and helplessness which is apt to ruffle most people fell backharmlessly from his impenetrable good-humor. "I dare say it does lookvery absurd. But you ought to have lived with him as long as I have doneto understand how naturally Royston gains his influence, and makes us dowhat he chooses. "

"Certainly I can not understand it. The _poco-curante_ style is so verycommon just now that one gets rather tired of it. I do not like theaffectation at all, but I dislike the reality still more. I believe it_is_ a reality with Major Keene. I can not fancy him betraying anyunrestrained excitement, however strong the passion that moved him mightbe. You have never known him do so, now? Confess it. "

"Yes I have, once, " he answered, gravely, "and I never wish to see itagain. "

Cecil always liked talking to Harry Molyneux. On the present occasionthe mere sound of his voice seemed to go far toward soothing herirritation: many others had experienced the same effect from thosekindly gentle tones. Perhaps, too, the subject had an interest for herthat she would not own. "Would it tire you to tell me about it? I am notparticularly curious, but I have been so much bored to-night that a verylittle would amuse me. "

He hesitated for an instant. "It is not _that_; but I don't know if _I_am right in telling you. Perhaps you would not like him the better forit, though he could not help it. Shall I? Well, it was in the second ofour Indian battles, and the first time we had really been under fire;before it was only nominal. We had been sitting idle for two hours ormore, watching the infantry and the gunners do their work; and rightwell they did it. The Sikhs were giving ground in all directions; butthey began to gather again on our right, and at last we were told tosend out three squadrons and break them at three different points. Keenewas in command of mine. I never saw him look so enchanted as he did whenthe orders came down. I heard the chief warning him to be cautious, notto go too far (for there was a good deal of broken ground ahead), but towheel about as soon as we had got through their lines, and to fall backimmediately on our position. Royston listened and saluted, but I know hedidn't catch one word; he kept looking over his shoulder all the timethe colonel was speaking, as if he grudged every second. We were verysoon off; and almost before I realized the situation we were closing inon the enemy, wrapped up in our own dust and in their smoke, for thefiring became heavy directly we got within range. Now I don't think Iought to be telling you all this: it is not quite a woman's story. "

"Please go on. I like it. " How grandly it flashed up in her cheek as shespoke--the fiery Tresilyan blood that had boiled in the veins of so manybrilliant soldiers, but through twenty generations had never cooled downenough to breed one statesman!

He had taken breath by this time. "I won't make it longer than I canhelp, but it is difficult to tell some things very briefly. It was myfirst real charge, you know; I suppose every man's sensations are ratherpeculiar under such circumstances. I did not feel much alarmed--therewasn't time for that--but the smoke, and the noise, and the excitementmade me so dizzy that I could hardly sit straight in my saddle. When wegot within a hundred and fifty yards of the Sikhs their fire began totell. I heard a bubbling, smothered sort of cry close behind me, and Ilooked back just in time to see a trooper fall forward over his horse'sshoulder shot through the throat. Several more were hit, and our fellowsbegan to waver a little--not much. Just then Royston's voice broke in:it was so clear and strong that it set my nerves right directly, and thedizzy, stifling feeling went away, as it might have done before adraught of fresh pure air. 'Close up there, the rear rank. Keep cool, men! Steady with your bridle-hands, and strike fairly with the edge. _Now!_'

"He was three lengths ahead of his squadron, and well in among theenemy, when that last word came out. It was sharp work while it lasted, for the Sikhs fought like wounded wildcats: one fixed his teeth in myboot, and was dragged there till my covering-sergeant cut him loose; butwe were soon through them. When we had wheeled, and were dressing intoline, I caught sight of Keene's face. It was so changed that I shouldhardly have known it: every fibre was quivering with passion; and hiseyes--I've not forgotten them yet. We ought to have fallen backimmediately on our old ground, but it was so evident he did not meanthis, that I ventured to suggest to him what our orders had been. I wasnot second in command; but of my two seniors one was helpless (thestupidest man you ever saw), and the other hard hit. Royston faced roundon me with a savage oath, 'How dare you interfere, sir! Are you incommand of this squadron?' Then he turned to the troopers, 'Have you hadhalf enough yet, men? _I haven't. _' I am very sure he had lost his head, or he would never have spoken to me so, still less have made that lastappeal, for he was the strictest disciplinarian, and looked upon his menas the merest machines. It seemed as if the devil that possessed him hadgone out into the others too, for they all shouted in reply--not acheery honest hurra! but a hoarse, hungry roar, such as you hear in wildbeasts' dens before feeding-time. An old troop-sergeant, a rigid piousPresbyterian, spoke for the rest, grinding and gnashing his teeth:'We'll follow the captain any where--follow him to hell!'" (Harry'svoice had all along been subdued, but it was almost a whisper now:) "Ido hope those words were not reckoned against poor Donald Macpherson, for when we got back his was one of the thirteen empty saddles. So webroke up, and went in again at the Sikhs, who were collecting inblack-looking knots and irregular squares all round. It was anindescribable sort of a _mêlée_, every man for himself, and--I dare notsay--God for us all. I suppose I was as bad as the rest when once fairlylaunched, and we all thought we were doing our duty; but I should notlike to have so many lives on my head and hand as Royston could countthat night. Remember _we_ suffered rather severely. 

"As we took up our position again I saw the colonel was not wellpleased. He had little of the romance of war about him, and did notunderstand his officers acting much on their own discretion. Withouthearing the words, I could guess, from the expression of his hard oldface, that he came down on the squadron-leader heavily. When I ranged upby Keene's side soon afterward, he looked up at me absently. 'I wasthinking, ' he said (now one naturally expected a sentiment about thescene we had just gone through, or a reflection on the injustice ofchiefs in general)--'I was thinking what rubbish those army-cutlerssell, and call it a sword-blade. ' He held up a sort of apology for asabre, all notched, and bent, and blunted; then he began to inquire if Ihad been hit at all. I had escaped with hardly a scratch; but I saw anugly cut above his knee, and blood stealing down his bridle-arm. 'Bah!it's nothing, ' Royston observed, answering the direction of my eyes;'but--if the tulwar and the reprimand had both been sharper--confess, Hal, that this time, _Le jeu valait bien la chandelle?_'

"We never had a real rattling charge after that day, at least noneexciting enough to warm him thoroughly. Now I am very sorry I have toldyou all this: it is not a nice story; but it is your own fault if I havebored you. Besides, Madame de Verzenay will never forgive me formonopolizing you so long. I do think she does me the honor to believe ina flirtation. "

Cecil's heightened color and sparkling eyes might have justified such asuspicion in a distant and unprejudiced observer. Does not this show ushow very cautious we ought to be in forming hasty conclusions fromappearances which are proverbially deceptive? I protest I am filled withremorse and contrition while I reflect how often, in thought, I may havewronged and misjudged the innocent. I dare say, in many outwardlyflagrant cases, the offenders were only expatiating on the merits ordemerits of absent friends. Such a subject is quite engrossing enough toexcuse a certain amount of "sitting out, " and some people _always_ blushwhen they are at all interested. The selection of the staircase, thebalcony, or the conservatory for the discussion is the merestatmospheric question. I subscribe to Mr. Weller's idea--only "turnips"are incredulous. _Vive la charité!_

After a minute or two Miss Tresilyan spoke: "No, I don't think worse ofMajor Keene. As you say, I suppose he could not help it; but it must beterrible, when passions that are habitually restrained do break loose. No wonder that you do not wish to see such a sight again. It is verydifferent, reading of battles and hearing of them from one who was anactor. Do you know, I think you have an undeveloped talent fornarration. There, that ought to console you, even if Madame de Verzenayshould asperse your character. "

At this moment Harry was contemplating the proceedings of his prettylittle wife at the opposite side of the room with an intensesatisfaction and pride. 

"If I _had_ yielded to temptation, " he said, "I am sure Fan could notreproach me. She would keep a much greater sinner in countenance. MissMyrtle is a thousand times worse since she married. Just remark thatby-play with the handkerchief. You don't suppose M. De Riberac cares onestraw about Valenciennes lace? It makes one feel _Moorish_ all over. You need not be surprised if she is found smothered or strangled in themorning. I am 'not easily moved to jealousy, but being moved--'"

"Don't be too murderous, " laughed Cecil; "you are certain to regret itafterward. We will reproach her as she deserves on our way home. Is itnot very late?"

She wanted to be alone to think over what she had heard; and in goodtruth, waking or sleeping, the watches of that night were crowded withdreams. 

All this time where was Royston Keene? He had been really anxious toinduce Miss Tresilyan to present herself at Madame de Verzenay's, for heliked her well enough already to feel a personal interest in hertriumphs; but, after their interview in the morning (though he thoughtit probable that Fanny's persuasive powers might prevail), he haddetermined himself not to go, and he did not change his resolutionslightly. Still he could not resist the temptation of getting one glimpseat her in "review order. " If Cecil had been very observant when she wentdown to her carriage, she must have noticed a tall figure standing back, half masked by a pillar, whose eyes literally flashed in the darkness asthey fastened on her in her passage through the lighted hall, and drankin every item of her loveliness. He stood still for some moments aftershe was gone, and then walked slowly down to the Cercle. While they weretalking about him at Madame de Verzenay's, Royston was holding his owngallantly at _écarté_ with Armand de Châteaumesnil, for the honor ofEngland and--ten Napoleons a side. As was his wont, he played superbly;but he spoke seldom, and hardly seemed to hear the comments of thecrowded _galèrie_. In truth, at some most critical points--when the gamewas in abeyance at _quatre à_--a delicate proud face, and a shell wreathglistening in velvet hair, _would_ rise before him, and dethrone in histhoughts the painted kings and queens. His adversary did not fail toobserve this; but he said nothing till the play was ended and most ofthe others had left the room. Then he laid his hand on Keene's arm, anddrew his head down to the level of his own lips, and spoke low:

"Mon camarade, je me rappelle, d'avoir vu, il y a quelques ans, au Caféde la Régence, un homme qui tenait tête, aux échecs, à quatreconcurrens. Les habitués en disaient des merveilles. Mais ce n'étaitqu'un bon bourgeois après tout; et, nous autres, nous sommes plus fortsque les bourgeois. Vouz avez joué ce soir les deux parties que, dit leproverbe, c'est presque impossible de remporter simultanément; et je neme tiens pas pour le seul perdant. "

Royston did not seem in the least inclined to smile; had he done soArmand would have been bitterly disappointed. As it was, he answeredvery coldly, without a shade of consciousness on his face. 

"Un compliment mérite toujours des remercimens, M. Le Vicomte, mêmequand on ne le comprend pas. Pardon, si je vous engage, de ne pasexpliquer plus clairement votre allégorie. "

The other looked up at him with an expression that might almost havebeen mistaken for sympathy. 

"Parbleu!" he muttered, "si beau joueur merite bien de gagner!"

CHAPTER XII. 

Sometimes, lying on the cliffs of Kerry or Clare, on a cloudless autumnday, when not a breath of wind is stirring, you may see rank after rankof heavy purple billows rolling sullenly in from the offing: these aremessengers coming to tell us of battles fought a thousand leagues to thewestward, in which they, too, have borne their part. Before the mailcomes in we are prepared to hear of a storm that has worked its wickedwill for nights and days, thundering among the granite boulders ofLabrador, or tearing through the fog-banks of Newfoundland. This isperhaps the most commonplace of all ancient comparisons; but where willyou find so apt a parallel for the vagaries of the human heart as thephases of the deep, false, beautiful sea?

On the morning after Madame de Verzenay's party, Cecil rose in a verytroubled frame of mind. She had no feeling of irritation left againstRoyston Keene; but she was uneasy, and uncomfortable, and loth to meethim. What she had felt and what she had heard had moved her too deeplyfor her to resume at once her wonted composure. So it was that sheaccepted very readily an invitation from Mrs. Fullarton to accompanyherself and children on a mild botanizing excursion among the hills. These small _fêtes_ went a long way with that hard-working andmeritorious woman; what with anticipation and retrospect, each lastedher about two months. Miss Tresilyan was prevented from starting withthe rest of the party; but the chaplain himself was to escort her to theplace of rendezvous, his little daughter Katie being retained to beinvested with the temporary and "local" rank of chaperone--a formalitywhich, in these days of scanty faith, even married divines are notallowed to dispense with. The quartette was completed by themule-driver--one of those remarkable boys who converse invariably in atongue which the beasts of burden seem to understand and sympathizewith, but which, to any other creature whatsoever, is absolutelydestitute of meaning. They had some way to go; so Cecil had taken upKatie before her on her mule; the pastor walked by her side, glozing(for the road was not very steep) on all sorts of subjects, gravely andsmoothly, as was his wont. They had crossed the first line of hills, andwere descending into the valley beyond, when, turning a sharp cornerwhere a projecting rock almost barred the path, they came suddenly onRoyston Keene. He was lying at full length, his head resting against theknotted root of an olive, with eyes half closed, and the cigar betweenhis lips, that seldom left them when he was alone. It _was_ odd that heshould have selected that especial spot for the scene of his _siesta_. Cecil did her very utmost to look unconcerned: it was too provoking thatshe could not help blushing! Mr. Fullarton evidently looked upon it inthe light of an ambush. Had he ventured to give his thoughts utterance, certainly the ready text would have sprung to his lips, "Hast thou foundme, O mine enemy?" If there was "malice prepense" there, the "enemy"deserved some credit for the perfectly natural air of surprise withwhich he rose and greeted them. 

"Are you recruiting after last night's triumphs, or escaping frompopular enthusiasm, Miss Tresilyan? I have met several Frenchmen alreadywho are quite childish about your singing. I should not advise you toventure on the Terrace to-day. There might be temptations to vanity, which Mr. Fullarton will tell you are dangerous. "

She had so completely made up her mind to some allusion to her change ofpurpose, or to his own absence, that it was rather aggravating to findhim ignore both utterly. But she rallied well. 

"Nothing half so imaginative, Major Keene. It was a very stupid party, and I only sang once, as, I dare say, you have heard. We are only goingto help Mrs. Fullarton to find some wild-flowers. I hope you have notanticipated us?"

He _fixed_ her with the cool, appreciative look that was harder to meetthan even his sneer. 

"No; the flowers are safe from me. I don't care enough about them tokeep them; and it is a pity to pick them and throw them away to wither. But I would have asked to be allowed to help you in your search, only--Idon't like to spoil a picture. You brought a very good one to my mind asyou turned the corner, a 'Descent into Egypt, ' that I saw long ago. Theblot _there_, I remember, was a very stout, rubicund Joseph, not at allworthy of the imperial Madonna. "

While he was speaking he drew back, and leaned lazily against the stemof the olive, with the evident intention of resuming his originalposture as soon as courtesy would allow. Miss Tresilyan could notrestrain a quick gesture of impatience. 

"As we did not come out to _poser_, Mr. Fullarton, don't you think wehad better not delay any longer? We are so late already, that I am surethe rest of the party will be tired of waiting. "

Guess if her companion was loth to obey her. 

They moved on for some time almost in silence. Cecil's thoughts werebusy with a picture too--not the less vivid because only her ownimagination had painted it. Her deep, dreamy eyes passed over thelandscape actually before them without catching one of its details: theywere looking on a desolate stony plain, cracked and calcined by a fierceIndian sun--a few plumy palms in the background, and the rocky bed of ariver half dried up--in the foreground a crowd of wild barbaricsoldiery, with savage, swarthy features, bareheaded or white-turbaned;mingled with these were horsemen in the uniform of our light dragoons, sabring right and left mercilessly. In the very centre of the _mêlée_was one figure, round which all the others seemed to group themselves asmere accessories. She saw, very distinctly, the dark, determined face, set, every line of it, in an unspeakable ferocity, with a world ofmurderous meaning in the gleaming eyes--so distinctly that it drove outthe remembrance of the same man's face, expressive of nothing butpassionless indifference, though she looked upon it but a few minutessince under the gray branches of the olive. She almost heard his clear, imperious tones cheering on and rallying his troopers, when a rudervoice broke her reverie. 

"_Halte là!_"

If there was one thing that miserable muleteer-boy ought to have knownbetter than another, it was the insuperable objection entertained by theProvençal peasant to any thing like trespass on his territory (thetouchiness of the _propriétaire_ bears generally an inverse ratio to theextent of his possessions); yet, to make a short cut of about twohundred yards, he had led his party through a gap in the low stone wallover a strip of ground belonging to the very man who was least likely tooverlook the intrusion. Jean Duchesne had a bad name in theneighborhood, and deserved it thoroughly; he was surly enough when sober(which was the exception), but when drunk there were no bounds to hisblind, brutish ferocity, and his great personal strength made him aformidable antagonist. He was not an agreeable object to contemplate, that gaunt giant, as he stood there in his squalid, tattered dress, withrough, matted hair, and face flushed by recent intemperance, and fleckedwith livid stains of past debauches. You may see many such crowdinground the guillotine or the tumbrel in pictures of the FrenchRevolution. 

It is very odd that one can not write or read those two words without aboiling of the blood, a tingling at the fingers' ends, and a tighteningof the muscles of the forearm--ineffably absurd when excited by arecollection seventy years old! Yet so it is. You may talk of oppressiontill you are tired; you may catalogue all the wrongs that _JacquesBonhomme_ endured before his day of retaliation came; you may bring inyour pet illustration of "the storm that was necessary to clear theatmosphere;" but you will never make some of us feel that the guilt ofan Order--had it been blacker by a hundred shades--palliated theMassacre of its Innocents. If the _Marquis_ and _Mousquetaire_ only hadsuffered, they might have laid down their lives cheerfully, as theywould have done the stake of any other lost game; and as for thepriests, it was their privilege to be martyrs. But think of those fairmatrons, and gentle girls, and delicate _mignonnes_, that had beenpetted from their childhood, cooped up in the foul courts of the Abbayeand La Force, with even the necessaries of life begrudged them, till thelight died in their eyes and the gloss faded from their tresses; andthen brought out to die in the chill, misty _Brumaire_ morning, howledat and derided by the swarm of bloodsuckers, till they cowered down, notin fear, but sickening horror, welcoming Samson and his satellites asfriends and saviors. Remember, too, that there was scarcely an exceptionto the rule of patient courage, calm self-sacrifice, and pride of birththat never belied itself. Dubarry might shriek on the scaffold, but theRohans died mute. 

Of all the digressions we have indulged in, this is perhaps the mostunwarrantable; and, though it has relieved me unspeakably, I herebytender a certain amount of contrition for the same. _Revenons à nosmoutons_--though there was very little of the sheep in the appearance ofJean Duchesne, whose demeanor (when we left him) you will recollect wasdecidedly aggressive. It was evident that the mule-boy thought mischiefwas brewing, for he twisted his features--irregular and _tumbled_ enoughalready--into divers remarkable contortions expressive of remorse andterror. 

"Who, then, dares to trespass on my lands? Do you think we sow our cropsfor your cursed mules to trample on?"

He spoke in a hoarse, thick voice (suggestive of spirituous liquors), and in the disagreeable Provençal dialect, which must have alteredstrangely since the time of the _troubadours_: brief as his speech was, it found room for more than one of those expletives which are nowhere sohorribly blasphemous as in the south of France. 

Cecil had started slightly at the first interjection, which broke herday-dream, but she was not otherwise alarmed or discomposed: she seemedto regard the _propriétaire_ simply as an unpleasant obstacle to theirprogress, and glanced at Mr. Fullarton as if she expected him to clearit away. The latter was not good at French, but he did manage to expresstheir sorrow if they had done any harm unconsciously, and their wish toretire instantly. "Not before paying, " was the reply. "_Quinze francs dededommagemens; et puis, filez aux tous les diables!_"

Women are not expected to carry purses or any other objects of simpleutility; but why Mr. Fullarton should have left his at home on thisparticular day is between himself and his own conscience. The party verysoon realized the fact that they could muster about a hundred and fiftycentimes among them. 

Even kings and kaisers, when _incogniti_, have ere this been reduced tothe extremest straits of ignominy from the want of a few availablepieces of silver; and, in ordinary life, five shillings ready at themoment are frequently of more importance than as many hundreds inexpectancy. There lives even now a man who missed the most charmingrendezvous with which fortune ever favored him, because he rode a mileround to avoid a turnpike, not having wherewithal to pay it. Since thatdisastrous day he is ever furnished with such a weight of small changethat, had Cola Pesce carried it, the strong swimmer must have sunk likea stone--in penance, probably, even as James of Scotland wore the ironbelt. At a pause in the conversation you may hear him rattling thecoppers in his pocket moodily, as the spectres in old romances rattletheir chains; but his remorse is unavailing. A fair chance once lost, Whist and Erycina never forgive. The beautiful bird that might _then_have been limed and tamed shook her wings and flew away exultingly: farup in air the unlucky fowler may still sometimes hear her clear mockingcarol, but she is too near heaven for his arts to reach, and has escapedthe toils forever. 

On the present occasion Katie Fullarton "flashed" her one half-francwith great courage and confidence, but the display of all that smallcapitalist's worldly wealth did not mollify Jean Duchesne. He had beenlashing himself up all along into such a state of brutal ferocity, thathe would have been disappointed if his extortion had been immediatelysatisfied; so he broke in savagely on the chaplain's confused excusesand promises to settle everything at a fitting season: "Tais toi, blagueur! On ne me floue pas ainsi avec des promesses; je m'en fiche pasmal. Au moins, on me laissera un gage. " His blood-shot eyes roved fromone object to another till they lighted on the parasol that MissTresilyan carried: it was of plain dark-gray silk, with a slight blacklace trimming, but the carvings of the ivory handle made it of some realvalue. Before any one could divine his intention he had plucked itrudely from her hand. 

Almost with the same motion Cecil set Katie down, and sprang herselffrom the saddle. In her eyes there was such intensity of anger that thedrunken savage recoiled a pace or two, and for the first time in hislife felt something like self-contempt: to have saved her soul she couldnot have spoken one word, but her silence was expressive enough as sheturned to Mr. Fullarton. It is difficult to say what line she expectedhim to take--not the _voie de fait_ certainly; at least, if thehypothesis had been put to her when she was cool enough to consider it, she would utterly have repudiated such an idea. Perhaps she had a rightto look for moral support, if not for active championship. 

We will not enter into the vexed question of physical courage andcowardice: it is a truism to say that the latter may co-exist with greatmoral firmness, which is, of course, far the superior quality. They willtell you that, when confronted with mere personal peril, a butcher orgrenadier may match the best of us. Possibly; I am not going to disputeit. Only remember that there are occasions (very few in these civilizeddays) when the most refined of _bas-bleus_ would rather see a strong, brave, honest man at her side, than an abstruse philosopher, a cleverconversationalist--ay, even than a perfect Christian--whose nerves arenot to be depended on; when Parson Adams would be worth a bench ofbishops. We can not all be athletes; and, with the best intentions, someof us at such times are liable to defeat and discomfiture. The mostutterly fearless man I ever knew had a _biceps_ that his own smallfingers could have spanned. No woman, however--keeping the attributes ofher sex--would think the worse of her champion for being trampled underfoot when he had done his best to defend her. You know their province isto console, and even pet the vanquished; they make up lint for thewounded as readily as they weave laurels for the conquerors. But whenthey have once seen a man play the coward, the silver tongue, with allits eloquent explanation and honeyed pleadings, will hardly banish fromtheir eyes the peculiar expression wavering betwixt compassion andcontempt. They may forgive cruelty, or insolence, or even treachery--intime; but they can find no palliation, and little sympathy, for that oneunpardonable sin. Truly, transgression in this line, beyond a certainpoint, may scarcely be excused; for weakness may be controlled, if notcured: if we can not be dashingly courageous, we may at least bedecently collected: not all may aspire to the cross of valor, but it isnot difficult to steer clear of courts-martial. 

A man is not pleasant to contemplate when terror has driven out allself-command; so we will not draw Mr. Fullarton's picture: he couldscarcely stammer out words enough to suggest an immediate retreat. Itwas painful--_not_ ludicrous--to see how justly his own childappreciated the position: the little thing left her father's sideinstinctively, and clung for protection to Cecil Tresilyan. The lattersaw instantly how matters stood; and if the glance she cast on theaggressor was not pleasant to meet, far more unendurable was that whichfell upon her unlucky companion: it was piercing enough to penetrate thestrong armor of his wonderful self-complacency, and to rankle for many aday. She struck her small foot on the ground with a gesture of imperialdisdain. Even so the Scythian Amazon might have spurned the livid headof Cyrus the Great King. 

"I will not stir till I see if no one will come who can take my part. Ah! I would give--"

"Don't be rash, Miss Tresilyan. You might be taken at your word. "

Cecil turned quickly, with a delicious sense of confidence and triumphthrilling through every fibre of her frame: on the top of the rock thatrose ten feet high, like a wall, on their right, stood Royston Keene. Amore pacific character would have dared a greater danger for the rewardand the promise of her eyes. 

He took in the whole scene at a glance (perhaps he had heard more thanhe chose to own), and, swinging himself lightly down, strode rightacross the _potager_ with a disregard of the proprietor's interests andfeelings refreshing to see. 

"It seems to me that the ancient positions have been reversed. You havebeen spoiled by the Egyptians, Miss Tresilyan. Shall we try the seculararm? You have scarcely been safe under the protection of thechurch--_militant_. "

There was a pause before the last word, and it was unpleasantlyemphasized. Then he advanced a step or two toward the Frenchman, withoutwaiting for a reply, and spoke in a totally different tone--brief andimperative--"_Tu vas me rendre ça?_"

Duchesne had been rather startled by the apparition of the new-comer, and, if he had been cool enough to reflect, would not have fancied himas an antagonist; but his passion blinded him, and strong drink hadheated his brutal blood above boiling point; he ground his teeth, as heanswered, till the foam ran down--

"Le rendre--à toi--chien d'Anglais? je m'en garderai bien. Si la belledemoiselle veut le ravoir, elle viendra demain, me prier bien gentiment;et elle viendra--seule. "

Now Royston Keene was thoroughly impregnated with the bitterest ofaristocratic prejudices: no man alive more utterly ignored the doctrinesof liberty, equality, and fraternity; besides this, he had acquired, toan unusual extent, the overbearing tone and demeanor which the habit ofhaving soldiers under them is supposed to bring, too commonly, to moderncenturions. He actually experienced a "fresh sensation" as he heard theinsult leveled by those coarse plebeian lips at the woman "he delightedto honor. " His swarthy face grew white down to the lips, whose quiveringthe heavy mustache could not quite conceal, and he shivered from head tofoot where he stood. Jean Duchesne thought he detected the familiarsigns of a terror he had often inspired. "Tu as peur donc? Tutressailles déjà, blanc-bec! Tonnerre de Dì! tu as raison. " Not a traceof passion lingered in the major's clear, cold voice, that fell upon theear with the ring of steel. "On ne tressaille pas, quand on est sûr degagner. Regarde donc en arrière. "

Involuntarily the Frenchman looked behind him, expecting a freshadversary from that quarter. As he turned his head Keene sprang forward, and plucked the parasol from his grasp: in one second he had laid itlightly in its owner's hand; in the next he had returned to hisposition, and stood, ready for the onset, motionless as the marbleCreugas. 

He had not long to wait. Even a "well-conditioned" Gaul does not likebeing outwitted, and the successful _ruse_ exasperated Duchesne intoinsanity. Roaring like a wild beast that has missed its spring, herushed in to grapple. Royston never moved a finger till the enemy waswell within distance; then, slinging his left hand straight out from thehip, he "let him have it" fairly between the eyes. 

One blow--only one--but a blow that, had it been stricken in the days ofOlympian and Nemean contests--where Pindar and his peers were"reporters"--might well have earned a dithyramb; a blow that would havegladdened the sullen spirit of the old gladiator who trained the CoolCaptain, if the prophet had lived to see his auguries fulfilled, or ifsights and sounds from upper earth could penetrate to the limbo ofdefunct athletæ. Nothing born of woman could have stood before it, andit was small blame to Jean Duchesne that he dropped like a log in histracks. In another instant his conqueror had one knee on the chest ofthe fallen man, and both hands were griping his throat. 

His own face was fearfully changed. It wore an expression that has beenvery often seen in the sixty centuries that have passed since Cainstruck his brother down, but has very seldom been described; for thedead tell no tales beyond what their features, stiffened in hopelessterror, may betray. It has been seen on lost battle-fields--in thestreets of cities given up to pillage, when the storming is just overand the carnage begun--on desolate hill-sides--in dark forest-glades--inchambers of lonely houses, strongly but vainly barred--in every placewhere men in the death agony have "cried and there was none to helpthem. " It was full time for _some one_ to interfere when the devil hadentered into Royston Keene. 

From the moment that affairs had assumed such a different aspect Mr. Fullarton had gradually been recovering his composure, and by this timewas quite himself again. He advanced confidently, and, laying his handon the major's shoulder with an imposing air, and with his best pulpitmanner, enunciated, "Thou shalt do no murder!" The latter, as we havealready said, was utterly beside himself; but even this can not excusethe abrupt, impatient movement that sent such an eminent divine reelingthree paces back. The rigid lips only twisted themselves into an evilsneer, and the cruel fingers tightened their gripe till the features ofthe prostrate wretch grew convulsed and black. 

The whole scene had passed so quickly, though it takes so long todescribe (some of us never _can_ succeed in stenography), that Cecilfelt perfectly lost in a whirl of conflicting emotions, till she saw theface in life before her that she had been fancying ever since lastnight. A great fear came over her, but she overcame it, and her woman'sinstinct told her what to do. She laid her little hand upon Keene's armbefore he was aware that she was near, and whispered so that only hecould hear, "For _my_ sake. " Only these three simple words; but theexorcism was complete. 

Again a shiver ran all through the hardy frame, and for once Love wasmore powerful than Hate. He loosed his hold--slowly though, andreluctantly--and rose to his feet, passing his hand over his eyes in astrange, bewildered way; but in five seconds his wonderful self-commandasserted itself, and he spoke as coolly as ever. "A thousand pardons. One does forget one's self sometimes when the _canaille_ are provoking, but I ought to have remembered what was due to _you_. "

Though she could not speak, she tried to smile; but strong reaction hadcome on. In the pale woman that trembled so painfully it was hard torecognize proud Cecil Tresilyan. Royston was watching her narrowly, andhis tone softened till it made his simple words a caress. "Don't make memore angry with myself than I deserve. Indeed, there is nothing more toalarm or distress you. If you would only forgive me!" He helped her intothe saddle as he spoke, and she submitted passively. But the happyfeeling of perfect trust in him was coming back fast. 

Jean Duchesne had somewhat recovered from his stupor, and was leaning onone arm, panting heavily, still in great pain; but he was inured to allsorts of broils, and evidently he would soon recover from the effects ofthis one, though he had never been so roughly handled. It was sheerterror that made him lie so still: he dared move no more than a whippedhound while in the presence of his late opponent. 

The others turned slowly homeward, for it is needless to say thewild-flowers and the rendezvous were forgotten. As they turned thecorner which cut off the view of Duchesne's ground, Royston looked backonce, longingly. It was well for Cecil's nerves, in their disturbedstate, that she did not catch that Parthian glance. Ah, thoseungovernable eyes! They were gleaming with the expression thatKirkpatrick's may have worn when he turned into the chapel where the RedComyn lay, growling, "_I_ mak sicker. "

None of the party were much disposed for conversation; for even Mr. Fullarton did not feel equal to "improving the occasion" just then. Cecil broke the silence at last: it was where the road was so narrowthat only two could walk abreast: Royston never left her bridle-rein. "You must fancy that I have thanked you; I can not do so properly now. It is strange, though, that you should have come up so very opportunely. Was it a presentiment that made you follow us?"

The answer was so low that she had almost to guess at it from the motionof his lips, "Have you forgotten Napoleon's last rallying-cry, '_Quim'aime me suit?_'" No wonder that his pulse would throb exultantly as hesaw the bright, beautiful blush that swept over his companion's cheekand brow! They had almost reached home when he spoke again, "You wouldhave been liberal in your promises twenty minutes ago if I had notstopped you, Miss Tresilyan. I _should_ like to have some memorial ofto-day. Very childish, is it not? Will you give me _this_? I deservesomething for saving that pretty parasol. " He touched the glove she hadjust drawn off--a light riding-gauntlet, fancifully cut, and embroideredwith silk. Cecil hesitated, though she would have been loth to refusehim any thing just then. She felt, as most proud, sensitive women feelthe first time they are asked for what may be interpreted into a _gaged'amour_. The tribute may be nominal, and the suzerain may be lenientindeed, but none the less does it establish vassalage. 

Royston interpreted her reluctance aright, and went on with anearnestness very unusual with him: for once it was honest and true. "Pray trust me. The moment I cease to value that _souvenir_ as itdeserves, on my honor I will return it. "

He was fated to triumph all through that day. When Cecil was alone sheput something away with a very unnecessary carefulness, for surelynothing can be more valueless than a glove that has lost its mate. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

I am almost ashamed to confess how deeply the scene she had witnessedaffected Cecil Tresilyan. The exhibition of Keene's fierce temper oughtcertainly to have warned, if it did not disgust her. She could onlythink--"It was for my sake that he was so angry, and he yielded to myfirst word. "

There is rather a heavy run just now against the "physical force"doctrine. It seems to me that some of its opponents are somewhathypercritical. For many, many years romancists persisted in attributingto their principal heroes every point of bodily perfection andaccomplishment; no one thought then of caviling at such awell-understood and established type. That most fertile and meritoriousof writers, for instance, Mr. G. P. R. James, invariably makes his _jeunpremier_ at least moderately athletic; so much so, that when he has thevillain of the tale at his sword's point we feel a comfortableconfidence that virtue will triumph as it deserves. As such acontingency is certain to occur twice or thrice in the course of thenarrative, a nervous reader is spared much anxiety and trouble of mindby this satisfactory arrangement. _Nous avons changé tout cela. _ Modernrefinement requires that the chief character shall be made interestingin spite of his being dwarfish, plain-featured, and a victim topulmonary or some more prosaic disease. Clearly we are right. What isthe use of advancing civilization if it does not correct our taste? Whathave we to do with the "manners and customs of the English" in theeighteenth century, or with the fictions that beguiled our boyhood? Letour motto still be "Forward;" we have pleasures of which our grandsiresnever dreamed, and inventions that they were inexcusable in ignoring. Weare so great that we can afford to be generous. Let them sleep well, those honest but benighted ancients, who went down to their gravesunconscious of "Aunt Sally, " and perhaps never properly appreciated_caviare_!

It is true that there are some writers--not the weakest--who stillcling to the old-fashioned mould. Putting Lancelot and Amyas out of thequestion, I think I would sooner have "stood up" to most heroes ofromance than to sturdy Adam Bede. It can't be a question of religion ormorality, for "muscular _Christianity_" is the stock-sarcasm of theopposite party: it must be a question of good taste. Well, ancientGreece is supposed to have had some floating ideas on _that_ subject, and she deified Strength. It is perfectly true, that to thrash aprize-fighter unnecessarily is not a virtuous or glorious action, but Icontend that the _capability_ of doing so is an admirable and enviableattribute. There are grades of physical as well as of moral perfection;and, after all, the same Hand created both. 

Have I been replying against the critics? _Absit omen!_ They are moreoften right, I fear, than authors are willing to allow; for it _is_aggravating to have one's pet bits of pathos put between inverted commasfor the world in general to make a mock at (we could hardly write themdown without tears in our eyes), and to have our story condensed into afew clever, pithy sentences (all in the present tense), till itsweakness becomes painfully apparent. More than this, our candid friendsare impalpable. Real life can furnish us with enough substantialopponents for us not to trouble ourselves about Junius. Neither in warnor love is it expedient to grasp at shadows. Ah! Mr. Reade, why wereyou not warned by Ixion?

One thing is certain: however sound your arguments in depreciation ofpersonal prowess may be, you will never gain a unanimous feminineverdict. It must be an extraordinary exhibition of mental excellencethat will really interest the generality of our sisters for the momentas deeply as a very ordinary feat of strength or skill. It is not thatthey can not thoroughly appreciate rectitude of feeling, brilliancy ofconversation, and distinguished talent; but remember the hackneyedquotation:

 Segnius irritant animum demissa per aures, Quam quæ sunt oculis subjecta fidelibus. 

If you want a proof of the correctness of Horace's opinion, go up to"Lord's" this month, and watch the flutter among the fair spectators, just after a "forward drive" over the Pavilion; or, better still, thenext time the "Grand Military" comes off at Warwick, mark the receptionthat the man who rides a winner will meet with in the stand. Conventionality has done a good deal, but it has not refined away allthe frank, impulsive woman-nature yet. The knights are dust, and theirgood swords rust; but dame and demoiselle are very much the same as theywere in the old days, when the Queen of Scots could sing

 How they reveled through the summer night, And by day made lanceshafts flee, For Mary Beatoun, and Mary Seatoun, And Mary Fleming, and me. 

Will this long and rather rash _tirade_ in the least excuse CecilTresilyan? Of course not. My poor heroine! It was very unnecessary--thatadvertisement that she was not superior to the weaknesses of her sex;for it seems to me, with every chapter, she has been growing morefallible and frail. She was utterly incapable of being at alldemonstrative or "gushing;" but her preference for Royston Keene was nowquite undisguised. 

Mrs. Danvers was bitterly exasperated. It would be unjust to deny thatshe was greatly actuated by a sincere interest in her _ci-devant_pupil's welfare; but other feelings were at work. 

It is very remarkable how a perfectly well-principled woman will conniveat what she can not approve so long as she is taken unreservedly intoconfidence; but when once one secret is kept back the danger of herantagonism begins; the magic draught that has lulled the vigilantGryphon to sleep loses its potency; the guardian of the treasureawakes--more savage because conscious of a dereliction in duty--and woeto the Arimaspian! The cold, pale, chaste moon comes forth from behindthe cloud, determined to reveal every iota of transgression: no fartherchance of concealment here--_Reparat sua cornua Phoebe_. 

So, to the utmost of her small powers, Bessie did endeavor to thwart andcounteract the adversary. Her line was consistently plaintive. In seasonand out of season she whined and wept profusely. This was the lastresource of her simple strategy: when the enemy was getting too strongto be met in open field, she adopted the Dutch plan of opening thesluices and trying to drown him. It is painful to be obliged to statethat the inundation did not greatly avail. As she had done from thefirst, Cecil declined to make any confidences, or indeed to discuss thequestion at all. 

Mr. Fullarton, too, felt keenly the defection of a promising proselyte. Since that unfortunate afternoon Miss Tresilyan had been perfectlycivil, but always very cold; and he could not but be aware that he hadlost ground then that he never could hope to regain. The divine musthave been very desperate when he ventured to attack that impracticablebrother. It was not a judicious move; nor would any one have tried itwho knew Dick Tresilyan. It was not only that he liked and admiredRoyston Keene, but he had a blind confidence in his sister that nothingon earth could disturb: the evidence of his own senses would not haveaffected it in the least. "Whatever _she_ does is right, " he thought;and he clung to that idea, as many other true believers will do to acreed that they can not understand. So when the question was broached hewas not very angry (for he did _more_ than justice to the chaplain'ssense of duty), but he stubbornly declined to enter upon it at all. Mr. Fullarton was so provoked that he was goaded into a taunt that he oughtto have been ashamed of. 

"Perhaps you are right, " he said; "Major Keene is so formidable anadversary, that it is hardly safe to interfere with him. " (These "men ofpeace"--_quand ils s'y prennent_! I believe the most exasperating man inEngland, at this moment, to be an influential Quaker. )

Dick Tresilyan took a long time (as was his wont) in finding out whatwas meant; when he did, even his limited intellect appreciated its badtaste and absurdity. A hundred sarcasms would not have disconcerted thepastor so completely as his honest, hearty laugh. 

"Ah! you think I'm afraid of him? No--they don't breed cowards where Icome from. I never heard that idea but once before; that was at theTruro fair. I wasn't in very good company, and they 'planted' a bigminer on me at last. He wanted me to wrestle, and when I wouldn't, hesaid--just what you did. But I remember all the others laughed at him. They know _us_ in those parts, you see. He'd better have kept quiet; forthough he puzzled me at first with a 'back trick' he had, I knew morethan he did, and he got an awkward fall; I don't think he'll ever do agood day's work again. " He paused, and his brow darkened strangely, andall his face changed, till it resembled more closely than it had oftendone the portraits of come of the "bitter, bad Tresilyans. " "I supposeyou mean well, Mr. Fullarton, but I'm not going to thank you. We canmanage our affairs without your meddling; and if you're wise you'llleave us alone. " It will be seen that the chaplain did not take much byhis motion. 

Neither was Fanny Molyneux well satisfied with the turn affairs hadtaken lately. That poor little "white witch" was really alarmed by theunruly character of the spirit that she had been anxious to raise; shedid not know the proper formula for sending it back to its own place;and, if she had, the stubborn demon would only have mocked at her simpleincantations. Though she loved Cecil dearly, she was too much in awe ofher to venture upon remonstrance or warning; indeed, the few mild hintsthat she _did_ throw out had not met with such success as to tempt herto follow them up. So she was, perforce, reduced to an unarmedneutrality. 

Her husband was perhaps the most thoroughly uncomfortable of the party. He knew the circumstances and bearings of the question better than anyone else, and would have sacrificed a good deal ("his right hand, " Ibelieve, is the proper phrase) to have averted the probable result. Buthe had not sufficient strength of mind to take the decided measures thatmight have been of some avail; in fact, he had a vague idea that to acton the offensive against his old comrade would be unpardonabletreachery. Arguing with the latter was simply absurd; for this reason, if for no other, that from the moment his feelings became reallyinterested, no amount of diplomacy would have induced him to enter uponthe subject. Harry went about with a miserable, helpless sense ofcomplicity weighing him down, which was much aggravated by a few wordswhich dropped one morning from Dick Tresilyan. 

Dick had been dining _tête-à-tête_ with Keene on the previous eveningafter a hard day's snipe shooting, and bore evident traces about him ofa heavy night--a fact which he lost no time in alluding to, not withouta certain pride, like the man in Congreve's play, who exults in having"been drunk in excellent company. " "We had a very big drink, " he said, confidentially, "and the major got more than his allowance. He didn'tknow what he was talking about at last, and he told me more of hisaffairs than most people know, I think; of course, I'm as safe as achurch;" and Dick made a gallant but abortive attempt to wink with oneof his swollen eyelids. 

Molyneux shrank away from the speaker with something very like asuppressed groan--he had heard _that_ said before, and remembered whatcame of it. Credulity was as dangerous when men thought Royston Keenehad lost his head as when women flattered themselves he had lost hisheart. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

If you will be good enough to look back on the one romance in which, like the rest of the world, you probably indulged yourself, you willremember, perhaps more distinctly than any other feature, the_presentiment_ which haunted you from the very beginning. We wereabsurdly sanguine and hopeful in those days--full of chivalrous resolvesand unlimited aspirations; but still the feeling would come back--if, indeed, it ever left us--that in the dim background there was difficultyand danger. We were not surprised when the small white speck rose out ofthe sea, and it needed no prophet to tell us then that the heavens wouldsoon be black with clouds, and that there would be a great rain (which, indeed, was the case, for there ensued a long continuance of wetweather; it was a very tearful season). Oddly enough, that samepresentiment did not make us particularly melancholy or uncomfortable, but seemed rather to give a zest to our simple pleasures, relieving themfrom any tinge of sameness or insipidity. When the _dénouement_ came wedid not exactly see things in the same light certainly, and it took sometime to settle thoroughly down into our present theory, that "it was allfor the best. "

It is the old story of Thomas the Rhymer over and over again (we wereall rhymers once). The lover knows that there is peril in the path, butnot the less joyously he strides on by the side of the beautiful queen. How sweetly they ring, the silver bells on the neck of the milk-whitepalfrey; not so sweetly, though, as her low, musical tones. So on theyfare, till the world of realities is left far behind, and they findthemselves at their journey's end. It is very happy, that year spent inher kingdom; but so like a dream that he does not appreciate itspleasures so well at the moment as he will in the weary after-years. Yetthe waking came too soon. The sojourner had not half grown tired of hisresting-place; the bloom has not faded on the wondrous fruits andflowers: the strangely sweet wine has not lost its savor, when it istime for him to be gone, for a dreadful whisper runs through the companythat to-morrow the teind to hell must be paid. Well, the blacktax-gatherer is balked by a day, and the wanderer is back at Ercildouneagain. Very dreary looks the gray, bare moorland. Do they call thatfoliage on the stunted fir-trees? It is only the ghost of a forest. Thetrim parterres have no beauty or fragrance for one that has lingered inmore glorious gardens and plucked redder roses. Tabret and viol jangleharshly in the ears that have rioted in melodies made by fairy harpers. The village maidens may be comely, but they are somewhat clumsy withal;the earthen floor trembles under their feet when they lead their simpledances; very different from the steps that kept time to a wild, weirdmusic, stirring but scarcely bending the grass-blades. There is no colorin their flaxen locks, and little light in their pale-blue eyes; thesewill not bear comparison with the smooth, braided tresses thatglistened like blue-black serpents, or the glances that rained downliquid fire through the twilight of the forests of Elf-land. Slowly thediscontented dreamer realizes the fact that the spell is still uponhim--riveted when he stole that first fatal kiss in despite of hismistress's warning. Nothing is left for him now but to expiate his follyin the loneliness of the gray old tower, and to look forth, hoping tosee the grass-green robe gleam again against the setting sun, and tohear the silver bells chime once more in the still evening air. Vain--worse than vain. With stiffened limbs and grizzled hair, we arenot worth beguiling. 

This is essentially a masculine illustration, and only applies to CecilTresilyan thus far. She was sensible of the influence that strengthenedits hold upon her every day, and did not now wish or try to resist it, but she grew proportionately doubtful and uneasy about the event. Afeeling, very strange and new to one of a temperament like hers, beganto creep over her now and then. At such times she owned that her eyeswere the more eagerly and steadfastly fixed on the Present, because theydid not dare to look into the Future. Yet, as far as she knew, there wasno ground for much apprehension. 

It is always so. Only when we are carrying something rare and preciousdo we appreciate the possible perils of the road. How much steeper thehills are now, how much deeper and darker the ravines, how much morefrequent the crags that might so easily conceal a marauder, than when wepassed them some months ago chanting the reckless roundel of the _vacuusviator_. 

We said, you remember, before, that Miss Tresilyan had one subject ofself-reproach, for which she had never gained her own absolution. Thewhispers that had never been quite silenced began to make themselvesheard unpleasantly often, and now they just hinted at Retribution. Asour poor Cecil must come to confession some time or another, it seems tome this is a convenient season. 

At the country-house where she was spending Christmas, three yearsbefore the date of our story, she met Mark Waring. She knew hisantecedents: how, when sudden troubles came upon his family, he gave updiplomacy, which he had entered upon, and took up the law--hating itcordially--simply because a fair opening was given him there of securingto his mother and sisters something better than bread. He neverpretended to feel the slightest interest in his profession, but went onslaving at it resolutely and successfully. He made no merit of iteither, but always spoke, and I believe thought of it, as the merestmatter of course--the right thing to do under the circumstance. Therewas a hardihood of principle about all this which Cecil rather admired;and his frank, bold bearing, and simple, straightforward way of puttingthoughts that were worth listening to into terse, strong language, aidedthe first favorable impression. She determined to make Mark like her;and when she had a fancy of this kind, she was apt to carry it outwithout much consideration for the comfort or convenience of the persondestined to the experiment. She had no deliberate intention of doing anybody any harm; but those innocent little whims and projects ofamusement do more mischief sometimes than the most systematicmachinations of devil-craft. Why, when you begin even to _write_ achapter, it is very difficult to say where it will end; when you beginto talk it or act it, it is harder still to prophesy aright. Acharacter, or a sentence, or an idea, which looked quite insignificantat first, assumes perfectly portentous dimensions and importance beforewe have done with it; so that the alternate effect is nearly asstartling when realized as that produced by Alice's conjuration:

 She crossed him thrice, that lady bold; He rose beneath her hand, The fairest knight on Scottish mould, Her brother, Ethert Brand. 

So while Cecil was drawing on Mark Waring to talk about his dailylife--sympathizing with him about his hard, distasteful work, andpitying his loneliness, she never guessed how her words were beingbranded, one by one, on the earnest, steadfast heart, that her own loftynature was not worthy to understand. In a week after their first meetingshe had drawn from him all the love he had to give; and men of MarkWaring's mould can only find room for one love in a lifetime. Suchcharacters are exceptional, fortunately; for they are very impracticableand difficult to get on with, and their antiquated notions areperpetually contrasting and conflicting with the established prejudicesof polite and well-organized society--sometimes even checking the samefor an instant in its easy, conventional flow. They _won't_ see that ofall ways of spending time and thought, the most absurdly unprofitable isto waste them on a memory. Yet--O mine excellent friend and cynicalpreceptor! to whom, for sage instruction, I owe a debt of gratitude thatI never mean to repay--I beseech you, consort not too much with thesemisguided men. They are not likely to infect you with their pestilentdoctrines and principles; but they may, in an unguarded moment, make youdo violence to your favorite maxim--_Nil admirari_. 

With all his strong common sense, Mark was lamentably deficient inworldly wisdom. He never saw the obstacles that would have dauntedothers. Could any thing be more improbable than that the most triumphantbeauty of the season should seriously incline to share the long up-hillstruggle of a rising barrister? Those dull Temple-chambers are luckyenough if the sun condescends to visit them at rare intervals in hisjourney westward. But Waring's own singleness of purpose beguiled himmore effectually than the most inordinate vanity could have done. Putting character out of the question, he thought a woman could onlyderogate by allying herself to one of inferior birth; and he knew hisown blood to be nearly equal to Miss Tresilyan's. He was right sofar--if she had only loved him she would have subscribed readily toevery article of his simple, knightly creed. The last idea that enteredhis mind was, that she could have stooped so low as to trifle with him. It was the old mistake. We measure other people's feelings by theintensity of our own, and think it hard when we meet withdisappointment. Yet a certain misgiving, that he did not like toanalyze, kept him from bringing the question to an issue till the daybefore his departure. Then he told her frankly what his prospects were, and asked her to share them. 

Now "the Refuser" was so used to seeing men commit themselves in thisway on the very shortest notice, and without the faintest encouragement, that the situation had ceased to afford her much excitement: a proposalno more made her nervous than file-firing does a thoroughly-brokencharger. For once, however, she felt uncomfortable and vexed withherself, though she did not guess the extent of the harm she had done. Nothing could be kinder or gentler than her answer, but nothing could bemore decisive. On the cold, smooth rock there was not a cleft or atrailing weed for despair to cling to in its drowning agony. So the hopeof Mark Waring's life went down there without a cry or a struggle--as itis fitting the hope of a strong heart should die--into the depths of thegreat sea that never will give up its dead. 

The lover of the present day is rather a curious study immediately afterhe has encountered a defeat or disappointment. Sometimes the phase is amild melancholy. I remember a case of this sort not very long ago. Thereflections on things in general that flowed constantly from that man'slips for the space of about a fortnight were incredible to those whoknew him well. They were so calmly philosophic--so pleasantly ironical, without a tinge of bitterness--so frequently relieved by the flashes ofkeen humor--that to listen to them (the weather being intensely hot) wassoothing and refreshing in the extreme. Every body was sorry when he wasconsoled; for, since that time he has never made an observation worthrecording. She was a very clever woman who reduced our friend to thisabnormal state, though she grossly maltreated him; and, from closeassociation, some of her conversational talent, perhaps insensibly, hadgot into his constitution; but it could not thrive in such anuncongenial soil, where there was nothing to nourish it. Some men, again, take the reckless and boisterous line, plunging for a while intoall sorts of demoralization, with an evident contentment in having afair excuse for the same in their disappointment. Certainly it is rathera luxurious state of things--to satisfy one's vengeance while gratifyingone's appetites--and to know that people are saying all the time, "PoorCharlie! He's very much to be pitied. It's entirely Fanny Grey's fault. He is dreadfully altered since she behaved to him so shamefully. "Others--probably the majority--go for complete indifference, and succeedcreditably on the whole. A few, _very_ few, know that their happinesshas got its death-wound, and are able to take it bravely and silently. It is of one of these last we are speaking. 

Mark Waring was too honest to affect insensibility; he was not of thestuff out of which accomplished actors are made. He walked quickly tothe window, that his face might not betray him, and did not turn roundtill he thought he had disciplined it thoroughly. It was but a halfvictory after all; for when Cecil met his eyes her cheek became thepaler of the two. She read there enough to make her wish that she couldgive up all her former triumphs, and undo this last success. She triedto tell him that she was deeply grieved and repentant; but the wordswould not come. Mark forgot his own sorrow when he saw large dropshanging ready to fall on the dark, long eyelashes. 

"Pray do not distress yourself, " he said, quite steadily; "suchpresumption as mine deserves harsher treatment than it has met with fromyou. You are not answerable for my extravagant self-delusions. I wouldask you to forgive me for having been so precipitate--only I know, now, that if I had waited seven years your answer would have been the same. Let us part in kindness; it will be very long before we meet again; butI do not think I shall forget you; and I hope you will remember me ifyou ever want a hand or head to carry out any one of your wishes orwhims. It would make me very happy if I could so serve you. Now, good-by. It is only going this afternoon instead of to-morrow. I musttry and make up for lost time, too, by working a little harder. "

The smile that accompanied those last words haunted Cecil for many, manydays. She knew already enough of Waring to be certain that he wouldnever sink into maudlin sentimentality; it saddened her inexpressibly tofancy him alone in his gloomy chambers, when the night was waning, chained to those crabbed law-papers from a dreary sense of duty, butwithout a hope or an interest to cheer him on; he had given up ambitionlong ago. (There are many clocks that keep time to a second, when theirstriking part is ruined utterly. ) She felt angry, then and afterward, that she could find no words to say the least appropriate or expressive;she held out her hand timidly, pleading for forgiveness with her eyes. He just touched it with his lips before he let it go. That kiss of peacewas a more precious tribute than any of her hundred vassals had offeredto the proud Tresilyan. So they parted. 

Cecil's conscience was disagreeably uncompromising, and for a long time, declined to admit any valid excuse for the mischief she had done; buttime and change are efficient anodynes; and her penance was nearlycompleted when she came to Dorade. Of late, however, the reproachfulvision had presented itself oftener than ever. She realized morecompletely the pain that Mark Waring must have endured, as she guessedwhat would be the bitterness of her own feelings, if it should provethat she had mistaken Royston Keene. That sorrowful memory seemed torise before her like a warning spectre, waving her back from the pathshe had begun to tread. Truly, Cecil Tresilyan _was_ different from thegenerality of her sex; or, when her own heart was sorely imperiled, shewould never have found time to think so often, and so regretfully, ofone that she had broken. But, when a woman has once determined to sether whole fortunes on the turn of a die, where is the monitor that willteach her prudence or self-restraint? She will hardly be persuaded"though one rose from the dead. "

CHAPTER XV. 

Royston Keene had indeed good reason to augur ill of the ending of hislove-dream; but it was in his nature always to walk straight on to theaccomplishment of his purpose, overlooking the obstacles that laybetween and the dangers that lay beyond. This partly accounted for hisutter insensibility to ordinary inconveniences and annoyances. His ownwords to Molyneux one day, when the latter remarked on this peculiarity, though somewhat allegorical, expressed his theory and practice fairly:"Hal, when we are traveling, we always remember where we change ourlarge notes; but life is not long enough to recollect how the thalersand piastres go. " His companion thought this rather a brilliantillustration, especially as it squared with his own ideas of existence. But in reality, between the two men there was a marked distinction. Agenial kindliness in the one, and a hard unscrupulous determination inthe other, worked out nearly the same results. 

Royston liked Cecil Tresilyan better than any woman he had ever seen, and he made up his mind to win her. It is more than doubtful if he tookthe probable consequences to either into consideration at all. Foot byfoot he was gaining ground till he felt almost sure of success; but thisconfidence never made him for an instant less vigilant in watching thechances, less careful in scoring every point of the game. He had playedit long enough to know these right well. 

Yet to him, too, the Past brought its warning. He was rarely troubled orfavored with dreams; but one night was an exception to the rule. Tounderstand it you must look back once more, and bear with me while wemoralize yet again. _Excusez du peu. _

There is a regret that has power to move and torment the coldest Stoicthat vegetates on earth; it comes when our own hand or act has slain theone living thing that loved us best of all. We may have done the deedunwittingly or unwillingly; we may have been unconscious of the lovethat was borne us till it was too late for acknowledgment; we may neverin thought or word or act have injured our victim before that last wrongof the death-blow; well for those who can plead so fair an excuse; yeteven this, with all the rest, the inexorable Nemesis laughs to scorn. Iwonder that poets and dramatists have not oftener selected this saddesttheme. It may be true that the last murmur from the lips of theLlewellyn, when his life was ebbing away in the Pass of the Ambush, syllabled the name, not of wife or child or friend, but of a stanchwolfhound; and perhaps tears less bitter have been shed over the gravesof many exemplary Christians than those that sprinkled the turf underthe birch-trees where Gelert was sleeping. It could not free the AncientMariner from the remorse that clung to him like a poisoned garment tillit made him a "world's wonder, " because, when he shot the albatross, hethought he was benefiting his fellows. Not less accusingly did thevoices of the sea wail in the ears of the desolate Viking, because, whenthe bitter arrow went aside, he was fighting hard to save Oriana. Nothing could be more correct than the conduct of Virginius, or morecreditable to a Roman father; but when he harangued in the Forum inafter days, I doubt if the commons thronged so densely as to shut outfrom the demagogue a vision of fair hair dabbled in blood, gleamingawfully in the sunlight, and of dark-blue eyes turned upon him in awondering horror till that look froze in them forevermore. I doubt ifthe cheers of his partisans were so noisy as to drown the memory of acertain choked shivering moan; in the long, lonely winter nights atleast, be sure those sights and sounds visited the tribune's hearth, often enough to satisfy the savage spirit of the doomed decemvir. 

It was this remorse which had stricken Royston Keene sorely, eventhrough his armor of proof, as he knelt, not very long ago, by the sideof a death-bed. A woman lay there, scarcely past girlhood, and fairenough to have been the pride of any English household, as daughter orsister or wife. You shall not read unnecessarily an episode of sin andbitter sorrow, and of shame that was not less heavy to bear because theeyes of the world were blinded and saw it not. It is enough to say thatthe blood of Emily Carlyle was as certainly on her tempter's head asthat of any one of those whom he had slain in open fight with shot orsteel. This is what she answered when he asked her to forgive him: "Myown, I have forgiven you long ago! I could not help it if I would. I cannot reproach you either, for though I have tried hard to repent, I fear, if all were to come over again, I should not act more coldly or wisely. But listen! I know you will be able, if you choose it, to make otherslove you nearly as well as I have done--and you _will_ choose it. Darling, promise me that, for my sake, you will spare _one_. I could dieeasier if I thought my intercession had saved another's soul, though Iwas so weak in guarding my own. It might help me too, perhaps--if anything can help me--where I am going. " Even Royston Keene shivered at thelow terror-stricken whisper in which these last words were spoken. Hegave the promise though, and remembered it occasionally till--the timefor keeping it came. 

The major had been spending the evening with Cecil Tresilyan, makingarrangements for a pic-nic that was to take place two days later. He hadhad a passage-of-arms or two with Mrs. Danvers, wherein thatstrong-principled but weak-minded enthusiast had been utterlydiscomfited and routed with great slaughter. Altogether it was verypleasant entertainment; and he went to his rest in a state of greatcontentment and satisfaction. He woke (or seemed to wake) with a suddenstart and shudder, for he was aware of the presence of something in theroom that was not there when he lay down. 

Out of the black darkness a face slowly defined itself, bending over thepillow and creeping close to his own--only a face--he could notdistinguish even the outline of a figure. He knew it very well, and theeyes, too--but there was an upbraiding there that, while she lived, hehad never seen in those of gentle Emily Carlyle; and a reproach camefrom the white lips, though they did not move to give it passage. "Allforgotten! I--the promise, too. And yet--I suffer--I suffer always. " Thesad, pleading expression of the face and eyes vanished then; and astrange, pale glare, not like the moonlight, that seemed to come fromwithin, lighted them up--fixed and rigid, yet eloquent, of unutterableagony: there was written plainly the self-abhorrence of a heartconscious of the coils of the undying worm--the despair of a soullooking far into Futurity, yet seeing no end to the wrath to come. Thenthe darkness swallowed up all; and, before Keene thoroughly rousedhimself--with a smothered cry--he knew that he was alone again. 

A cold dew lingered on the dreamer's forehead, as if a breath frombeyond the grave had lately passed over it; but terror was not thepredominating feeling. He had ruled that timid, trusting girl too longand too imperiously to quail before her disembodied spirit. But astrange sadness overcame him as he pondered upon all that she hadendured--and might still be enduring--for his sake: a glimmer ofsomething like generosity and compassion flickered for a brief spaceover the surface of the cast-steel heart. He rose, and leaned out intothe steady, outer moonlight, musing for several minutes, and then beganmuttering aloud. "It would be as well to clear off one debt at least. Idid pass my word. She deserves this sacrifice, if it were only for nevercomplaining: let her have her way. By G--d, I'll go off to-morrowevening, and I'll tell Cecil so as soon as I can see her. Bah! what is aman worth if he can not forget? Besides, I don't know--" The rest of hisdoubts and scruples he confessed--not even to the stars. 

Climate has a great deal to answer for. A sudden tempest or an opportunemist has turned the scale of more battles than some of the mostsuccessful generals would have liked to own. If the next morning hadbroken sullenly, things might have gone far otherwise. But it was one ofthose brilliant days that make even the invalids not regret, for themoment, that they have given up all English comforts and home-pleasuresfor the off-chance of wringing another month or two of life out of thewreck of their constitution. Every thing looked bright and in holidayguise, from the wreaths of ivy glistening on the brows of the shatteredold castle, down to the [Greek: _anêrithmong elasma_] of theturquoise-sea. Under the circumstances, it was very unlikely thatRoyston would keep to his virtuous resolutions. The first half of themhe carried out perfectly: he did go straight to Cecil Tresilyan, andtell her of his intentions to depart. She did not betray much of herdisappointment or surprise, but she argued with so fascinating acasuistry against the necessity of such a sudden step, that it was nowonder if she soon convinced her hearer of the propriety of at leastdelaying it. In a case like this an excuse of "urgent private affairs"that would suffice for the most rigid martinet that ever tyrannized overa district or a division sounds absurdly trivial and insincere. When aproud beauty does condescend to plead, a man who really cares for hermust be very peculiarly constituted if he remains constant in denial. 

The vision of the night had faded away already. Those poor ghosts! Theyhave no chance--the mystics say--against embodied spirits, if the latteronly keep up their courage, and choose to assert their supremacy. Besides, they must, perforce, fly before the dawn. And what dawn wasever so bright as the Tresilyan's smile when she guessed from Royston'sface, without his speaking, that she had won the day?

So the pic-nic came off according to the arrangement. The weather andevery thing else looked so promising that even the vinegar in BessieDanvers's composition was acidulated; and, when Keene greeted her atthe place of _rendezvous_, she favored him with just such a smile as oneof the grim Puritan dames, in a rare interval of courtesy, may havegranted to Claverhouse or Montrose--the right of reprobation beingreserved. It is greatly to be feared that the Malignant did notappreciate the condescension, his attention was so entirely taken up inanother quarter. 

Cecil Tresilyan was perfectly dazzling in the splendor and insolence ofher beauty: the calm self-possession that usually distinguished herseemed changed into almost reckless high spirits: even her dressbetrayed a certain intention of coquetry; and her splendid violet eyesflashed ever and anon with a mischievously mutinous expression that madetheir glance a challenge. Such a frame of mind the Scotch describe whenthey speak of a person being "fey, " holding it to be a sure presage ofimpending disaster. 

Oh, guileless maidens! be warned, and trust not to attractiveappearances. Lo! there is not a cloud in the sky that smiles over theNysian vale; all round the roses and lilies are blooming, till the airis faint with their perfume; merry and musical rings the laugh ofPersephone, as she goes forth with her comrades a-Maying; but worsethings than serpents lurk beneath the waving grass. We, who have readthe ancient legend, listen already for the roll of the nether thunder:we know that, in another minute, the earth will disgorge Aïdoneus, thesmart ravisher, with his iron chariot: then will come a struggle of thedove in the clutch of the falcon--a cry for help drowned in a hoarsegrowl of triumph--shrieks and wild disorder among the flying nymphs; butthe loveliest of the land will rejoin them never any more. Demeter(like other careful chaperones), when she is most wanted, is far away, tending her corn-lands or reveling in the odors of sacrifice. Findingher after long-baffled search, she will hardly recognize her innocentchild in the pale Queen of Shades, that seems worthy of her awful thronefar-gleaming through the leaden twilight: the little hand that used toweave garlands so deftly sways the golden sceptre right royally; but thedeep, solemn eyes have forgotten how to smile. She who once weptbitterly over her pet bird when it died listens, unmoved, to the clankof Megæra's scourge, and to the wail of a million spirits in torment. Her beauty is more magnificent than ever, but it is tinged with theaustere and dreary majesty that befits the consort of the King of Hell. Ah, woeful mother! desist from intercession, and dry those unavailingtears: it is too late now to tempt her to follow you, even if Hades willlet its empress depart for a season: the pure, natural fruits of yourupper earth have lost all savor for the lips that once have tasted thefatal pomegranate. 

Mr. Fullarton and his family completed the party, which was confined tothe Molyneux's set. The chaplain was strangely nervous, fussy, andimportant: it seemed as if the possession of some weighty secret that hewas eager, yet afraid to divulge, had disturbed his phlegmaticcomplacency. He took the first opportunity of beseeching Miss Tresilyanto be allowed to act as her escort: it was customary on all theseexpeditions that each dame and demoiselle, besides the professionalmuleteer, should be attended by at least one "dismounted skirmisher. "Cecil was rather puzzled by the petition, and by the earnest way inwhich it was preferred; but she was too happy to deny any body any thingjust then; besides which she felt conscious of having visited her pastorof late with a certain amount of neglect, not to say contumely. So sheconsented, graciously; but the sidelong glance at Keene, asking for hissympathy, did not escape her reverend cavalier. 

It was evident that Mr. Fullarton had something on his mind that heintended to impart to his companion; but it was equally clear that hedid not see his way to the confidence. The path turned abruptly acrossthe line of hills; and while he was hesitating and looking about for afair opening, it got so steep and rugged that it soon left him no breathfor the disclosure. Before they had gone half a league the divine wasdecidedly in difficulties; he rolled hither and thither, pantingpainfully, like one who has already endured all the burden and heat ofthe day. Still he clung obstinately to Cecil's bridle-rein, ratherassisted than assisting, till they reached a point where the roadresembled greatly a flight of garret stairs, without any regularity inthe steps thereof. The mule and its leader stumbled together; the formerrecovered itself cleverly after the fashion of its kind; but such a_tour de force_ far exceeded the exhausted energies of the pursy pastor. He was fairly "down upon his head. "

Since the cavalcade started, Major Keene had not attempted to disturbthe order of march; at first he walked by the side of Fanny Molyneux, and did his best to amuse her; when the path became too narrow for threeabreast, he resigned the charge to Harry (who never, willingly, when _envoyage_, abdicated the charge of his _mignonne_), and went on byhimself, just in the rear of Miss Tresilyan and her clerical escort. Hepresented, in truth, a striking contrast to that over-taskedpedestrian--going easily, within himself, without a quickened breath, ora bead of moisture on his forehead. _Shikari_ of the Upper Himalayas, gillies of Perthshire and the Western Highlands, chamois-hunters of theTyrol, and guides of Chamounix or Courmayeur, could all have told talesof that long, slashing stride, to which hill or dale, rough or smooth, never came amiss; before which even the weary German miles wereswallowed up like furlongs. He sprang quickly forward when he saw themishap of his front rank; Miss Tresilyan was quite safe, so he only gaveher a smile in passing, and then raised the fallen ecclesiastic, with astudied and ostentatious tenderness that would have aggravated a saint. 

"I hope you are not severely hurt, Mr. Fullarton? You really should beless rash in over-exciting yourself. The spirit is willing, but theflesh is--somewhat 'short of work. ' May I relieve you of yourresponsibility till you have recovered your wind?"

In spite of his own sacred character, and the proprieties of time andplace, had Keene been weak and of small stature, it is within the boundsof possibility that the pastor might have assaulted him, there and then. 

If it had not been for that unfortunate sense of the ridiculous whichwas perpetually offering temptations to Miss Tresilyan, she would haveundoubtedly on this occasion espoused the losing side; but she exhaustedall her powers of self-control in expressing (with decent gravity) hersorrow, that her guide should have come to grief in her service. She hadnone left wherewith to concoct a rebuke for the Cool Captain. Considering the circumstances, Mr. Fullarton's laugh, and attempt at ajest on his own discomfiture, did him infinite credit. With thesmothered expression that half escaped his lips as he fell to the rear, the chronicler has no earthly concern. 

As the other two moved onward, Royston spoke, his dark eyes glitteringscornfully--

"I wonder if women will ever get tired of deriding us, or we ofministering to their amusement? It must have been a great satisfactionto Anne of Austria to see Richelieu dance that saraband. (But Mazarinpaid her off for it. I am very glad that the cardinal was avenged by the_charlatan_. ) Now, how could you allow the shepherd to be so rash?Consider that he has a large and increasing family totally dependent onhim for support. If I were Mrs. Fullarton, I would bring an actionagainst you. It is a necessity that his successor should quote_something_; and he really did bring to my mind the description of theWhite Bull of Duncraggan, who started up-hill so vigorously--

 But steep and flinty was the road, And sharp the hurrying pikemen's goad, And when we came to Dennan's Row, A child might scatheless stroke his brow. 

I shouldn't like to be the child, though, " he added, meditatively, witha backward glance at the object of his remarks, who indeed did present avery "dissolving view. "

The tone and manner of his speaking showed how much, within the last fewweeks, the relations of the two had altered: the scale was alreadywavering, and ere long might be foretold a change in the balance ofpower. 

His beautiful companion shook her head till the soft curling plumes thatnestled round her hat danced again; but the effect of the reprovinggesture was quite spoilt by the laugh that followed it, suppressedthough clear as a silver bell. 

"I will not be made an accomplice in your irreverent comparisons; Idon't admit the resemblance; if there were one, it was too bad of 'thepikemen' not to be more considerate. You always try to impute maliciousmotives to the most innocent. How could I guess that Mr. Fullarton wouldsuffer so for his devotion to my interests? I will give you back yourquotation in kind. See! if I were as mischievous as you insinuate--

 My loss may pay my folly's tax; I've broke my trusty battle-axe. "

The ivory handle of her parasol (the same that had been rescued fromDuchesne) chanced to be entangled in the bridle when the mule stumbled, and the jerk snapped the frail shaft in two. Keene took the fragmentfrom her, and looked at it for an instant. 

"Poor thing!" he said compassionately; "so it was fated to beshort-lived? It was hardly worth while saving it from the wrath of thesinner, if it was to be sacrificed so soon to the awkwardness of thesaint. "

"Not at all, " Cecil replied. "It was my fault, for being so heedless. But I can not afford another misadventure to-day. Will you take greatcare of me?"

Her soft, caressing tones thrilled through Royston's veins till theblood mounted to his forehead; but he made no answer in words, onlylooking up earnestly into her face with his rare smile. 

I have tried throughout to avoid inflicting on you a dialogue that doesnot bear in some way on the incidents of our tale; on this principle wewill not record the conversation that occupied those two till theyreached the crown of the pass. It was probably interesting to _them_, for it was long before either forgot a word that was spoken. But theimagination or the memory of the reader will doubtless fill up a betterfancy-sketch than the one omitted here. 

There was a general halt on the brow of the hill. Indeed the view wasworth a pause. From below their feet the tract of low woodland rolledright down to the edge of the sea, like a broad tossing river, swellinginto great billows of gray or dark green, where the taller olives orfir-trees grew, and broken here and there with islets of many-coloredstone. With the rest came up the chaplain, who had recovered by thistime his breath, and, to a certain extent, his equanimity. While theothers stood silent, he saw one of those openings for improving theoccasion professionally of which he was ever so ready to avail himself. So, casting his hand abroad theatrically, he declaimed, How glorious are thy works, Parent of Good!

The words came oozing out in the oiliest of his unctuous tones; and theelocutionist's expansive glance fell first on the landscapepatronizingly, then on the by-standers encouragingly. It was as thoughhe said, "You may fall to, and admire now. I have asked a blessing. "Nothing more occurred worthy of note till they reached their destinationin safety. 

Of course, "there never was such a place for a picnic;" but, as that hasbeen said of about three hundred different spots in every civilizedcountry of Europe, it is certainly not worth while describing thisparticular one. The luncheon went on very much as such things always dowhen the arrangements are perfect, the commissariat unexceptionable, andthe guests hungry and happy. 

Mr. Fullarton, however, applied himself so assiduously to Champagne-cupthat his sober-minded helpmate (the only person who took much notice ofhis proceedings) was filled with an uncomfortable wonder. At last, during a pause in the general conversation, he addressed Roystonabruptly--there was a strange huskiness in his voice, and his lower lipkept trembling--

"I heard from Naples this morning. My friend mentions having met Mrs. Keene there. "

The major looked up at the speaker with the cool, indifferent glancethat had often irritated him. "Indeed! I was not aware that my motherhad got so far south yet. She wrote last from Rome. " The other tossedoff his glass with an unsteady hand, and set it down sharply. "I neverheard of your mother, sir, " he said; "I was speaking of--_your wife_. "

CHAPTER XVI. 

To quarrel with a man over his cups, or in any wise to molest him in hisdrink, is an offense against the proprieties that even the good-naturedEpicurean can not find it in his easy heart to palliate or pardon. Onthis point he speaks mildly, but very firmly:

 Natis in usum lætitiæ scyphis Pugnare, Thracum est. Tollite barbarum Morem: verecundumque Bacchum Sanguineis prohibete rixis. 

The ghost of Banquo was an uncivilized spectre, or--strong as was theprovocation--it would have confronted Macbeth in any other place soonerthan the banqueting-hall. The worst deed in the life of a cruel, falseking was the setting on of the black bull's head before the doomedDouglases; and perhaps Pope Alexander, though singularly exempt from allvulgar prejudice, found it hard to obtain his own pontifical absolutionfor the poisoned wine in which he pledged the Orsini and Colonna. Inthese, and a hundred like instances, there was certainly the shadowyexcuse of political expediency or necessity; but what shall we say ofthat individual who interrupts the harmony of a meeting solely togratify his own private pique or pleasure? Truly, with such enormitiesHeaven "heads the count of crimes. " I consider the most abominable actof which Eris was ever guilty was the selection of that particularmoment for the production of the golden apple. If she was bound to makeherself obnoxious, she might have waited till the Olympians were sittingin conclave, or at least at home again. It was infamous to disturb themwhile doing justice to the talents of Peleus's _cordon-bleu_. I wishvery much that injured and querulous OEnone had met her somewhere onthe slopes of Ida, and "given her a piece of her mind. "

On these grounds I venture to hope that all well-regulated readers willconcur with me in pronouncing Mr. Fullarton's conduct totallyindefensible. It would have been so easy to have communicated hisintelligence to any that it might concern, discreetly, at a fittingplace and time, instead of casting it into the midst of a convivialassembly like a fulminating ball. Under other circumstances, he wouldprobably have taken the quieter course; but he had been smarting forsome time under a succession of provocations, real and fancied, fromRoyston Keene, and his own misadventure that morning had filled the cupof irritation brimful. It was the old exasperating feeling--

 Earl Percy sees my fall. 

Whatever might be the cost, he could not make up his mind to let slip sofair a chance of embarrassing his imperturbable enemy. There is nosaying what he would have given to see that marvelous self-command foronce thoroughly break down. It is unfortunate that the best-laid planscan not always insure a triumph. The chaplain certainly did succeed inproducing a "situation, " and in reducing most of the party to thatuncomfortable frame of mind which is popularly described as "wishingone's self any where;" but the person who seemed most completelyunconcerned was the man at whom the blow was leveled. 

The major shook his head with a quick gesture of impatience, just as ifsome insect had lighted on his forehead; beyond this, for any evidenceof his being annoyed by it, Mr. Fullarton's last remark might haverelated to missionary prospects or Chinese politics. The steady color onhis swarthy face neither lost nor gained a shade. There was not a signof anger, or shame, or confusion in his clear, bold eyes; and, when heanswered, there was not one fresh furrow on the brow that, at lighterprovocation, was so apt to frown. 

"I give you credit for being utterly ignorant of what you are talkingabout, Mr. Fullarton. You could not possibly guess how disagreeable thesubject would be to me. As it can't be in the least interesting to anyone else, suppose we change it?"

Just the same cold, measured voice as ever, with only a slight sarcasticinflection to vary the deep, grave tones; but a very close observermight have seen his fingers clench the handle of a knife while he wasspeaking, as if their gripe would have dinted the ivory. 

It was hardly to be expected that the rest of the party would emulatethe _sang-froid_ of the Cool Captain. Sailing under false colors is aconvenient practice enough, and productive sometimes of many prizes; butdivers penalties attach to its detection, on land as well as on sea. Indeed, it involves the necessity of _somebody's_ appearing as aconvicted impostor. On the present occasion--as the actor for whom thecharacter was cast utterly declined to play it--the part fell to poorHarry Molyneux, who certainly looked it to perfection. In all his littledifficulties and troubles, when hard pressed, he was wont to fall backupon the reserve of _la mignonne_, sure of meeting there with sympathy, if not with succor. He dared not do so now. He dared not encounter thereproach of the beautiful, gentle eyes that had never looked into hisown otherwise than trustfully since they first told the secret that sheloved him dearly. The half-smothered cry that broke from Fanny's lipswhen the chaplain made his disclosure went straight to the heart of hertreacherous husband. He felt as if he deserved that those pretty lipsshould never smile upon him again. 

Oh, all my readers!--masculine especially--whose patience has carriedyou thus far, remark, I beseech you, the dangers that attend anydereliction from the duty of matrimonial confidence. What right have weto lock up the secrets of our most intimate friends, far less our own, instead of pouring them into the bosom of the [Greek: _bathukolposakoitis_], which is capacious enough to hold them all, were they tenfoldmore numerous and weighty? Such reticence is rife with awful peril. Inour folly and blindness, we fancy ourselves secure, while the ground ismined under our guilty feet, and the explosion is even now preparing, from which only our _disjecta membra_ will emerge. Of course, somecold-hearted caviler will begin to quote instances of carefully-plannedand promising conspiracies, which miscarried solely because the detailsreached a feminine ear. It may have been so; but I don't see whatbusiness conspiracies have to succeed at all. Long live theConstitution! Truly, such delightful confidences must be somethingone-sided, for the mildest Griselda of them all would be led as a"Martha to the Stakes" sooner than concede to her husband theunrestricted supervision of her correspondence. I have indeed a dimrecollection of having heard of _one_ bride of seventeen, who, duringthe honeymoon, was weak and (_selon les dames_) wicked enough to submitto profane male eyes epistles received from the friends of her youth, intheir simple entirety, instead of reading out an expurgated edition ofthe same. She had been brought up in a very dungeon of decorum by aterrible grandmother, a rigid moralist, whom no man ever yet beheldwithout a shiver; and during those first few weeks after her escape shewas probably intoxicated by the novel sense of freedom, besides which, she was perfectly infatuated about "Reginald;" but all this could notexculpate her when arraigned before her peers. She lived long enough torepent and to reassert, to some extent, her lost matronly dignity, butshe died very young--let us hope in fair course of nature. She hadviolated the first law of a guild more numerous and influential thanthat of the Freemasons. Examples are necessary from time to time, and, though the _Vehme-gericht_ may pity the offender, it may not thereforelinger in its vengeance. Nevertheless, my brethren, our course is clear. Let us resign to the chatelaine the key of the letter-bag and thecensorship thereof. If, after due warning, our light-minded friends_will_ write to us in terms that mislike that excellent and punctiliousinspectress, they must aby it in the cold looks and bitter innuendoeswhich will be their portion when they come to us in the next huntingseason. Our conscience, at least, will be pure and undefiled, and weshall pass to the end of our pilgrimage _sans peur_, though perchance, even then, not _sans reproche_. "Servitudes, " as Miggs, the veteranvestal remarked, "is no inheritance, " but there are natures who thriverarely in this tranquil and inglorious condition. Such men live, as arule, pretty contentedly to a great old age, and die in the odor ofintense respectability. Salubrious, it seems, as well as creditable tothe patient, is a _régime_ of moderate hen-pecking, only it is necessarythat he should be of the intermediate species between Socrates andGeorges Dandin. 

Mrs. Danvers would certainly have indulged openly in that immoderateexultation to which all minor prophets are prone when their predictionschance to be verified, but this was checked by her constitutionaltimidity. She was horribly afraid of the effect that the revelationmight have on her patroness; therefore what precise meaning was impliedby the complicated contortions of her countenance no mortal can guess orknow. Her sensations probably resolved themselves into an excess ofadmiration for the pastor in his new character of a denouncer ofdetected guilt and champion of imperiled innocence, added to which was avague desire to lanch her own anathema maranatha at Royston Keene. 

Dick Tresilyan took the whole thing with remarkable coolness, not to saycomplacency. He nodded his head, and smiled, and winked cunningly asideat Molyneux, as if to intimate that he had known all about it long ago, and, indeed, so far he had been admitted into the major's confidence onthe night when the latter was supposed to have "lost his head. " By whatsophistries Royston had succeeded in masking his purpose and making hiscase good, even to such an unsuspicious mind and easy morality, thedevil could best tell, who in such schemes had rarely failed him. 

We have left Cecil to the last. My proud, beautiful Cecil--was she notborn for better things than to be made the prize of all those plottingsand counter-plottings--to surrender the key of her heart's treasures toone who was unworthy to kiss the hem of her robe--and now to have herself-command tried so cruelly to gratify the wounded vanity of a weak, shallow enthusiast?

She did not flinch or start when Mr. Fullarton's words caught her ear, but a heavy, chill faintness stole over her, till she felt all her limbsbenumbed, and every thing before her eyes grew misty and dim. Thenumbness passed away almost immediately, but still the figures aroundher appeared distorted and fantastically exaggerated; they seemed to betossing and whirling round one steadfast centre, as the dead leaves inwinter eddy round the marble head of a statue; that single centre-objectremained, throughout, distinct and unaltered in its aspect, while allelse was confused and uncertain--the face of Royston Keene. The sight ofthat face--not defiant or even stern, but immutable in its coldtranquillity--acted on Cecil as a magical restorative; it seemed asthough he were able, by some mesmeric influence, to impart to her aportion of his own miraculous self-control. Before his reply to thechaplain was ended, she threw back her proud head with the old imperialgesture, as if scorning her own momentary weakness; no mist or shadowclouded the brilliant violet eyes; she might speak safely now, withoutrisking a false note in the music. It was no light peril that sheescaped; the betrayal of emotion under such circumstances would haveweighed down a meeker spirit than The Tresilyan's with a sense ofineffaceable shame; for remember--however marked her partiality forKeene might have been--there had been no suspicion of an engagementbetween them. Had she broken down then, she would not have forgivenRoyston to her dying day: she never _did_ forgive the chaplain. As itwas--by a strange anomaly--at the very moment when she became aware ofhaving been deluded and misled, in intention if not by actually spokenwords--when she had most reason to hate or despise the "enemy who haddone her this dishonor"--she felt his hold upon her heart strengthened, as though he had justified his right to command it. Not to women alone, but to all beautiful, wild creatures, the ancient aphorism applies: theharder they are to discipline, the better they love their tamer. Cecilthought, "there is not another man alive whose eyes could meet mine sodaringly:" and the haughty spirit bowed itself, and did obeisance to itssuzerain. Different in many respects as good can be from evil--in one, those two were as fairly matched as Thiodolf and Isolde. Who can tellwhat wealth of happiness might have been stored up for both, if they hadonly not met--too late?

These two words seem to me the most of any that are written or spoken. They strike the key-note of so many human agonies, that they might forma motto, apter than Dante's, for the gates of hell. Very few may hearthem without a melancholy thrill; well--if they do not bring a bitterpang. Like those awful conjurations that blanched in utterance the lipsof the boldest magi, they have a fearful power to wake the dead. Lo!they are scarcely syllabled when there is a stir in the grave-yardwhere sad or guilty memories lie buried; the air is alive with phantoms;the watcher may close his eyes if he will: not the less is he sensibleof the presence of those pale ghosts that come trooping to theirvengeance. Many, many hours must pass before the spell is learned thatwill send them back to their tombs again. 

Not long ago I heard a story that bears upon this. The man of whom itwas told lost his love after he had fairly wooed and won her. It mattersnot what suspicion, or misconception, or treachery parted them; butparted they were for eight miserable years. Then the lady repented orrelented, and came to her lover to make her confession. When she haddone speaking, she looked up into his face: she saw no light of gladnessor welcome there--only a deepening and darkening of the weary look ofpain: the arms whose last tender clasp she had not forgotten yet, neveropened to draw her to his breast. He bent his head down upon his shakinghands, and the heavy drops that are sometimes wrung from strong men intheir agony began to trickle through his fingers. In old days he couldnever bear to see her sad for a moment; now, he sat as though he heardher not, while she lay at his feet, wailing to be forgiven. When hecould perfectly control his voice he said, "More than once, in my dreams, I have seen you so, and I have heard yousay what you have said to-day. I answered then as I answer now--I nevercan forgive you. I do not know that you would not regain your oldascendency; I believe you are as dangerous, and I as weak, as ever. ButI do know that, the more fascinating I found you, the harder it would beto bear. Thinking of what I had missed through that accursed time offamine would drive me mad soon. I have got used to my present burden: Iwon't give you the chance of making it heavier. Those tears of mine wereselfish as well as childish; they were given to the happiness and hopethat you killed eight years ago. Stay--we parted with a show of kindnessthen; we will not part in anger now. "

He laid his lips on her forehead as he raised her up--a grave, cold, passionless kiss, such as is pressed on the brow of a dear friend lyingin his shroud. They never met alone again. 

It is exasperating to think how long I have taken to describe events andemotions that passed in the space of a few minutes; but to place all the_dramatis personæ_ in their proper positions does take time, unless thestage-manager is very experienced. Will you be good enough to imaginethe picnic broken up (_not_ in confusion), and the "strayed revelers" ontheir way to Dorade? Nothing worthy of note occurred on the spot; acommonplace conversation having been started and maintained in a wayequally creditable to all parties concerned. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

All the inquiries that the chaplain had "felt it his duty" to makerespecting the antecedents of Royston Keene had failed to elicit anything more discreditable than may be said of the generality of men whohave spent a dozen years in rather a fast regiment, keeping up to thestandard of the corps. Doubtless graver charges might have been imputedto him, if the whole truth had been known; but the living witnesses whocould have proved them had good reasons for their silence. Whethersuccessful or defeated, the Cool Captain was not wont to take the worldinto his confidence. As for betraying his own or another's secrets--hislips were about as likely to do _that_ as those of an effigy on atomb-stone. 

Naples was a cover that the reverend investigator had not drawn; so hewas considerably startled by the following words in a letter fromthence, received that morning: "I meet a lady constantly in societyhere, of whose history I am curious to know more. She is the wife ofMajor Keene, the famous Indian _sabreur_; but has been separated fromhim for several years. She never makes an allusion to his existence; itwas by the merest chance that I heard this, and also that her husband isspending the winter at Dorade. Perhaps you can throw some light on thecause of the 'separate maintenance?' People are not particular here, andhave no right to be; still, one would like to know. I fancy it can notbe her fault; she is perfectly gentle in her manner, but rathercold--very beautiful too, in a placid, statuesque style. " It is notworth transcribing the writer's farther speculations. If a silent, butultra-fervent benediction can at all profit the person for whom it isintended, very few people have been so well paid for epistolary labor, as was, then, Mr. Fullarton's correspondent. The reason why has alreadybeen explained. 

Well, he had made his great _coup_ without carefully counting thecost--that financial pleasure was still to come. He could not helpfeeling that it had been rather _fiasco_. The man whom he had purposedutterly to discomfit had throughout been provokingly at his ease; thebest that could be made of it was, a drawn battle. A disagreeableconsciousness crept over the chaplain of having made himself generallyobnoxious, without reaping any equivalent advantage or evensatisfaction. No one seemed to look kindly or admiringly at him sincethe disclosure, except Mrs. Danvers; and, glutton as he was of suchdainties, the adulation of that exemplary but unattractive female beganrather to pall on his palate. He was clear-sighted enough to be awarethat Miss Tresilyan was probably offended with him beyond hope ofreconciliation, but this did not greatly trouble him. He had beensensible for some time of the decay of his influence in that quarter. Last of all rose on his mind, with unpleasant distinctness, Cecil'swarning, "If I were a man, I should not like to have Major Keene as myenemy. " He had thrown the lance over that enemy's frontier, and it wasnow too late to talk of truce. A dread of the consequences overcame himas he thought of the reprisals that might be exacted by the mercilessand unscrupulous guerilla. True, it was not very evident what harm thelatter could do him; nevertheless, he could not shake off a vague, depressing apprehension. More and more, as he strolled on, moodilymusing, far in the rear of the rest, he felt inclined to appreciate thewisdom of the ancient proverb, "Let sleeping dogs lie. " Years afterwardhe remembered with what a startled thrill, raising his eyes at a sharpangle of the path, he found himself face to face with Royston Keene. 

For some seconds they contemplated each other silently--the priest andthe soldier. A striking contrast they made. The one, heated, andexcited, and nervous, both in appearance and manner, looking more like aculprit brought up for judgment than a pillar of the Established Church;the other, outwardly as undemonstrative as the rock against which heleaned--just a shade of paleness telling of the sharp mental strugglefrom which he had come out victorious--his whole bearing and demeanorprecisely what might have been expected if he had been sitting on acourt-martial. 

The absurdity of the position struck the chaplain as soon as hecollected himself from his first surprise. It never would do for _him_to look as if he had any thing to be ashamed of; so, summoning to hisaid all the dignity of his office and his own self-importance, with agreat effort, he spoke steadily:

"I presume you wish to talk to me, Major Keene? I shall be glad to hearany thing that you may have to communicate or explain. It is my duty aswell as my desire to be useful to any member of my congregation, howeverlittle disposed they may be to avail themselves of their privileges. Interested, as I must be in the welfare of all committed to my charge, Ineed hardly say that the course you have chosen to pursue here hascaused me great pain and anxiety--I own, not so much for your sake asthat of others, to whom your influence was likely to be pernicious. WhatI heard this morning makes matters look still worse. I wish I couldanticipate any satisfactory explanation. "

The old _ex cathedrâ_ feeling came back upon him while he was speaking;his tone, gradually becoming rounder and more sonorous, showed this. Washe so besotted by sacerdotal confidence as to fancy that he could winthat grim penitent to come to him to be confessed or absolved?

Since the chaplain first saw him Royston had never changed his attitude. He was leaning with his shoulder against the corner of rock round whichthe path turned, standing half across it, so that no one could pass himeasily. The dense blue cloudlets of smoke kept rolling out from his lipsrapidly, but regularly, and his right hand twined itself perpetually inthe coils of his heavy brown mustache. That gesture, to those who knewhis temper well, was ever ominous of foul and stormy weather. He did notreply immediately, but, taking the cigar from his mouth, began twistingup the loose leaf in a slow, deliberative way. At last he said, "You did that rather well this morning. How much did you expect to getfor it? My wife is liberal enough in her promises sometimes, when shewants to make herself disagreeable, but she don't pay well. You mighthave driven a better bargain by coming to me. I would have given youmore to have held your tongue. " His tone was such as the other had neverheard him use--such as most people would be loth to employ toward themeanest dependent. No description can do justice to the intensity of itsinsolence; it made even Mr. Fullarton's torpid blood boil resentfully. 

"How dare you address such words to me?" he cried out, trembling withrage. "If it were not for my profession--"

"Stop!" the other broke in, rudely; "you need not trouble yourself torepeat that stale clap-trap. You mean to say that, if I were not safefrom your profession, I should not have said so much. It isn't worthwhile lying to yourself, and I have no time to trifle. The converse isthe truer way of putting it. You know better than I can tell you that, if you had been unfrocked, you would never have ventured half what youhave done to day. You don't stir from hence till this is settled. Do yousuppose I'll allow my private affairs to be made, again, an occasion forindulging your taste for theatricals?"

The chaplain flushed apoplectically. He just managed to stammer out, "I will not remain another instant to listen to your blasphemousinsults. If you mean to prevent me from passing, I will return anotherway. "

 Scornfully He turned; but thrilled with priestly wrath, to feel His sacred arm locked in a grasp of steel. 

A bolder man might have got nervous, finding himself on a lonelyhill-side, face to face with such an adversary, reading, too, the savagemeaning of those murderous eyes. Remember that Mr. Fullarton heldRoyston capable of any earthly crime. His own short-lived anger wasinstantly annihilated; the sweat of mortal terror broke out over all hislivid face; his lips could hardly gasp out an unintelligible prayer formercy. 

The soldier's stern face settled into an expression of contempt: in hisgentlest moods he could find little sympathy for purely physical fear. 

"Don't faint, " he said; "there is no occasion for it. Do you think Ishall 'slay you as I slew the Egyptian yesterday?' Well, I have scantyrespect for your office, especially when its privileges are abused. Ifit were not for good reasons, I would serve you worse than I did thatdrunken scoundrel who frightened you almost to death down there amongthe vines; but that don't suit my purpose. Listen: if you dare tointerfere again, by word, or deed, or sign, in the affairs of me andmine, I know a better way of making you repent it. "

As soon as he saw that there was no real danger to life or limb, thechaplain's composure began to return. He launched forth immediately intoa gallant though incoherent defiance. Royston's features never for aninstant changed or softened in their scorn. 

"Fair words, " he retorted; "but I'll make your bubbles burst. You don'tmonopolize _all_ the resources of the Private Inquiry Office;" and, stooping down, he whispered a dozen words in the other's ear. Theyrelated to a charge brought against Mr. Fullarton years ago, socircumstantial and difficult to disprove that, with all the advantagesof counter-evidence at hand, it had well-nigh borne him down. He knewright well that, if it were once revived here abroad, where the lightestsuspicion is caught up and used so readily, the consequences would benothing short of utter ruin. He was a poor man, with a large family. Nowonder if he quailed. 

"You know--you know, " he gasped, "that it is a vile, cruel falsehood. "

To do him justice, he spoke the simple truth there. 

With a cold, tranquil satisfaction, the major contemplated his victim'sagony. 

"I choose to know nothing about it, except that it carries moreprobability than most stories one hears. The world in general is, fortunately, not incredulous, and I have seen a man 'broke' on lighterevidence. Well, you will take your own course, and I shall take mine. Ifancy we understand each other--at last. "

By a superhuman effort the unlucky ecclesiastic did contrive to muttersomething about his "determination to do his duty. " Royston listened tohim with his worst smile. 

"I'll take my chance about that, " he said. "I feel tolerably safe. NowI'll leave you to settle the affair between your interest and yourconscience. "

He turned on his heel, and strode away without another word. Long afterhe was out of sight the chaplain stood fixed in the same attitude ofpanic-stricken, helpless despondency. By my faith! even in thesedegenerate days, we have petrifying influences left that may match thehead of the Gorgon. 

Meanwhile, the others were wending slowly homeward, truly in a verydifferent mood from that in which they had gone forth that morning. Evenas no man can be pronounced happy till the hour of his death, so can noexcursion or entertainment be called successful till night has fairlyclosed in. Caprice of climate is only one of the many sources ofdisappointment, and the event justifies so seldom our sanguinepredictions that we have little right to complain of false and falliblebarometers. It is worthy of remark how often these trifles illustratethat trite and time-honored simile of Life. The vessel starts gaylyenough, heeling over gracefully to the land-wind in the old, approvedfashion--"Youth at the prow, and pleasure at the helm"--there is not amisgiving in the heart of any of the passengers; they can not helppitying those left behind on the shore. What a cheery adieu they wave tothe friends who come down to wish them "good-speed!" After a voyage moreor less prolonged the same ship drifts in slowly shoreward, over theharbor-bar, under the calm of the solemn sunset. Even the deepeningtwilight can not disguise the evidences of a terrible "sea-change. " Nota trace of paint or gilding remains on the wave-worn, shattered timbers. Sails rent and cordage strained tell tales of many storm-gusts, or, perchance, of one tornado; and see! her flag is flying half-mast high:the corpse of the Pilot is on board. Let us stand aside, lest we meetthe passengers as they land. It were worse than mockery to ask how theyachting trip has sped. 

Miss Tresilyan rode somewhat in advance of the rest, under her brother'sescort. Dick was a model in his own line, and other brothers-of-beautiesmight well imitate his moderation and discretion. He never thrusthimself into the conversation, or into her presence, when there was achance of his intrusion being ill-timed, but was always at hand when hewas wanted: the slightest sign, or even a glance, from Cecil, broughthim to her side, and there he would march for hours in silent butperfect satisfaction. On the present occasion he seemed disposed to beunwontedly talkative, and to indulge in certain speculations relative tothe intelligence they had just heard. It was true, he knew it before, but nothing had been disclosed to him beyond the simple fact thatRoyston was married, and married unhappily. Cecil checked him gently, but very decidedly. 

"I had rather not hear or say one word on the subject. It ought not tointerest either of us. In good time, I suppose, we shall be told allthat it is fitting we should know. Meanwhile, it would be very wrong tomake conjectures. No one has any right to pry into Major Keene's affairsif he chooses to keep them secret. I do not believe any one ever did so, even in thought, without repenting it. I dare say Mr. Fullarton willfind this out soon, and I shall not pity him in the least. A person_ought_ to be punished who tries to startle people in that disagreeableway. Did you hear Fanny's little shriek? I have not had time to laugh ather about it yet. The path is too narrow for two to ride abreast. "

The light tone and manner of her last words might have deceived a closerobserver than honest Dick Tresilyan. He lapsed into silence; but, aftersome time, his meditations assumed a cheerfully-roseate hue, as theyresolved themselves into the fixed idea that Royston was lingeringbehind "to have it out with the parson. "

Some distance in the rear walked Harry Molyneux, holding dutifully hiswife's bridle-rein. It was very touching to see the diffidence andhumility with which he proffered his little attentions, which wereaccepted, as it were, under protest. The truth was that _la mignonne_had forgiven him already, and it was with great difficulty she refrainedfrom telling him so, by word or smile. Her soft heart melted within herat the sight of the criminal's contrition, and decided that he had donepenance enough during the last half hour to atone for a gravermisdemeanor; but she deferred asking for explanations till a moreconvenient season, when there should be no chance of interruption; andmeanwhile, on grounds of stern political necessity, _elle le boudait_. (If any elegant scholar will translate that Gallicism for me literally, I shall feel obliged to him. )

Fancy the sensations of a man fighting his frigate desperately againstoverwhelming odds, when he sees the outline of a huge "liner, " withEnglish colors at the main, looming dimly through the smoke, close onthe enemy's quarter; or those of the commander of an untenable post whenthe first bayonets of the relieving force glitter over the crest of thehill, and you will have a fair idea of Harry's relief as he looked backand saw Keene rapidly gaining on them with his swift, slashing stride. As he fell back and yielded his post to Royston, this was written soplainly on his face that the latter could not repress a smile; but therewas little mirth in his voice when he addressed Fanny--she had neverheard him speak so gently and gravely: "I know that you are angry withyour husband, as well as with me, for keeping you in the dark so long. Imust make his peace with you, even if I fail in making my own. He couldnot tell you one word without breaking a promise given years ago. If hehad done so, in spite of the excuse of the strong temptation, I wouldnever have trusted him again. Ah! I see you have done him justicealready: that is good of you. Now for my own part. Why I did not chooseto let you into the secret as soon as I began to know you well I canhardly say. Hal will tell you all about it, and you will see that, foronce, I was more sinned against than sinning; so I was not afraid ofyour thinking worse of me for it. Perhaps the last thing that a manlikes to confess is his one arch piece of folly, especially if he haspaid for it as heavy a price as attaches to most crimes. I think I amnot sorry that you were kept in the dark till now. The past has given mesome pleasant hours with you that might have been darkened if you hadknown all. I wish you would forgive me. We have always been such goodfriends, and, in your sex at least, I can reckon so few. "

If he had spoken with his ordinary accent, Fanny would scarcely haveyielded so readily, but the strange sadness of his tone moved herdeeply. A mist gathered in her gentle eyes as she looked at him for somemoments in silence, and then held out a timid little tremulous hand. 

"I should not have liked you worse for knowing that you had been unhappyonce, " she whispered; "but I ought never to have been vexed at not beingtaken into confidence. I don't think I am wise or steady enough to keepsecrets; only I wish--I do wish--that you had told Cecil Tresilyan. "

He answered her in his old cool, provoking way, "I know what you mean toimply, but you do Miss Tresilyan less than justice, and me too muchhonor. What right have you to infer that I look upon her in any otherlight than a very charming acquaintance, or that she feels any deeperinterest in to-day's revelation than if she had heard unexpectedly thatany one of her friends was married? Surprises are seldom agreeable, especially when they are so clumsily brought about. I am sure she hasnot told you any thing to justify your suspicions. "

Fanny was the worst casuist out. She was seldom certain about her facts, and when she happened to be so, had not sufficient pertinacity orconfidence to push her advantage. Her favorite argument was ever _admisericordiam_. "I wish I could quite believe you, " she said, plaintively; "but I can't, and it makes me very unhappy. You must seethat you ought to go. "

Her evident fear of him touched Royston more sharply than the mostvenomous reproach or the most elaborate sarcasm could have done; but hewould not betray how it galled him. "Three days ago, " he replied, "I hadalmost decided on departure; now it does not altogether depend on me. But you need not be afraid. I shall not worry you long; and while I stayI have no wish, and, I believe, no power, to do any one any harm. " Shelooked at him long and earnestly, but failed to extract any fartherconfession from the impenetrable face. Keene would not give her thechance of pursuing the subject, but called up Harry to help him inturning the conversation into a different channel and keeping it there. Between the two they held the anxieties and curiosities of the oppressed_mignonne_ at bay till they entered Dorade. 

They were obliged to pass the Terrasse on their way home: there, alone, under the shadow of the palms, sat Armand de Châteaumesnil. Theinvalid's great haggard eyes fixed themselves observantly on CecilTresilyan as she went by. He laid his hand on the major's sleeve when hecame to his side, and said, in a hoarse whisper, "Qu'as tu fait donc, pour l'atterrer ainsi?" The other met the searching gaze withoutflinching, "Je n'en sais rien; seulement--on dit que je suis marié. " Ifthe Algerian had been told on indisputable authority that Paris and itsinhabitants had just been swallowed up by an earthquake, he would onlyhave raised his shaggy brows in a faint expression of surprise, exactlyas he did now. "Tu es marié?" he growled out. "A laquelle donc des deuxdoit on compâtir--Madame ou Mademoiselle?" Yet he did not like Keene theworse for the impatient gesture with which the latter shook himselfloose, muttering, "Je vous croyais trop sage, M. Le Vicomte, pour vousamuser avec ces balivernes de romancier. "

Fanny Molyneux and Cecil passed the evening together _tête-à-tête_. Thatkind little creature had a way of taking other people's turn of duty inthe line of penitence and apology. On the present occasion she wasremarkably gushing in her contrition, though her own guilt wasinfinitesimal; but she met with scanty encouragement. She had found timeto extract from Harry all the details of the matrimonial misadventure, and wished to give her friend the benefit of them. Miss Tresilyan wouldnot listen to a word. She did not attempt to disguise the interest shefelt in the subject, but said that she preferred hearing thecircumstances from Royston's own lips. With all this her manner hadnever been more gentle and caressing: she succeeded at last in deludingFanny into the belief that every body was perfectly heart-whole, andthat no harm had been done, so that that night _la mignonne_ slept thesleep of the innocent, no misgivings or forebodings troubling herdreams. Those brave women!--when I think of the pangs that they sufferuncomplainingly, the agonies that they dissemble, I am inclined toesteem lightly our own claims to the Cross of Valor. How many of themthere are who, covering with their white hand the dagger's hilt, utterwith a sweet, calm smile, and lips that never tremble, the falsehoodholier than most outspoken truths--_Poetus non angit_!

When Cecil returned home Mrs. Danvers was waiting for her, ready withany amount of condolence and indignation. She checked all this, as shewell knew how to do; and at last was alone in her own chamber. Then thereaction came on; with natures such as hers, it is a torture not to beforgotten while life shall endure. 

There were not wanting in Dorade admirers and sentimentalists, who werewont to watch the windows of The Tresilyan as long as light lingeredthere. How those patient, unrequited astronomers would have beenstartled if their eyes had been sharp enough to penetrate the darkrecess where she lay writhing and prone, her stricken face veiled by themasses of her loosened hair, her slender hands clenched till the bloodstood still in their veins, in an agony of stormy self-reproach, andfiery longing, and injured pride; or if their ears had caught the soundof the low, bitter wail that went up to heaven like the cry from Gehennaof some fair, lost spirit, "My shame--my shame!"

Under favor of the audience, we will drop the curtain here. One of ourpuppets shall appear to-night no more. When a heroine is once on thestage, the public has a right to be indulged with the spectacle of herfaults and follies, as well as of her virtues and excellences; yet Ilove the phantasm of my queenly Cecil too well to parade her discrownedand in abasement. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Other eyes besides Cecil's kept watch through the night that followedthat eventful day. Royston's never closed till the dawning. Sometimessitting motionless, sunk in his gloomy meditations, sometimes walkingrestlessly to and fro, and cooling his hot forehead in the current ofthe fresh night air, he kept his mind on a perpetual strain, calculatingall probable and improbable chances; and the dull red light was neverquenched, that told of perpetually-renewed cigars. 

I fancy I hear an objection, springing from lips that are wont to beirresistible, leveled against such an atrocious want of sentiment. Fairest critic! we will not now discuss the merits or demerits ofnicotine, considered as an aid to contemplation, or an anodyne; but doyou allow enough for the force of habit? Putting aside the case of thoseIndian captives, who are allowed a pipe in the intervals of torment (forthese poor creatures have had no advantages of education, and are beyondthe pale of civilized examples), do you not know that men have finishedtheir last weed while submitting to the toilette of the guillotine? Weare told that a Spaniard has begged of his confessor a light for his_papelito_ within sight of a freshly dug grave, when the firing-partywas awaiting him one hundred paces off with grounded arms. 

Only when the sky was gray did Royston lie down to rest; but he sleptheavily late into the morning. His first act, when he rose, was to senda note to Cecil Tresilyan, begging her to meet him at a named place andtime: she did not answer it, nevertheless he felt certain she wouldcome. Assignations were no novelties to him, but he had gone forth tobear his part in more than one stricken field, where the chances of lifeand death were evenly poised, without any such despondency oruncertainty as clung to him then on his way to the appointed spot. Hearrived there first, but he had not waited long when Cecil came slowlyalong the path that led into the heart of the woodland. As she drewnear, Keene could not help thinking of the first time his eyes hadlighted on her, mounting the zigzags of the Castle-hill. There was stillthe same elasticity of step, the same imperial carriage of the gracefulhead; but a less observant eye would have detected the change in herdemeanor. The pretty petulance and provocative manner which, contrastingwith the royalty of her form and feature, contributed so much to hermarvelous fascinations, had departed, he feared, never to return. 

Many instances occur daily where the same painfully unnatural gravityexasperates us, when its cause can not be traced up to either guilt orsorrow. Ah! Lilla, there are many who think that your wild-flower wreathwas a more becoming ornament than that diamond circlet--bridal gift ofthe powerful baron. Sweet Eugenia! faces that were never absent fromyour _levées_ in old times you have missed at your court since youwedded Cæsar. 

Both were outwardly quite calm, but who can guess which of those twostrong hearts was most conscious of tremor or weakness when Royston andCecil met? His hand at least was the steadier, for her slight fingersquivered nervously in his grasp. He did not let them go till he began tospeak. 

"Whatever your decision may be after hearing me, I shall always thankyou for coming here. It was like you--to give me the chance of speakingfor myself. At least no falsehood or misconception shall stand betweenus. Will you listen to my story?"

"I came for no other purpose, " Cecil said, and she sat down on the trunkof a fallen olive: she knew there would be need to husband all herstrength. Thinking of these things, in after days, she never forgot howcarefully he arranged his plaid on the branches behind her, so as tokeep off the gusts of wind that ever and anon blew sharply. At that veryinstant, as if there were some strange sympathy in the elements, the sunplunged into the bosom of a dull leaden cloud, and there came a growl ofdistant thunder. 

"I shall not tax your patience long, " Royston went on. "It shall only bethe briefest outline. But do not interrupt me till I have ended; it ishard enough to have to begin and go through with it. I can not tell youwhy I married. Many people asked me the question at the time, and I haveasked it of myself often since, but I never could find any satisfactoryanswer. The woman I chose was then very beautiful, and it was not adisadvantageous match, but I had seen fairer faces and fortunes go bywithout coveting them. I think a certain obstinacy of purpose, and anabsurd pleasure in carrying off a prize (such a prize!) from many rivalswas at the bottom of it all. In six months I began to appreciate theinconveniences of living with a statue; but I can say it truly, I neverdreamed of betraying her. Yet I had temptations. Remember I was not yettwenty-two, and one does not bear disappointments well at that age. Wehad not been married quite a year when an officer in a native regimentdied, up in the Hills, of _delirium tremens_. Do you know that, undersuch circumstances, there is always a commission appointed to examinethe dead man's papers. I could not help seeing that, for some days past, my wife's manner had been strangely sullen and cold, but I had nosuspicion of the truth. I don't think I have ever been so surprised aswhen the president of the commission brought me a bundle of her letters. I never saw her paramour: he must have been more fool than scoundrel tohave kept what he ought to have burned. I did not thank the man who gaveme those papers, and I never spoke to him again. I only read one ofthem: it was written soon after our marriage. I went to my wife with_this_ in my hand. She listened to me in her own icy way, not denying orconfessing any thing; but she defied me to prove actual infidelityeither before or after my authority began. I could not do it, whatever Imight think. I could only prove a course of lies and _chicanerie_, worked out by her and all her family, that would have sickened the mostunscrupulous schemer alive. I told her I would never sleep under thesame roof with her again. She laughed--if you could hear her laugh, youwould excuse me for more than I have done--and said, 'You can't get adivorce. ' She was right there. So it was settled that we were to liveapart without any public scandal. But her people would not accept thisposition. They sent a brother to bully me. It was an unwise move. Mytemper was wilder in those days, and I had strong provocation; yet Irepent that I did not keep my hands off the throat of that wretched, blustering civilian. It was all arranged peacefully at last, and I havenot seen her since, though I hear of her from time to time, as I didyesterday. This happened eleven long years ago, and she has never givenme a chance of ridding myself of her since. She is always carefullycircumspect, and so works out a patient revenge, though I believe I didher no wrong. You have heard all I dare to tell you, and all the truth. Judge me now. "

For the last few minutes a great battle had been waging in CecilTresilyan's heart. Can the wisest of us, before the armies meet, prophesy aright as to the issue of such an Armageddon?

Twice she tried to speak, and found her voice rebellious; at last sheanswered, in a faint, broken tone, "I can not say how I pity you. "

He threw back his lofty head in anger or disdain. 

"I will not accept groundless compassion, even from you. Do not deceiveyourself. I have learned how to bear my burden; it scarcely cumbers menow. It has fretted me more in the last three weeks than it has done foryears. I only wish you to decide whether I did very wrong in keepingback the knowledge of all this from you; and, if I have offendedunpardonably, what my punishment shall be. "

There was something more than reproach in the glance that flashed uponhim out of the violet eyes; for an instant they glittered almostscornfully; her lip, too, had ceased to tremble, and the silver in hervoice rang clear and true--

"You are not afraid to ask that question--remembering many wordsaddressed to me, each one of which was an insult--from you? You dare notyet dishonor me in your thoughts so far as to doubt how I should haveacted _at first_, if I had known your true position. Or are you amusingyourself still at my expense? I had thought you more generous. "

The gloom on Royston's face deepened sullenly: though he had schooledhimself up to a certain point of humility, even from her he could illbrook reproof. 

"Those insults were not premeditated, at least, " he retorted. "Have younot got accustomed yet to men's losing their heads in your presence, andthen talking as the spirit moved them? And you think I am amusing myselfnow. _Merci!_ there runs something in my veins warmer than ice-water. "

His accent was abrupt, even to rudeness, yet Cecil felt a thrill ofguilty triumph as she heard it, and marked the shiver of passion thatshot through the colossal frame from brow to heel. A more perfectspecimen of immaculate womanhood might not have been insensible to thatacknowledgment of her power. But she shook her head in sorrowfulincredulity. 

"You do less than justice to your self-control. But it is too late forreproaches. I forgive you for any wrong that you may have done me, evenin thought or intention. I wish the past could be buried. For thefuture, I can say only this--we must part, and that instantly; it ismore than time. "

Keene had expected some such answer, and it did not greatly disconcerthim. After pausing a second or two he said, "I did not ask you for your decision without meaning to abide by it. Butit would be well to pause before you make it final. Remember--we shallnot part for days, or months, if you send me away now. At least, youneed not fear persecution. Yet it is difficult to reconcile one's selfto banishment. Will you not give me a chance of making amends for thefolly you complain of? I can not promise that my words shall always beguarded, and my manner artificial; but I think I would rather keep yourfriendship than win the love of any living woman, and I would try hardnever to offend you. Let us finish this at once. You have only to say'leave me, ' and I swear that you shall be obeyed to the letter. "

On that last card hung all the issue of the game that he would have soldhis soul to win; yet he spoke not eagerly, though very earnestly, andwaited quietly for her reply, with a face as calm as death. 

Cecil ought not to have hesitated for an instant: we all know that. Butsteady resolve and stoical self-denial, easy enough in theory, are oftenbitterly hard in practice. It is very well to preach to the wayfarerthat his duty is to go forward and not tarry. But fresh and green growthe grasses round the Diamond of the Desert; pleasantly over its brightwaters droop the feathery palms. How drearily the gray arid sandstretches away to the sky-line! Who knows how far it may be to the nextoasis? Let us rest yet another hour by the fountain. 

From any deliberate intention to do wrong Cecil was as pure as anycanonized saint in the roll of virgins and martyrs; but if she had beena voluptuary as elaborate as La Pompadour, she could not have felt morekeenly that her love had increased tenfold in intensity since it becamea crime to indulge it. The passionate energy that had slumbered so longin her temperament was thoroughly roused at last, and would make itselfheard clamorously enough to drown the still small voice, that said"beware and forbear. " Her principles were good, but they were not strongenough to hold their own. O pride of the Tresilyans! that had tempted tosin so many of that haughty house, when you might have saved its fairestdescendant, was it the time to falter and fail? She looked up piteouslyin her great extremity; there was a prayer for help in her eyes, butbetween them and heaven was interposed a stern bronze face, not a lineof it softening. 

At length the faint, broken whisper came--"God help me! I _can not_ sayit. "

There was a pause, but not a stillness, for the beating of hercompanion's heart was distinctly audible. Then Cecil spoke again in herown natural caressing tones:

"You will be good and generous, I know. See how I trust you!"

The thought of how their continued intimacy might touch her fair famenever seemed to suggest itself for an instant. Yet, remember, TheTresilyan was no longer a guileless, romantic girl, believing and hopingall things; she knew right well what scandals and jealousies lurk underthe smooth surface of the society in which she had borne so prominent apart; she knew that there were women alive who would have given halftheir diamonds to have her at their mercy, and torment her at theirwill. Was it likely that such would let even a slander sleep? Let the_Rosière_ of last season lay this reflection to her heart to temper theimmoderation of triumph--"For every one of my victories I have made onemortal enemy. " Not only while in supremacy is the potentate obnoxious toconspiracies; the dagger is most to be dreaded when the dignity is laiddown. All dethroned and abdicating dictators have not the luck of Sylla. 

Silently and unreservedly to accept such a sacrifice, while the offererwas resolved not to count the cost, transcended even the cynicism ofRoyston Keene. He grasped her arm as though to arrest her attention, andalmost involuntarily broke from his lips words of solemn warning. 

"Let me go on my way alone, while there is time. It is hard to touchpitch and keep undefiled. Child, you are too pure to estimate yourdanger. If you remained as innocent as one of God's angels, the worldwould still condemn you. "

Her slender fingers twined themselves round his wrist, so tenderly!--andshe bent down her soft cheek till its blush was hidden on his hand. Thenshe looked up in his face with a bright, trustful smile. 

"Great happiness can not be bought without a price. I fear no reproachso much as that of my own conscience. Do not think I delude myself as tothe risk I am incurring. But if I am innocent, I shall never hear orheed what the world may say; if I am guilty, I have no right to complainof its scorn. "

Hardened unbeliever as he was, Royston could have bowed himself there, and worshiped at her feet. But he would not confess his admiration, still less betray his triumph. He raised the little white hand that wasfree gently to his lips. Not with more reverent courtesy could he havedone homage to an anointed queen. 

"I wish I were worthier of you, " he murmured, and no more was said then. 

As they walked slowly homeward, the sullen clouds broke away from theface of the sun; but a weatherwise observer could have told that thetruce was only treacherous. The tempest bided its time. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

It is not pleasant to stand by and assist at each step of an incantationthat draws down a star from heaven, or darkens the face of the moon. Letus be content to accept the result, when it is forced upon us, withoutinquiring too minutely into the process. Not with impunity can even theAdepts gain and keep the secrets of their evil Abracadabra. The beard ofMerlin is gray before its time; premature wrinkles furrow the brow ofCanidia; though the terror of his stony eyes may keep the fiends at bay, the death-sleep of Michael Scott is not untroubled; the pillars ofMelrose shake ever and anon as though an earthquake passed by, and themonks cross themselves in fear and pity, for they know that the awfulwizard is turning restlessly in his grave. 

As we are not writing a three-volume novel, we have a right, perhaps, not to linger over this part of our story. For any one who likes toindulge a somewhat morbid taste, or who happens to be keen aboutphysiology, there is daily food sufficient in those ingenious romances_d'Outre-mer_. 

It is hardly worth while speculating how far Cecil deluded herself whenshe thought that she was safe in trusting to her own strength ofprinciple and to the generosity of Royston Keene. All this seems to menot to affect the main question materially. Does it help us--after wehave yielded to temptation--that our resolves, when it first assailedus, should have been prudent and sincere, if such a plea can not avertthe consequences or extenuate the guilt? The grim old proverb tells ushow a certain curiously tesselated pavement is laid down. Millions offeet have trodden those stones for sixty ages, yet they may well lasttill the Day of Judgment, they are so constantly and unsparinglyrenewed. 

It is more than rashness for any mortal to say to the strong, treacherous ocean, "Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther;" it istrenching on the privilege of Omnipotence. The dikes may be wiselyplanned and skillfully built; but one night a wilder wind arises thanany that they have withstood; the legions of the besieging army aremustering to storm. At one spot in the seawall, where patient minershave long been working unseen, a narrow breach is made, widening everyinstant; it is too late now to fly; the wolfish waves are within theintrenchments, mad for sack and pillage. On the morrow, where trimgardens bloomed, and stately palaces shone, there is nothing but a wasteof waters strewn with wrecks and blue, swollen corpses. The Zuyder Zeerolls, ten fathoms deep, over the ruins of drowned Stavoren. 

So we will not enter minutely into the details of poor Cecil'sdemoralization--gradual, but fearfully rapid. It was not by words thatshe was corrupted; for Royston was still as careful as ever to abstainfrom uttering one cynicism in her presence; but none the less was ittrue that daily and hourly some fresh scruple was washed away, some holyprinciple withered and died. The recklessness which ever carried him onstraight to the attainment of a purpose or the indulgence of a fancy, trampling down the barriers that divide good from evil, seemed tocommunicate itself to Cecil contagiously. She seldom ventured onreflection now--still less on self-examination; but she could not helpbeing herself sensible of the change: thoughts that she would haveshrunk back from in horror not so long ago (if she could havecomprehended them fully) had ceased now to startle or repel her as shelooked them in the face. Do not suppose for an instant that there was acorresponding alteration in her outward demeanor, or that it displayedany wildness or eccentricity. Melodrama, etc. , may be very successful ata trans-pontine theatre, but it is unpardonably out of place in our_salons_. The Tresilyan understood the duties of her social, if not ofher moral position (so long as the first was not forfeited) as well asthe strictest duenna alive. Though she might choose to defy the world'scensure, she never dreamed of giving an opening to its ridicule; she wasless capable of _gaucherie_ than of a crime. In her bearing towardothers she was just the same as ever; if any thing, rather morebrilliant and fascinating, and, if crossed or interfered with, perhaps ashade more haughtily independent. 

Only when alone with Royston did she betray herself. It was sad to seehow completely the stronger and worse nature had absorbed the weaker andbetter one till all power of volition and free agency vanished, and evenindividuality was lost. She was not sentimental or demonstrative in hispresence (on the contrary, at such times, that loveliest face was veryapt to put on the delicious _mine mutine_, which made it perfectlyirresistible), but the idea seemed never to enter her mind that it wouldbe possible to resist or controvert any seriously-expressed wish ofher--_lover_. There! the word is written; and woe is me! that I dare noterase it. It must have come sooner or later, and it is as well to havegot it over. 

According to all rules for such cases laid down and provided, Cecil'slife ought to have been spent in alternations between feverishexcitement and poignant remorse. But the truth must be told--she wasunaccountably happy. The simple fact was that she had no time to beotherwise. Even when entirely alone her conscience could find noopportunity of asserting itself. Her thoughts were amply occupied withrecalling every word that Royston had said, and with anticipating whathe would say at their next meeting. It is idle to suppose that remorsecan not be kept at arm's length for a certain time; but the debtrecklessly incurred must generally be paid to the uttermost farthing. Life, if sufficiently prolonged, will always afford leisure forreflection and retrospect, and at such seasons we appreciate in fullforce the tortures of "solitary confinement. " The criminal may go onpilgrimage to a hundred shrines, and never light on the purificationthat will scare the Erinnyes. 

In this instance the victor certainly did not abuse his advantage, andwas any thing but exacting in his requirements. It was strange how hiswhole manner and nature altered when alone with his beautiful captive. The more evident became her subjugation, the more he seemed anxious totreat her with a delicate deference. They talked, as a rule, on anysubject rather than their own feelings; and he spoke on all suchindifferent topics honestly, if not wisely. For the rest of the worldhis sarcasm and irony were ready as ever; he kept all his sincerity andconfidence for Cecil Tresilyan. This is the secret of the influenceexercised by many men, at whose successes we all have marveled. Sweet, as well as disenchanting experiences are sometimes gained behind thescenes. None but those who have tried it can appreciate the delight offinding, in a manner that the uninitiate call cold and repellent, anever-ready loving caress. But in Royston's case there was no acting: itwas only that he allowed Cecil to see one phase of hid character thatwas seldom displayed. 

The subordinates in the drama betrayed much more outward concern anddisquietude than the principals. When Fanny Molyneux found that Roystondid not intend to evacuate his position, she tried the effect of avigorous remonstrance on her friend. The latter heard her patiently, butquite impassively, declining to admit any probability of danger ornecessity to caution. _La mignonne_ was not convinced, but she yielded. She wound her arm round Cecil's waist, as they sat and whispered, nestling close to her side--"Dearest, remember this: if any thing shouldhappen, I shall always think that some blame belongs to me, and I willnever give you up--never. "

The Tresilyan bent her beautiful swan-neck, as though she were caressinga dove nestling in her bosom, and pressed her lips on her companion'scheek long and tenderly. 

"I could not do _that_, " she said, "if I were guilty. "

Neither had Harry refrained from lifting up his testimony against whathe saw and suspected. The major would take more from him than from anyman alive; he was not at all incensed at the interference. 

"My dear Hal, " he said, "don't make an old woman of yourself by givingcredit to scandal, or inventing it for yourself. If you choose to beworried before your time, I can't help it; but it is more thanunnecessary. Una can take care of herself perfectly well, without yourplaying the lion. Besides--what is the brother there for? You know thereare some subjects I never talk about to you, and you don't deserve thatI should be communicative now. But listen--you shall not think of Cecilworse than she is: up to this time, I swear, even her lips are pure fromme. Now I hope you are satisfied; you have made me break my rule, foronce; drop the subject, in the devil's name. "

Though fully aware of his friend's unscrupulous character, Harry wassatisfied that nothing _very_ wrong had occurred so far. Royston neverlied. 

"I'm glad that you can say so much, " he replied; "the worst of it is, people will talk. I wonder that obnoxious parson has not made himselfmore disagreeable already. I didn't go to church last Sunday afternoon, because I felt a conviction that he was going to be personal in hissermon. "

The major laughed his hard, unpleasant laugh. "Don't let that ideadisturb your devotions another time. He is not likely to bite or even tobark very loud: he don't get my muzzle off in a hurry. "

Indeed, it was profoundly true that since the disclosure the chaplain'sreticence had become remarkable. When his own wife questioned him on thesubject (very naturally), he checked her with some asperity, and readher a lecture on feminine curiosity that moved the poor woman, even toweeping. Mrs. Danvers was greatly surprised and disconcerted by thedecision with which Mr. Fullarton rejected her suggestion, that heshould aid and abet in thwarting Keene's supposed designs. "He hadthought it right, " he said, "to make Miss Tresilyan and others aware ofthe real state of the case; but he did not conceive that fartherinterference lay within the sphere of his duty. " It was odd how thatsame once arbitrarily elastic sphere had contracted since the prophetmet the lion in the pathway! Dick Tresilyan--the only other person muchinterested in the progress of affairs--did not seem to trouble himselfmuch about them. He was perpetually absent on shooting expeditions; but, when at home, it was observed that he drank harder than ever, gettingsulky sometimes without apparent reason, and disagreeably quarrelsome. 

Royston had only stated the simple fact when he said that Cecil was freefrom any stain of actual guilt or dishonor. Whether the credit of havingborne her harmless was most due to her own prudence and remains ofprinciple, or to her tempter's self-restraint, we will not, if youplease, inquire. It is as well to be charitable now and then. Her escapewas little less than miraculous, considering how often she had trustedherself unreservedly to the mercy of one who was wont to be as unsparingin his love as in his anger. Let not this immunity be made an excuse forcredulous confidence, or induce others to emulate her rashness. TheMillenium will not come in our time, I fancy; and, till it arrives, neither child nor maiden may safely lay their hand on the cockatrice'sden. The ballad tells us that Lady Janet was happy at last; but she paiddearly through months of sorrow and shame for those three red rosesplucked in the Elfin Bower. The precise cause of Keene's forbearance itwould be very difficult to explain: more than one feeling probably hadto do with it. 

If memory has any pleasures worth speaking of (which many grave andlearned doctors take leave to doubt), certainly among the purest is therecollection of having once been endowed with the whole love of a rareand beautiful being which we did not abuse or betray. This is the onlysort of lost riches on which we can look back with comfort out of thedepths of present and pressing poverty; the pearl is so very preciousthat it confers on its possessor a certain dignity which does notentirely pass away, even when the jewel has slipped from his grasp, following the ring of Polycrates. Alas! alas! less generous than theblue Ægæan are the sullen waters of the deep. _Mare mortuum. _ Only onthese grounds can that wonderful self-possession be accounted for, whichenables men, seemingly ill-fitted for the situation, to confront theworld in all its phases with so grand a calmness. It is refreshing tosee how even coquetry recoils from that armor of proof, and to fancy howthe dead beauty might triumph over the defeat of her living rivals, laughing the seductions of their loveliness to scorn. Even in crises ofgraver difficulty, where sterner assailants are to be encountered thanHelen's magical smile or Florence's magnetic eyes, the invisiblepresence seems to inspire her lover with supernatural valiance. Rememberthe story of Aslauga's Knight; when once through the cloud ofbattle-dust gleamed the golden tresses, horse and man went down beforehim. 

Royston was not half good enough to appreciate all this; yet someshadowy and undefined feeling, allied to it, may have helped to hold himback from pushing his advantage to the uttermost. Another and moreselfish presentiment worked probably more powerfully. There was onephantom from which the Cool Captain never could escape; for years it hadfollowed close on the consummation of all his crimes, and was, in truth, their best avenger: his Nemesis was satiety. He knew too well how thesweetest flowers lost their color and fragrance, so soon as they wereplucked and fairly in his grasp, not to shrink before the prospect of acertain disenchantment. This curse attaches to many of his kind: theinstant the prize is won there arise misgivings as to its value; anddefects develop themselves hourly in what seemed faultless perfectionbefore. It is boys' play to simulate being _blasé_; but the realitymakes mature manhood disbelieve any thing sooner than inevitableretribution. Very often the thought forced itself upon Keene's mind, "IfI were to weary of _her_ too?" and made him pause before he urged Cecilto the step that must have linked him to her fate forever. 

Under other circumstances his patience might have held out still longer;but there were numberless difficulties and obstacles in the way of theirmeeting, and the perpetual constraint fretted Royston sorely. Hisprinciple always had been not openly to violate conventionalitieswithout gaining an adequate equivalent; so he was more careful ofCecil's reputation than she was inclined to be, and, among worselessons, taught her prudence. They met very seldom alone. When Mrs. Danvers was present she made it her business to be as much as possiblein the way; and her awkward attempts at interference were sometimesinexpressibly provoking. On one particular evening she had beenunusually pertinacious and obtrusive. The major stood it tolerably wellup to a certain point, but his savage temper gradually got the better ofhim; his face grew darker and darker, till it was black as midnight whenhe rose to go, and his lips were rigid as steel. It was evident he hadcome to some resolution that he meant to keep. When he was wishingBessie "good-night, " he held her hand imprisoned for a moment withoutpressing it. "You are so good a theologian, " he said, "that perhaps youcan tell me where a text comes from that has haunted me for the lasthour. It speaks of some one who 'loosed the bands of Orion. '" His mannerand the sudden address disconcerted Mrs. Danvers so completely as toincapacitate her from reply: she suffered "judgment to go by default;"and left Royston under the impression that she had never read the Bookof Job. 

The next day he asked Cecil to elope with him. 

She listened without betraying either terror, or anger, or disdain; butshe raised her beautiful eyes to his with a sad, searching inquiry, before which many men would have quailed. "Have you counted the cost toyourself and to me?"

"I have done both, " replied Keene, gravely. "I can not say that you willnever repent it; but I know that I shall never regret it. "

There were no promises or vows exchanged; but a silence for two longminutes; and, when these were passed, the sweet, pure lips had losttheir virginity. 

So with few more words it was finally arranged; and the next day Roystonleft Dorade to make preparations all along the road of their intendedflight. Their plan was to take boat at Marseilles for the East, makingtheir first permanent resting-place one of the islands of the GrecianArchipelago. Both were most anxious to evade any possibility ofinterception, more especially of collision with Dick Tresilyan. 

On that evening Cecil was alone in her own room (Mrs. Danvers had goneout to a sort of love-feast at the Fullartons', where the company wereto be entertained with weak tea and strong doctrine _à discretion_). Shehad rejected the offer of Fanny's companionship on the plea, notaltogether false, of a tormenting headache. _La mignonne_ was tooinnocent to suspect the reason that made her friend shudder in theirparting embrace, half averting her cheek, though Cecil's arms clunground her as though they would never let her go. The saddest feeling ofthe many that were busy then in the guilty, troubled heart, was aconsciousness that in a few hours the gulf between them would be deepand impassable as the chasm dividing Abraham from Dives. 

Miss Tresilyan had taken unconsciously an attitude in which you saw heronce before, half-reclined, and gazing into the fire; outwardly stillremained the same pensive, languid grace; but very different was thecareless reverie that had stolen over her then, from the wild chaos ofconflicting thoughts that involved her now. 

Her whole being was so bound up in Royston Keene's, that she feltwithout him there would be nothing worth living for; neither had she thefaintest misgiving as to the chances of his inconstancy. There haddescended to her some of the stability and determination of purposewhich had made many of her race so powerful for good or evil; in thepursuit of either they would never admit a doubt, or listen to acompromise. When Cecil believed, she believed implicitly, and, not evenwith her own conscience, made conditions of surrender. So long as _his_strong arm was round her, she felt that she could defy shame, and evenremorse; but how would it be if that support should fail? He had notbeen away yet twenty hours, and already there came creeping over her achilling sense of helplessness and desolation. She knew her lover'sviolent passions and haughty temper, impatient of the most distantapproach to insolence or even contradiction from others, too well not tobe aware that such a man walked ever on the frontier-ground between lifeand death. Suppose that he were taken from her?--her spirit, dauntlessas it was, quailed before the ghastly terrors of imagined loneliness. Anevil voice that had whispered perhaps in the ear of more than one of the"bitter, bad Tresilyans, " seemed to murmur, "You, too, can die:" butCecil was not yet so lost as to listen to the suggestion of the subtlefiend. She wasted no regrets on the past, and the wreck of all itsbrilliant promises: she was resolute to meet the perils of the future;nevertheless, her heart was heavy with apprehension. Remember the answerthat the stout Catholic made to Des Adrets, when the savage barontaunted him with cowardice for shrinking twice from the death-leap onthe tower, "_Je vous le donne, en dix_. " So it is not inwomanhood--however ruined in principle or reckless of the consequences, to venture deliberately, without a shudder, on the fatal plunge fromwhich no fair fame has ever risen unshattered again. Even prejudices maynot be torn up by the roots without stirring the earth around them. 

She might have sat musing thus for about an hour; so deep in thoughtthat she never heard the _portière_ slowly drawn aside that divided theroom from an ante-chamber. The Tresilyan had her emotions undertolerable control, and at least was not given to screaming; but shecould hardly repress the startled cry that sprang to her lips when sheraised her eyes. 

The reproachful spectre that had haunted her for years--till verylately, when a stronger influence chased it away--assumed substance ofform and feature, as the dark doorway framed the haggard, pain-strickenface of Mark Waring. 

CHAPTER XX. 

It is not very easy to confront, with decorous composure, the suddenapparition of the person on earth that one would have least liked tosee. All things considered Cecil carried it off creditably, and greetedher unexpected visitor with sufficient cordiality. Mark took her offeredhand gravely, without eagerness, not holding it an instant longer thanwas necessary. Then he spoke--

"They told me I should find you alone. I was so anxious to do so as soonas possible, that I ventured to break in upon you even at thisunseasonable hour. You will guess that I had powerful reasons. "

The Tresilyan threw back her haughty head, as a war-horse might do atthe first blast of the trumpet: she scented battle in the wind. 

"Will you be good enough to explain yourself?" she said, as she took herown seat again, and motioned him into another; "I am sure you would nottrifle with me, or vex me unnecessarily. "

Waring did not avail himself of the chair indicated, but crossed hisarms over the back of it, and stood so, regarding her intently. 

"You only do me justice there, " he replied; "I will speak briefly, andplainly too. I came here from Nice to ask you how much truth there is inthe reports that couple your name with Major Keene's?"

No one likes to give the death-blow to the loyalty of a faithfuladherent, be he ever so humble; and Cecil was bitterly pained that shecould not speak truly, and satisfy him. Her face sank lower and lower, till it was buried in her hands. Nothing more was needed to convinceWaring that his worst fears were realized; for a moment or two he feltsick and faint. No wonder; he had given up hope long ago, but not trustand faith; now, these were blasted utterly. In any religion, whethertrue or false, the fanatic is happier, if not wiser, than the infidel;if you can not replace it with a better, it is cruel to shake thefoundation of the simplest creed. Mark's voice--hollow, and hoarse, andchanged--could not but betray his agony. 

"God help us both! Has it come to this--that you have no words to answerme, when I dare to hint at your dishonor?"

She looked up quickly, flushing to her white brow, rose-red with anger. 

"I will not endure this, even from you. Understand at once--I deny yourright to question me. " The clear blue eyes met the violet ones with asteady, judicial calmness, undazzled by their ominous lightning. 

"Listen to me quietly--two minutes longer, " he said, "and then resentmy presumption as much as you will. Three years ago it pleased you tomake me the subject of an experiment. How far you acted heedlessly, andin ignorance of the consequences, I have never stopped to inquire--itwould be wasting time; the sophistries of coquetry are too subtle forme. I only know what the result has been. Before I met you I could haveoffered to any woman, who thought it worth her acceptance, a healthy, honest love; now--even if I could conquer my present infatuation--Icould only offer a feeling something warmer than friendship; to promisemore would be base treachery. Do you think I would stand by God's altarwith a worse lie than Ananias's on my lips? Is it nothing that, togratify your vanity or your whims, you should have condemned a man, whose blood is not frozen yet, to something worse than widowhood forlife? My religion may be a false and vain idolatry; but it is all I haveto trust to. I will not stand patiently by and see the image that I havebowed down to worship pilloried for the world to scorn. Now--do you denymy right to interfere?"

His words had a rude energy, though little eloquence; but they came soevidently from the depths of a strong, troubled heart, that they causeda revulsion in Cecil's feelings; returning remorse bore down herstubborn pride. Very low and plaintive was the whisper--"Ah! havemercy--have mercy; you make me so unhappy;" but there came a morepiteous appeal from her eyes. In Mark's stout manhood was an element ofmore than womanish compassion and tenderness; he never could bear to seeeven a child in tears; no wonder if his anger vanished before thecontrition of the one being whom he loved far better than life. He lostsight of his own wrongs instantly, but _not_ of the object he had inview. 

"Forgive me for speaking so roughly; I ought to have declined yourchallenge. I behaved better once, you remember. But be patient while Iplead for the right, though, if you would but listen to them, prudenceand your own conscience could do that better than I. When infatuationexists, it is worse than useless to prove the object of it unworthy, soI will not attempt to blacken Major Keene's character; besides, it isnot to my taste to attack men in their absence. I fear there are fewcapitals in Europe where his name is not too well known. From what Ihave heard, I believe his wife was most in fault when they separated, but the life he has led since deprives him of all right to complain ofher, or condemn her. Recollect you have only heard one side. But it isnot a question of his eligibility as an acquaintance. There is thesimple fact--he is married, and your name being connected with hisinvolves disgrace. You can not have fallen yet so far as to be recklessabout such an imputation. In my turn I say, 'Have mercy!' Do not forceme henceforth to disbelieve in the purity of any created thing. "

Cecil could only murmur, "It is too late--too late!" The ghastly look ofhorror that swept over Waring's face showed that his thoughts had gonebeyond the truth. "I mean, " she went on, blushing painfully, "that Ihave promised. "

"Promised!" Mark repeated in high disdain; "I have lived too long when Ihear such devil's logic from your lips. You know full well there is moresin in keeping than in breaking such engagements. I will try to saveyou in spite of yourself. Listen. I do not threaten; I know you wellenough to be certain that such an argument would be the strongesttemptation to you to persevere in taking your own course. I simply tellyou what I will do. I shall speak to your brother first; if he can notunderstand his duty, or shrinks from it, I will carry out what I believeto be mine. I utterly disapprove of and despise the practice of dueling, but, at any risk, I _will_ stand between you and Major Keene. He shallnot gain possession of you while I am alive. When I am dead, if youtouch his hand, you shall know that my blood is upon it, and the guiltshall be on your own head. I believe that in keeping you apart I shouldact kindly toward both. I do him this justice--it would make himmiserable to see you pining away. There are limits to human endurance, and you are too proud to bear dishonor. "

Cecil felt that every word he had spoken was good and true, and that hewould not waver in his purpose for an instant. She remembered how, whenthey were returning together four days ago, the sidelong glance of amatronly Pharisee had lighted on her in a spiteful triumph, and how, though neither of them alluded to it afterward, the dark-red flash ofanger had mounted to Royston's forehead. She had ceased to care forherself, but could she not save _him_ while yet there was time? Andmore--had she not wrought wrong enough to Mark Waring without having hismurder on her soul? for she never doubted as to the result if those twoshould meet as foes. 

They talk of hair that has grown gray in the briefest space of mentalanguish. It is all a delusion and an old wife's fable. When Cecil rosethe next morning there was not a silver line in her tresses. Outwardsigns of the mortal struggle, while it lasted, there were none, for herclasped hands veiled her face jealously; when she raised it, her cheekwas paler than death and wet with an awful dew, and when she spoke hervoice retained not one cadence of its wonted melody. 

"You have prevailed, as the truth always ought to prevail. Now tell mewhat to do. "

Mark Waring would have drained his heart's blood drop by drop to havelightened one throb of her agony, but he never thought of flinching fromhis purpose. 

"There are perils where the only safety lies in flight. You must leavethis before Major Keene returns, and he returns to-morrow. "

Perhaps I have failed in making you understand one hereditarypeculiarity of the Tresilyans. When their hand was fairly laid to theplow they were incapable of looking back. Had Mark come ten hours later, when Cecil's purpose was absolutely fixed, all his arguments would havebeen futile. As it was, once having decided finally on the line she wasto take, it never occurred to her to make farther objections. "Yes, Iwill go, " she said; "but I must write to him. "

"I think you ought to do so, " answered Waring, "and if you will give methe letter I will deliver it myself. "

Every vestige of the returning color faded from Cecil's cheek. "You donot know him: I dare not trust you. " He misinterpreted the cause of herterror. "I promise you that, however angry Major Keene may be, I willbear it patiently, and never dream of resenting it. He is safe from menow. "

She smiled very sadly, yet not without a dreary pride; she could haveseen Royston pitted against any mortal antagonist, and never would havefeared for _him_. "You scarcely understand me; I was not anxious for hissafety, but for yours. "

Mark was too brave and single-hearted to suspect a taunt, even had suchbeen intended. "Then there is nothing more to be settled, " he said, quietly, "but the time and manner of your departure. I will leave younow; I shall see you before you go. "

Cecil Tresilyan rose and laid her hand on his arm, her beautiful facefixed in its firm resolve like that of one of those fair Norse Valas, from whose rigid lips flowed the bode of defeat or victory, when theVikings went forth to the Feast of the Ravens. 

"I am not angry with one word you have said to-night; you have onlyexpressed what my own cowardly conscience ought to have uttered;nevertheless, to-morrow sees our last meeting. All your account againstme is fairly balanced now. I do not know what I may have to suffer, butI do know that I _will_ be alone till I die. Perhaps some day I maythank you in my thoughts for what you have done; I can not--now. "

With a heavy heart Waring owned to himself that her words were bitterlytrue. In curing such diseases, the physician must work without hope ofreward or fee; it will be long before the patient can touch without ashudder the hand that inflicted the saving cautery. 

Her tone changed, and she went on murmuring, low and plaintively, as ifin soliloquy and unconscious of another's presence. 

"I could not help loving him, though I knew it was sin; if there isshame in confessing it, I can not feel it yet. I wish I had toldhim--_once_--how dearly I loved him; I shall never be able to whisper itto him now, and I dare not write it. No, he will not forget me as he hasforgotten others; but he will hate me, and call me false, and fickle, and cold. Cold--if he could only read my heart! I never read it myselftill now, when we must be parted forever. "

Is it pleasant, think you, to listen to such words as these, uttered bythe woman that you have worshiped, even if it be hopelessly, for years?Men have gone mad under lighter tortures than those that Mark Waring wasthen forced to endure. But he knew that it was the extremity of heranguish that had hardened for a season Cecil's gentle, generous, nature, and made her heedless of the pain she inflicted. So he answered in aslow, steady voice, such as we employ when trying to calm the ravings ofa fever-fit:

"Hush! you speak wildly. My presence here does you no good. You maythink of me as hardly as you will; perhaps time will soften yourjudgment; if not--I shall still not repent to-night's work. I will comefor your letter at the moment of your departure. Good-night; I pray thatGod may help you now, and guard you always. " He raised her hand and justtouched it with his lips, with the same grave courtesy that had markedhis manner when they parted last, three years ago, and in another secondCecil was alone again. 

She was not long in recovering from her bewilderment; and when Mrs. Danvers returned she was perfectly collected and calm. It is not worthwhile recording Bessie's noisy expressions of astonishment and delight, nor describing Dick Tresilyan's way of receiving notice of the suddenchange in their plans. His stolid composure was not greatly disturbedthereby; he muttered, under his breath, some sulky anathemas on "womenwho never knew their own minds;" but this was only because he considereda growl to be the form of protest suitable to the circumstances and dueto his masculine dignity. On the whole, he was rather glad to go. It hadbecome evident, even to his dull comprehension, that great mischief wasbrewing somewhere, and for days he had been in a state of hazyapprehension--as he expressed it, "not seeing his way out of it at all. "So he set about his part of the preparations for their exodus with aright good will. Neither will we give the details of Cecil's partingwith _la mignonne_. The latter was so rejoiced at the idea of herfriend's being out of harm's way that she did not question her much asto the reasons for such an abrupt departure: it was not till afterwardthat she learned that it had been brought about by the influence ofWaring. It is unnecessary to mention that the adieus were notaccomplished without a certain amount of tears; but they were all shedby Fanny Molyneux. Cecil dared not yet trust herself to weep. She took afar more formal farewell of Mr. Fullarton, and the chaplain did not evenventure a parting benediction. 

The heavy traveling-chariot, with its hundred cunning contrivances, ispacked at last, and Karl, the accomplished courier, wiping from hisblonde mustache the drops of the stirrup-cup, touches his cap with hisaccustomed formula, "Zi ces dames zont brêtes?" Mark Waring leans overthe carriage door to say "Good-by:" the hand he presses lies in hisgrasp, unresponsive and unsympathetic as a splinter from an iceberg. Hissad, earnest look pleads in vain, for there is no softening or kindnessin Cecil's desolate, dreamy eyes. The road on which they are to travelis the same for some leagues as that along which Royston Keene mustreturn, and she is thinking, divided between hope and fear, if there maynot be a possibility of their meeting. The wheels move, and hastyfarewells are waved, and Mark stands there half stupefied, unconsciousof any thing but a sense of lonely wretchedness. The one solitary linkthat still binds him to Cecil Tresilyan will be severed when the letteris delivered that he holds in his hand. 

As the carriage swept round the corner of the terrace, it passed closeto the spot where Armand de Châteaumesnil sat basking in the sunshine. The invalid lifted his cap in courteous adieu, but his face grew dark, and his shaggy brows were knit savagely. 

"On l'a triché donc, après tout, " he muttered; "Sang Dieu! les absensont diablement tort. " Sunk as she was at that moment in gloomymeditations, Cecil never forgot that the last object on which her eyeslighted in Dorade was the blasted wreck of the crippled Algerian. 

Molyneux and his wife stood silent till their friends were quite out ofsight, then Harry turned slowly round and gazed at his _mignonne_. Heknew that the same thought was in both their minds, for her sweet facewas paler than his own. (Neither of them guessed at the truth, and theysaw in Mark Waring nothing more than an old acquaintance of theTresilyans. )

"Royston will be here in four hours, " he said, "and who will tell himthis? _I_ dare not. "

Fanny feigned a carelessness that she was far from feeling. 

"I don't know how that is to be managed, but I believe it is all for thebest. He can't kill either of us; that is some comfort. "

Harry did not smile; his countenance wore an expression of graveanxiety, such as had seldom appeared there. 

"No, he will not hurt us, but I fear he will have _some one's_ bloodbefore all is done. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

It was past nightfall when Major Keene returned to Dorade. As he drovepast the hotel where the Tresilyans lodged he looked up at the windowsof their apartments, and was somewhat surprised to _see_ no light there;but no suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He had made allpreparations for the intended flight with his habitual skill andforesight. The Levantine steamer left Marseilles early on the thirdmorning from this, and relays were so ordered along the road as toprevent the possibility of being overtaken, and just to hit the hour ofthe vessel's sailing. So far every thing seemed to promise favorably forthe accomplishment of his purposes, and Royston could not have explainedeven to himself the reason of his feeling so moody and discontented. Hewent straight to his own rooms, without looking in at the Molyneuxs';for he was heated and travel-stained; and, under such circumstances, waswont to postpone the greeting of friends to the exigencies of thetoilet. This was scarcely concluded when his servant brought him MarkWaring's card, with a request penciled on it for an immediate interview. 

Even the Cool Captain started perceptibly when he read the name. He waswell acquainted with the episode connected with it; for Cecil had keptback none of her secrets from him, and this was among the earliestconfidences. _Then_ he had felt no inclination to sneer; but now his lipbegan to curl cynically. 

"_Coramba!_" he muttered; "the plot begins to thicken. What brings theold lover _en scène_? I hope he does not mean to make himselfdisagreeable. I haven't time to quarrel just now; and, besides, it wouldworry Cecil. Well, we'll find out what he wants. Tell Mr. Waring that Iam disengaged, and shall be happy to see him. "

The major advanced to meet his visitor with a manner that was perfectlycourteous, though it retained a tinge of haughty surprise. 

"I can not guess to what I am indebted for this pleasure, " he said. "Pardon me, if I ask you to explain your object as briefly as possible. I have much to do this evening, and my time is hardly my own. "

Waring gazed fixedly at the speaker for a few seconds before he replied. Like most of his profession, he was an acute physiognomist, and in thatbrief space he fathomed much of the character of the man who had rivaledhim successfully. He confessed honestly to himself that there weregrounds, if not excuse, for Cecil's infatuation; but he shrank fromthinking of the danger which she had escaped so narrowly. 

"Yes, I will be as brief as possible, " Mark answered at length. "Neitherof us will be tempted to prolong this interview unnecessarily. I havepromised to deliver a letter to you, and when you have read it I shallhave but very few words to say. "

A stronger proof than Keene had ever yet given of superhuman controlover his emotions was the fact that, neither by quivering of eyelid, change of color, or motion of muscle, did he betray the faintestastonishment or concern as he took the letter from Waring, andrecognized Cecil's hand on the cover. It was not a long epistle, for itscarcely extended beyond two sides of a note-sheet. The writing washurried, and in places almost illegible: it had entirely lost the firm, even character which usually distinguished it, from which a verymoderate graphiologist might have drawn successful auguries. Perhapsthis was the reason that Royston read it through twice slowly. As he didso his countenance altered fearfully; the deadly white look of dangerouspassion overspread it all, and his eyes began to gleam. Yet still hespoke calmly--"You knew of this being written?"

"I am happy to say I was more than passively conscious of it, " Markreplied. "I did all in my power to bring about the result that you arenow made aware of, and I thank God that I did not fail. "

While the other was speaking Royston was tearing up the paper he heldinto the smallest shreds, and dropping them one by one. The act mighthave been involuntary, but seemed to have a savage viciousness about it, as if a living thing were being tortured by those cruel fingers. (Thepoor letter! whatever its faults might have been, it surely deserved abetter fate: it was doubtless not a model of composition, but some ofthe epistles which have moved us most in our time, either for joy orsorrow, might not in this respect emulate Montague or Chapone. ) Still hecontrolled himself, with a mighty effort, enough to ask, steadily, "Wereyou weary of your life, to have done all this, and then come here totell me so?"

Waring laughed drearily. 

"Weary? So weary that, if it had not been for scruples you can notunderstand, I would have got rid of it long ago. But I need not inflictmy confidences on you, and I don't choose to see the drift of yourquestion. "

The devil had so thoroughly by this time possessed Royston Keene, thateven his voice was changed into a hoarse, guttural whisper. "I asked, because I mean to kill you. "

Mark's gaze met the savage eyes that gleamed like a famished panther's, with an expression too calm for defiance, though there might have beenperhaps a shade of contempt. 

"Of course I shall guard my own life as best I may, either here orelsewhere, but I do not apprehend it is in great danger. There is an oldproverb about 'threatened men;' they are not killed so easily as womenare betrayed. Beyond the simplest self-defense, I warn you that I shallnot resent any insult or attack. I will not meet you in the field; andas for any personal struggle, I don't think that even you would like tomake Cecil Tresilyan the occasion for a broil that might suit twodrunken peasants. "

Though shorter by half a head, and altogether cast in a less colossalmould, as he stood there, with his square, well-knit frame, and boldSaxon face, he looked no contemptible antagonist to confront the swarthygiant. In utter insensibility to fear and carelessness of consequences(so far as they could affect a steady resolve), the Cool Captain had methis match at last. Even then, in the crisis of his stormy passion, hewas able to appreciate a hardihood so congenial to his own character;pondering upon these things afterward, he always confessed that at thisjuncture, and indeed all throughout, his opponent had very much the bestof it. Ferocity and violence seemed puerile and out of place whencontrasted with that tranquil audacity. He covered his eyes with hishand for a moment or so, and when he raised his face it had recoveredits natural impassibility, though the ghastly pallor still remained. Besides, the truth of Waring's last words struck him forcibly. Hemuttered under his breath, "By G--d, he's right _there_, at all events;"then he said aloud, "Well, it appears you won't fight, so there islittle more to be said between us. You think you can thwart my purposesor mould them as you like. We'll try it. I told you I had many things todo to-night: I have one more than I dreamed of on hand. I wish to bealone. "

Mark gazed wistfully at the speaker without stirring from his seat. "Iknow what your intention is perfectly well. You mean to follow her. Ibelieve it would be quite in vain; you have misjudged Cecil Tresilyan, if you fancy that she would alter her determination twice. But you mightgive her great pain, and compromise her more cruelly than you have donealready. There are obstacles now in your way that you could notencounter without causing open scandal. Her brother's suspicions arefairly roused by this time, and he can not help doing his duty: he maybe weak and credulous, but he is no coward. There is no fear of fartherinterference from me: my part is played. But I do beseech you to pause. Supposing the very worst--that you could still succeed in persuadingCecil to her ruin--are you prepared deliberately to accept theconsequences of the crime? You are far more experienced in such mattersthan I: do you know a single instance of such guilt being accomplishedwhere _both_, before the year was ended, did not wish it undone? I donot pretend to be interested about your future; but I believe I amspeaking now as your dearest friend might speak. You both deludeyourselves miserably if you think that Cecil could live under disgrace. I do you so much justice. You would find it unendurable to see herwithering away day by day, with no prospect before her but a hopelessdeath. In God's name, draw back while there is time. It is only a sharpstruggle, and self-command and self-denial will come. Loneliness isbitter to bear: _I_ know that; but what is manhood worth if it can notbear its burdens? I have put every thing on the lowest grounds, and Iwill ask you one question more--you might guard her from some sufferingby hiding her from the world's scorn--could you guard yourself againstsatiety?"

He spoke without a trace of anger or animosity, and the grave, kindtones made some way in the winding avenues leading to Royston's heart. Besides this, the last word struck the chord of the misgiving that hadhaunted him ever since he proposed the flight, and had already made himhalf repent it. But the fortress did not yet surrender. 

"All this while you have had some idea of improving your own positionwith Cecil. It is natural enough: yet I fancy you will find yourselfmistaken there. "

Instead of flushing at the taunt, Waring's face grew paler, and thereshot across it a sharp spasm of pain. 

"So you can not understand disinterestedness, " he said. "Before Iventured on interference, I was aware of the certain consequences, andweighed them all. Miss Tresilyan thought she had done me some wrong; andI trusted to her generosity to help me when I spoke for the right. But Iknew that the spell could only be used once, and that the canceled debtcould not be revived. I shall never speak to her--perhaps never seeher--on earth again. Do you imagine I love her less for that? Hear this:I suppose I have as much pride as most men; but I would kneel down hereand set your foot on my neck if I thought the humiliation would save herone iota of shame or sorrow. "

Keene was fairly vanquished. He was filled with a great contempt for hisown guilty passion, compared with the pure self-sacrifice of Mark'ssimple chivalry. He raised his eyes from the ground, on which they hadbeen bent gloomily while the other was speaking, and answered withouthesitation, "I owe you some amends for much that has been said to-night;and I will not keep you in suspense a moment unnecessarily. I shallleave Dorade to-morrow; but it will not be to follow Cecil Tresilyan. More than this: if there is any chance of our meeting hereafter, on myhonor, I will avoid it. I wish many things could be unsaid and undone;but nothing has occurred that is past remedy. As far as any futureintentions of mine are concerned, I swear she is as safe as if she weremy sister. "

Waring drew a long breath, as if a ponderous weight had been lifted fromhis chest. "I believe you, " he said simply: then he rose to go. He hadalmost reached the door, when he turned suddenly and stretched out hishand. It was a perfectly unaccountable and perhaps involuntary impulse;for he still could not absolve the other from dark and heavy guilt. Themajor held it for a few seconds in a gripe that would have paralyzedweaker fingers: even Mark's tough joints and muscles were long inforgetting it. He muttered these words between his teeth as he let itgo--"_You_ were worthy of her. " So the interview ended--in peace. Nevertheless, there was little peace that night for Royston Keene; hepassed it alone--how, no mortal can know; but the next morning hisappearance fully bore out the truth of the ancient aphorism, "There isno rest for the wicked. " His face was set in the stoniest calmness, butthe features were haggard and drawn, and fresh lines and furrows werethere deeper than should have been engraved by half a score of years. Aviolent, passionate nature does not lightly resign the one object ofits aims and desires. Larches and firs will bear moving cautiously, forthey are well-regulated plants, and natives of a frigid zone; buttransplanting rarely succeeds in the tropics. 

Harry Molyneux came to his friend's apartments early on the followingday, in a very uncomfortable and perplexed frame of mind. In the firstplace, he was sensible of that depression of spirits which is always theportion of those who are left behind when any social circle is broken upby the removal of its principal elements. There is no such nuisance ashaving to stay and put the lights out. Besides this, he was quiteuncertain in what temper Royston would be found; and apprehended somedesperate outbreak from the latter, which would bring things, alreadysufficiently complicated, into a more perilous coil. 

Keene's first abrupt words in part reassured him. 

"Well, it is all over; and I am going straight back to England. "

Harry felt so relieved that he forgot to be considerate: he could notrepress his exultation. 

"Is it really all over? I am so very glad!"

"And I am not sorry, " was the reply. The speaker probably persuadedhimself that he was uttering the truth; but the dreary, hopelessexpression of his stricken face gave his words the lie. It cut deep intoMolyneux's kind heart; he felt more painfully than he had ever done thedifficulty of reconciling his evident duty with the demand of an ancientfriendship; on the whole, a guilty consciousness of treacherypredominated. He was discreet enough to forbear all questions, and itwas not till long afterward that he heard an outline of part of what hadhappened in the past night; it was told in a letter from Miss Tresilyanto his wife. Had he been more inquisitive, his curiosity would scarcelyhave been gratified. To do Keene justice, he guarded the secrets ofothers more jealously than he kept his own: and he would have despisedhimself for revealing one of Cecil's, even to his old comrade, withouther knowledge and leave. If the feeling which prompted such reticencewas not a high and delicate sense of honor, it was at least a veryefficient substitute for a profitable virtue. 

"You go to England?" Molyneux went on, after a brief pause. "When do youstart? and what do you mean to do?"

Royston looked up, and saw his own discontent reflected in thecountenance of his faithful subaltern; he knew he had found there thesympathy that he was too proud to ask of any living man. 

"I start to-night, " he replied; "so you see I have no time to lose. Ican hardly tell you what I mean to do, Hal. Do you remember what we saidabout the best way of spending our resources? Well--I have broken intomy last large note; and I suppose I must get rid somehow of the change. "

Harry's answer was not very ready, nor very distinct when it came. "Iwish--I wish, I could help you!"

For one moment, there returned to Keene's disciplined face a good, natural expression, which had been a stranger there since the days ofhis hot youth; when he first went forth to buckle with the world--frank, and honest, and fearless; his voice, too, had softened almost totenderness. "Old friend, the time has come to say good-by. Our roadshave been the same--for longer than I like to think of: but henceforththey must lie so far apart, that I doubt if they will ever cross again. You will see me off, I know; but I may not be able to say then a dozenwords that I should be sorry to leave unsaid. I'll do you thisjustice--in no one instance have I ever seen you flinch when I wantedyour help; though often you had no object of your own to serve. Ibelieve no man ever had a cheerier comrade, or a better backer. I don'tlike you the worse for standing aloof during the last five weeks. Inever had one unpleasant word from you; but if any of mine have vexed oroffended you--see now--I ask your forgiveness from the bottom of myheart. "

It is no shame to Harry's manhood that he could not answer intelligibly;but ten sentences of elaborate sentiment would hardly have been soeloquent as the pressure of his honest hand. 

Later in the day, Keene went to take leave of _la mignonne_. He did sowith pain and reluctance. Men, utterly hard and merciless toward theirown species, have been very fond of their pets; even when these lastbelonged to an inferior order of creation. Couthon would fondle hisspaniel while he was signing a sheaf of death-warrants; and the Prophet, who could contemplate placidly a dozen cities in flames, and watch humanhecatombs falling under the sword of Omar or Ali, cut off the sleeve ofhis robe rather than disturb a favorite cat in her slumbers. 

Nevertheless, when two people agree to ignore carefully the one subjectthat is uppermost in the thoughts of both, the result must be anuncomfortable constraint and reserve. So the adieus, up to a certainpoint, were rather formal. But just as he was going, the same impulseovercame Royston which had affected him in his interview with HarryMolyneux. Considering that the age of miracles is past, it wasremarkable that twice in one day the Cool Captain should have approachedso near to the verge of sentimentalism. 

"I hope that I shall see you again before long, " he said, "but nothingseems certain--not even the meeting of friends. I should like to thankyou now for some pleasant days and evenings. You have brought a gooddeal of sunshine into my life, since I knew you first. I like to thinkthat, neither in deed nor intention, I have ever deliberately done youor Harry any harm. I hope you will go on taking as much care of him, andmaking him as perfectly happy as you have done. Perhaps I have vexed youboth, lately; but all that is over, and I fancy the punishment will beproportionate to the offense before it is ended. Farewell. Don't forgetme sooner than you can help; and while you do remember me, think of meas kindly as you can. "

He leaned over her as he finished speaking, and his lips just brushedher smooth forehead. When Charles the martyr embraced his children anhour before his death, they received no purer or more sinless kiss. Asob choked Fanny's voice when she would have replied; and the beautifulbrown eyes were so dim with rushing tears, that they never saw him go. 

Keene's last visit in Dorade was to the Vicomte de Châteaumesnil. Thelatter manifested no surprise at the sudden departure, and expressed hisregrets with a perfectly calm courtesy. But, at the moment ofleave-taking, he detained the other's hand for a second or so and said, looking wistfully in his face, "Ainsi, vous partez seul? je ne l'auraispas cru; et, je l'avoue franchement, ça me contrarie. N'importe; jeconnois votre jeu; et je ne vous tiens pas pour battu, quand c'estmanche à. Ce serait une bêtise, de dire--'au revoir. ' Adieu; amusez vousbien. "

Royston shook his head impatiently; he was too proud to save his creditby dissembling a defeat; and his reply was quick and decisive. 

"Vous me flattez, M. Le Vicomte. Quand on perd, on doit, au moinsl'avouer loyalement, et payer l'en jeu. Cette fois j'ai tant perdu, queje ne prendrai pas la revanche. "

Not another word was exchanged between them; but Armand had acceptedrepulses in his time with more equanimity than he could muster whenruminating afterward on the discomfiture of Royston Keene. 

Some days later the subject was discussed at the Cercle, and one of the_habitués_ hazarded several cunning conjectures, and more than cynicalsurmises. (Did you ever hear a thoroughly profligate Frenchman sneer awoman's character away? It is almost worth while overcoming your disgustto listen to the diabolical ingenuity of his innuendoes. The scandal ofour bitterest dowagers sounds charitable by comparison. ) The savageoutbreak of the Algerian's temper, that every one had long beenexpecting, came at last with a vengeance. 

"Tu mens, canaille! C'est le meilleur éloge de M. Keene, que les maranscomme toi, ne puissent le comprendre. Quand à Mademoiselle--elle vautmille fois tes soeurs, et ta mère. Si tu as le coeur de pousserl'affaire, je te donnerai raison sur mes béquilles. Pour le pistolet, mamain n'est pas encore percluse. " He held it out, as steady and strong asit was in the old days when it could sway the sabre from dawn totwilight and never know weariness. 

If the other persuaded himself that consideration for the invalid'sinfirmities made him patient under the insult, his friends were lessromantically credulous: the stigma of that night cleaves to him still. Brazen it out as he may, the hang-dog look remains, telling us that thebarriers have been at least once broken down which separate the man fromthe serf. There would be, perhaps, less mischief abroad if slander werealways so promptly and amply avenged. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Not long after the events here recorded came a time that we all rememberright well, when, without note of preparation, the war-trumpets soundedfrom the east and the north; when Europe woke up, like a giantrefreshed, from the slumber of a forty years' peace, and took downdisused weapons from the wall, and donned a rusted armor. It was a timerife with romantic episodes, and, as such seasons must ever be, fraughtwith peril to the prudence of womankind. There was perpetual recurrenceof the striking antithesis which happened at Brussels before Waterloo, when the roll of the distant cannon at Quatre Bras mingled with themusic of the duchess's ball. The coldest reserve is apt to melt rapidly, and the most skillful coquetry is brought to bay, when opposed topleading urged possibly for the last time. Those were days of rebuke andblasphemy to "the gentlemen of England who sat at home at ease;" andeven the Foreign Office "irresistibles" could hardly hold their own. What chance have the honeyed words of the accomplished civilian againstthe simple eloquence of the soldier, who speaks with his life in hishand? Truly there were many conquests then achieved of which the worldknew nothing, for the victor never came back to claim his prize. 

When the funeral of the Great Duke went by, it was easy to find faultwith some of the details of that pretentious pageant; but which of uswas cool enough to criticise, on the gray February morning, when theGuards marched out? There were practiced veterans enough to be found intheir ranks; and each of these perhaps could number some who loved himdearly; but none in the column won such hearty sympathy as those "trimsubalterns, holding their swords daintily, " who went forth to their doomgayly and gallantly, as if pestilence were not lying in ambush atfever-stricken Varna, and lines of hungry graves waiting for their preyin the bleak Chersonese. Surely there were sadder faces at home than anythat lined the road; and the anxious crowd at the station representedvery inadequately the "girls they left behind them. "

When the first certain rumors of war prevailed, Royston Keene wasshooting woodcocks in the Hebrides; he hastened back to town without amoment's delay. We know how quick and unerring, on such occasions, isthe instinct of the Rapacidæ. His object was to get on theactive-service list as soon as possible. With his powerful interest andhigh reputation, this was not difficult; and he was soon gazetted to aLight Cavalry regiment. But he did not go out with the firstdetachments, and the summer was far advanced when he reached the Crimea. 

There was great jubilation at his coming. Many out there knew himpersonally, well; and others rejoiced at having the opportunity ofjudging for themselves if he really deserved his fame. It soon becameapparent that the Cool Captain was strangely altered. To be sure, theopportunities for general conviviality were few, for mess-rooms andante-rooms were phantoms of the imagination, or only pleasant memories;still, there was a certain amount of agreeable though select _réunions_, where the vintages of Bordeaux and Burgundy were sufficiently replacedby regulation rum. At these Royston appeared rarely; and when he didshow there, was remarkably silent, and apt to let a favorableopportunity, even for a sarcasm, go by. He seemed to prefer the solitudeof his own tent to the most tempting inducements of society. Menremembered afterward how, if they went in and found him alone, he wasalways busy with his revolver, or playing with his sabre. He had refusedtwo advantageous offers of staff appointments, for no apparent reasonexcept the desire not to be out of the way if any work were to be done:and scarcely a day passed when he was not up at head-quarters, trying tofind out if there was any chance of a break in the long inaction of thecavalry. Whether it was that the old blood-thirstiness had waked againin a congenial atmosphere, or whether a great weariness weighing on hisspirits made him so impatient and restless, none can know for certain. Again I say, let us not sift motives too inquisitively. 

It is the morning of the 25th of October, and a lull comes between thestorm-gusts. The "Heavies" have just taken up their position, after thatmagnificent charge, in which the Russian lancers were scattered likedead leaves in autumn when the wind is blowing freshly. There aremurmurs of discontent running the ranks of the Light Brigade; it seemsas if _their_ chance was never coming. One of his intimates grumbles asmuch to Royston Keene. The Cool Captain straightens a stray lock of hischarger's mane, and answers, with his old provoking smile, "Don't fret yourself, George. I have a presentiment that we shall getrid of the 'fidgets' before we sleep. See--_that_ looks like business. "

It seemed as if a spirit of prophecy possessed him; for even while hewas speaking, the aide-de-camp came down at speed. There was a pausewhile that message was delivered, the exact words of which will never beknown--for you can not summon the dead as witnesses; then a briefhesitation, and a dozen sentences exchanged between the first and secondin command; and then--every trooper in the Brigade understood what hehad to do. Many drew true and evil augury from the cloud lowering on thestern features of the "Haughty Earl. "

Keene had been under fire oftener than most there, and his practiced eyetook in and appreciated every item of the peril; nevertheless, his browcleared, and all his face lighted up strangely. 

"What did I tell you, young one?" he said to the man who had addressedhim just before; "it will be warmer work than the old Phoenixfield-days; but one comfort is, it won't last so long. "

Before the words were fairly uttered the trumpets rang out; and with agayer laugh on his lip than it had worn for many a day, the Cool Captainled his squadron gallantly into Aceldama. 

We will not describe the charge. Enthusiasts are not wanting who wouldrather have ridden in it than have won the highest distinction to whichcivilians can aspire. Who dares to object that it was not ultimatelysuccessful? Such a taunt has never been weighed in the balance againstthe glories of Thermopylæ. I frequently meet in society one of thePaladins of that fatal Roncesvalles. In private life he has fewpeculiarities, except a tendency to engage in each and every game ofchance, and a perfect monomania for waltzing. Yet I regard him with animmense respect and reverence, that the object of the feeling would bethe last to understand. I think of the awful peril out of which thedelicate, feminine face has come without a scar; and I protest I wouldno more dream of speaking to him angrily or slightingly, than I wouldventure to discourse about the Derby to the Bishop of O----, or to offerto that dignified prelate the current odds against the favorite. Relyupon it, in many homes of England (if the Manchestrians leave themstanding) there will be one family portrait that our children will mostdelight to honor. Pointing out to strangers the crowning glory of theirhouse, they will pass by grave effigies of lawyers, ecclesiastics, andstatesmen, and pause opposite to a martial figure, dressed in theuniform of a light dragoon. All his ancestors shall give precedence tothe simple soldier, who rode that day in the van of the Six Hundred. 

Yes, we will leave that charge alone. The most hackneyed of professional_littérateurs_ might shrink from sitting down to his writing-desk, tomake merchandise of such a "deed of _derring-do_. " Nevertheless, RoystonKeene bore his part in it manfully; and the troopers talk yet of thefeats of skill and strength wrought by his sabre. 

The immunity from dangers of shot and steel for which he had been alwaysremarkable, did not seem to have deserted him; for he had come out ofthe batteries without a scratch, and had fought his way through morethan one knot and peloton of the enemy, with no scathe beyond a slightflesh-wound. In one of these encounters he had got separated from suchremnants of his squadron as still held together (you know even regimentslost their unity in that terrible _mêlée_), the only man who still keptnear him was his covering-sergeant. All this while the fire from theRussian guns on the hill-side grew heavier and heavier, while the cruelgrape-shot ripped through the mingled masses of friends and foes: makingsudden, unsightly gaps here and there, just as may be seen in a field ofripe corn "laid" by the lashing hail. The good horse on which Keene wasmounted had not been out from England long enough to suffer materiallyin wind or limb; he was in very fair condition, and had carried hismaster splendidly so far, with equal luck in escaping any seriousinjury. Five hundred yards more would have placed them in safety, withinthe position where the Heavy Brigade was already moving up to cover theretreat of their comrades, when the Templar, going at top-speed, pitchedsuddenly forward, as a ship does when she founders; and, after rollingonce half over his rider, lay still, with limbs just faintly quivering. Two grape-shot, making one wound, had crashed right into his chest andthrough the heart. 

His covering-sergeant was within three lengths of Royston when thelatter went down: he pulled up and sprang down instantly, and was by hisofficer's side in a second, trying to extricate him. 

"Hold up, Major, " he said cheerily; "that's nothing. Take my horse. He'll carry you in; and I can manage well enough. "

The strong soldier reeled, from sheer weakness, as he was speaking; forthe blood was spouting in dark-red jets from a ghastly cut in his bridlearm: yet he seemed to see nothing in his offer but a simple act of duty;though men have won a place in history for meaner self-sacrifice. One ofthe most remarkable peculiarities about the Cool Captain was the hold hemaintained over the affections and impulses of those with whom he wasbrought in contact, without any visible reason for such influence. Hewas the strictest possible disciplinarian; and his demeanor toward hissubordinates was consistently dictatorial; yet the present case was onlyone instance of the enthusiasm with which they regarded him. 

Keene looked up at the speaker wistfully, from where he lay; and hisface softened in its set sternness. 

"You're a good fellow, Davis, " he said; "but I would not avail myself ofyour generosity if I could. I can't take much credit for refusing it. Mythigh is broken; and I am hurt besides. I couldn't keep the saddle forten seconds. Draw my right gauntlet off, and take my ring; you deserveit better than the Cossacks. Keep it as long as you like; it will alwaysbring you a fifty, if you get hard up. And take _this_ too. " He put hishand into the breast of his uniform; but drew it back quickly. "No: itshall stay with me while I live. "

His tone and manner were just the same as if he had met with a heavyfall, out hunting, and were answering some good-natured friend who hadstopped to pick him up. 

The trooper took the ring; but he lingered still. Royston saw a knot ofthe enemy sweeping down on them, like ravens on a stag wounded to thedeath; his voice resumed its wonted accent of irresistible command. 

"Did you hear what I said? I told you to go. Those devils will be downon us in less than a minute. I have not fired one barrel of my revolver, and I'm good for one or two of them yet. "

The habit of obedience, more than the instinct of self-preservation, made Davis mount and ride away without another word. He looked back, though, as he did so. He heard three distinct reports from Keene'srevolver: two of the enemy's skirmishers dropped to the shots, and thethird wavered in his saddle; the rest closed round the fallen man withleveled lances. The stout sergeant looked back no more; but he set histeeth hard, and turned out of his way to encounter a stray Russian, andlaid the foeman's face open from eyebrow to lip, with an awfulblasphemy. The spot where Royston fell was so near to the British linesthat those who slaughtered him dared not stay for plunder. Half an hourlater, Davis and two more volunteers went out and brought in the mangledbody of the best swordsman in the Light Brigade. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Not dead yet!

Though the bloody Muscovite spearmen thought they had left a corpsebehind them, and though the surgeons who examined him decided that hecould not survive the night, the obstinate vitality in Royston Keenestill lingered on, refusing to yield to wounds that might have drainedthe life out of three strong men. It seemed as if some strange doom wereupon him, such as was laid on the Black Slave in the _Arabian Nights_, loved by the enchantress-queen; or a Durindarte in the old romance, where the tortured spirit, enthralled by potent spells, was withheld fora season from departure, though its tenement was all shattered andruined. His case from the first was utterly hopeless; and his bodilyhelplessness at times almost resembled catalepsy; yet his faculties werequite clear. He could recognize his friends, and talk with them quitecomposedly; cry or complaint never once issued from those rigid lips. They sent him down to Scutari at last, not with any hope of hisrecovery, but wishing to insure him all available comforts in his dyingmoments. It was a rough passage (even on invalids the cruel Euxine hadlittle mercy) this, and the pain of transport through the few hundredyards that were between the vessel and the hospital almost exhausted thedregs of Royston's strength. When they laid him down on the bed allottedto him, in a small room of the main ward, of which he was to be the soletenant, none of the surgeons could have told if they were dealing withlife or death. Work was so heavy on their hands at that dreadful season, that they could not devote more than a certain space of precious time toany one patient; so after trying all means and appliances of recovery invain, they left Keene for a while in his swoon. It seemed as if he wouldnever open his eyes again. They unclosed slowly at last, still dim withthe deathly faintness; his head was dizzy and confused; and in his earsthere was a dull, droning sound, like the murmur of a distant sea. Asobjects and sounds assumed more distinctness, he became aware of thefigure of a woman sitting on the ground by the side of his couch--herhead buried in her hands--rocking herself ever to and fro, and neverpausing in her low, heart-broken wail. If old tales speak truth, such afigure might be seen in dark corners of haunted houses; and such a wailmight echo at dead of night through chambers conscious of some fearfulcrime. Instinct more than reason revealed to Royston the truth. 

The lips that under the thrusts of Russian lances, and through allsubsequent tortures, had guarded so jealously the secret of his agony, could not repress a groan as they syllabled the name of--CecilTresilyan. 

It was so. The brilliant beauty who for two seasons had ruled the worldin which she moved so imperiously--insatiate of conquest, and defyingrivalry--the delicate _aristocrate_ who from her childhood had been usedto every imaginable luxury, and had appreciated them all--was foundagain, here, in the gray robe of a Sister of Charity, content to endurereal, bitter hardships, and to witness daily sights from whichwomanhood, with all its bravery, must needs recoil. The motives that hadurged her to such a step would be hard indeed to define. The sameweariness and impatience of inaction that have been alluded to in thecase of Royston Keene may have had much to do with it; to this, perhaps, was added a feeling of wild remorse, seeking to vent itself inself-torturing penance, such as impelled kings and conquerors in olddays to don the palmer's gown, and macerate their bodies by fast andscourge; there may have been, too, some vague, unacknowledged longing toseize the last chance of seeing her lost love once again. Might she nottend _him_ as she nursed the other wounded, without adding to the weightof her sin? If she ever entertained such an idea, her punishment maywell have atoned for her offense, when she came suddenly and unpreparedinto that sick-chamber, and looked upon the mangled wreck lyingsenseless there. 

Royston spoke first. "What brought you here?" If it was possible that hecould feel any thing like terror, surely the hollow, tremulous voicebetrayed it then. 

Cecil Tresilyan sprang to her feet as if an electric shock had movedher, and stood gazing at him with her great, desolate, tearless eyes;all her misery could not make them hard or haggard, nor dispel theirmarvelous enchantment. Royston marked the impulse that would have drawnher to his side; and threw out one weak hand to warn her off; with theother he tried to cover his own scarred, ghastly face. "Don't come nearme, " he muttered; "I can't bear it. " Her woman's instinct fathomed hismeaning instantly: he thought that even _she_ must shrink from him. Shelaughed out loud (for her brain was almost turning) as she knelt downand raised his head on her arm, and smoothed his matted hair, and kissedthe death-damp from his forehead, murmuring between the caresses, "Youdare not keep me from you. Do you think that _I_ fear you, my own--myown!"

The glory of a great triumph--grand, even if sinful--lighted up the faceof the dying man; and intense passion made even his voice strong andsteady. "I believe this is better than the paradise we dreamed of in theisland of the Greek Sea. "

Without a moment's pause the sweet, sad voice replied, "Yes, it isbetter. _Then_ I should have died first, and hopelessly. _Now_ there isno guilt between us that may not be forgiven. "

Silence lasted till Royston gathered energy to speak again. 

"You remember the glove? See--I have not parted with it yet. " He drewfrom his breast a case of steel links hung round his neck by a chain: itheld Cecil's gauntlet--stained and stiffened with his blood. That wasthe treasure he would not resign when he lay on the ground, waiting forthe Russian lances. "You did not think that I should forget you, becauseI never answered your letter?"

As had happened once before, a portion of his fortitude and self-commandseemed transfused into Cecil Tresilyan. She spoke quite steadily now. 

"How could I misjudge your silence, when I begged you not to write? Ihave been very miserable, thinking how angry you would be; and yet Icould not help what I did. But I never fancied you had forgotten me. Forgetting is not so easy. Now tell me about yourself. I have heard ofthat glorious charge. But those terrible wounds--how you must havesuffered!"

Out of the dim, glazing eyes flashed for one moment a gleam of soldierlypride. "Yes, we rode straight, on the twenty-fifth--I among the rest. Isuppose I have suffered some pain, but that is all past and gone. I amsensible of nothing but the great happiness of holding your little handonce more. See--I can hold it without shame, for my fingers have notpressed those of any woman alive since we parted. "

She saw how the utterance of those few words told upon him, andrefrained from the delight of listening longer to the voice that wasstill to her inexpressibly dear. So she checked him fondly when he wouldhave gone on speaking. Yet the silence that ensued was first broken byCecil. 

"My own! I fear--I fear that you are in great danger. How long we may_both_ have to suffer, God alone can tell. But will you not see aclergyman? He might help you though I am weak and powerless. "

A shadow of the old sardonic scorn swept across Keene's emaciated face, and passed away as suddenly. 

"It is somewhat late for any help that priests can bring. Besides, I cannot dwell now on any of my past sins, save one. All my thoughts aretaken up with the wrong that I have done to you. "

This was true. If there were reproachful phantoms that had a right tohaunt Royston's death-bed, the living presence kept them all at bay. 

Cecil's eyes had never been more eloquent than they were then, but theyspoke of nothing but despair. 

"Ah, heaven! can not you see that all _I_ have to forgive has beenforgiven long ago? What is to become of me if you die hardened in yoursin? Must I live on, _hoping_ that we are parted forever? If you arepitiless to your own soul, have mercy, at least, upon me!"

All Royston's former crimes seemed to him venial by comparison, as hewitnessed the misery and abasement of the glorious creature on whom hehad brought such sorrow, if not shame. The remorse that a strong willand hard heart had stifled so long found voice at last in three mutteredwords--"God forgive me!" A very niggardly and inadequate expression ofcontrition--was it not?--conceded to a life whose sins outnumbered itsyears. Yet the slight thread of hope drawn therefrom has been able sinceto hold back Cecil Tresilyan from the abyss of utter desperation. Sheforbore to press him farther then, seeing his increasing weakness, andtrusting, perhaps, that a more favorable opportunity would come. 

Indeed, there were a thousand things to be said about the past, in whichboth had borne a part, and the future, in which only one could share;but Royston had estimated rightly the extent of his remaining physicalresources; and when he found how each syllable exhausted him, he becameas chary of words as a miser of his gold. His right hand still graspedhers firmly; and her delicate cheek was pillowed on his shoulder; thefingers of his other hand played gently with a long, glossy chestnuttress that had escaped from the prison of the close cap she wore. Sothey remained, for a long time--no sound passing between them, beyondhalf-formed whispers of endearment: no one came in to molest them: therewas work enough and to spare, that night, for all in Scutari. Thethought of interruption never crossed Cecil's mind for an instant. Always careless and defiant of conventionality, or the world's opinion, she was tenfold more reckless now. Her head was bent down, and her eyesclosed; so that she could not see how the hollows deepened on herlover's face; nor how the pallor of his cheek darkened rapidly to anashen-gray. But inward warnings of approaching dissolution spoke plainlyenough to Royston Keene. He knew what he had to do. 

He raised her head from where it rested, and said, so gently, "If mytime is short, there is the more reason that I should be loth to loseyou, even for an hour. But you must have rest; and I feel as if I couldsleep. Do not try to persuade me; but leave me now. When you thinkhereafter of this evening, remember what my last words were. _I lovedyou best of all. _ Darling--wish me good-night; and come to see me earlyto-morrow. "

He guessed, full well, how long that night would last, and what sightwould meet Cecil on the morrow; but he was resolute to spare her oneadditional pang, and so endured alone the whole burden of the partingagony. His whole life had been full of deeds of reckless daring; but, ingood truth, this achievement was its very crown of courage. 

Now, as heretofore, Cecil was incapable of resisting any one of hisexpressed wishes or commands; besides this, physical exhaustion wasbeginning to overcome her; and she, too, felt that it was time to go. She leaned down, without speaking, and their lips met in a long, passionate kiss. So little of vitality lingered in Royston's, that theyremained still icy-cold under the pressure of these ripe, red roses. 

"I will come again, early, " she whimpered. 

The last relics of a strength that _had_ been superhuman passed into thelingering pressure of the hand that bade her tenderly farewell. Half anhour later the surgeon came to Royston Keene. All that night, shrieksand groans, and other sounds through which human agony finds a vent, hadbeen ringing in his ears, till they were weary of the din; but thesilence of that chamber struck the visitor yet more painfully. He lookedfor a second gravely at the motionless figure; and laid his ear againstthe lips; no breath issued thence that would have stirred a feather;then he drew very gently the sheet over the dead man's face, --a quiet, steadfast face, --that even in the death-throe had retained its proud, placid calm. 

When Cecil Tresilyan saw that same sight the next morning, she did notscream or faint. Neither then nor afterward did she prove herselfunworthy of her haughty lover, by demonstrating or parading her sorrows. Many others besides her have taken for their motto, "The heart knowethits own bitterness;" and have carried it out to the end unflinchingly. Verily, they have their reward. If there is little comfort on this sidethe grave, and only vague hope beyond it, it is something to escapecondolence. We follow her fortunes no farther. It is needless to giveall the details of the hospital service which occupied her till theconclusion of the war set her free; and we will not seek to penetrateinto the retreat in the Far West where she is dwelling still. The graymanor-house guards its secrets well, though it has witnessed in its timesorrows and sins that might have wrung a voice from granite. Consciousof many broken hearts and blasted hopes, is the home of the Tresilyansof Tresilyan. 

I confess to a certain regret, as that graceful figure vanishes from thestage that never was worthy of her queen-like presence. Was it indream-land that I saw the original of the character and face that I haveendeavored, thus roughly, to portray? Perhaps so. But there are visionsso near akin to realities, that one's brain grows dizzy in trying todisentangle the two. 

It is unfortunate that the void created by any man's death is by nomeans proportionate to his intrinsic merits. So it happened that theloss of Royston Keene was felt more than he deserved. Far and wide overthe surface of the world's sea the circles spread from the spot wherehis life went down. He was missed not only by his old comrades in arms:men who scarcely knew him by sight spared some regret to the favoritehero of the Light Dragoons. Mark Waring, in the loneliness of his drearychambers, gnashed his teeth in bitterness of envy; for he guessed _who_would be the chief mourner. Arnaud de Châteaumesnil's remark wascharacteristic. Hearing that his old opponent had fallen in the front ofthe battle, he struck his hand impatiently on his own crippled limbs, muttering--"Sang-dieu! Il avait toujours la main heureuse. " HarryMolyneux can not trust his voice to speak of him yet; and otherbeautiful eyes besides _La Mignonne's_ were dim with tears when theyread a certain death-gazette. Truly, "great men have fallen in Israel, "and saints have departed in the plentitude of sanctity, without winningsuch wealth of regrets as was lavished on the grave of that strongsinner. Only two women alive--and these he had never wronged--rejoicedover the news unfeignedly--Bessie Danvers and his own wife. 

Shall we pass judgment on Royston Keene? He had erred so often andheavily that even the intercession of a penitent who never kneels beforeHeaven without mingling his name in her prayers must probably beunavailing. Yet will we not cast the stone. All temptations, of course, can be resisted, and ought to be overcome. But there are men born withso peculiar a temperament, and who seem to have been so completely underthe dominion of circumstances, that they might well be supposed to havebeen raised up for a warning. How far are such to be held accountable?Let us refrain from this subject, remembering how grave and learnedtheologians, earnest opponents of Predestinarianism, have been reducedto the extreme of perplexity when confronted with the ensample ofPharaoh. 

It would neither be pleasant nor profitable to pry into the secrets ofthe black darkness that lies beyond Royston's death-bed; in it few wouldbe able to distinguish the faintest glimmer of light. But we have nomore authority to fix limits to the long-suffering of Omnipotence, thanwe have to dispute the justice of its revenge. Let us stand aside, andhope

 That Heaven may yet have more mercy than man On such a bold rider's soul. 

A strange doctrine, that; savoring perhaps of heterodoxy, and perilousto be adopted by such as can not fathom it thoroughly. But if there beno germ of truth therein, it were better for some of us that we hadnever been born. 

 THE END. 

Transcriber's notes: Obvious spelling/typographical and punctuationerrors have been corrected after careful comparison with otheroccurrences within the text and consultation of external sources. 

 p6: "take it out of the human race" corrected to "take it out on the human race"

 p6: "would'nt" corrected to "wouldn't"

 p7: "dreamland" occurs here only; "dream-land" occurs on p66 only, not at a linebreak; both retained

 p12: "Caramba" is clear and occurs only once in the book; "Coramba" occurs once and with equal clarity on p59; both retained

 p14: "to his strid, " corrected to "to his stride, "

 p15: "esprit de corps" occurs here only; "esprit du corps" also occurs once (p31); both retained

 p21: archaic spelling "ladye" fits the context, so retained

 p26: added closing quote mark to "burying. "

 p33: "vôtre" corrected to "votre"

 p34: "propriètaire" corrected to "propriétaire"

 p36: "dejà" corrected to "déjà"

 p36: "on est sur de" corrected to "on est sûr de"

 p42: "pic-nic" occurs here and on p43, not at a linebreak; "picnic" occurs on p45 and p47; both retained

 p44: in the first verse quoted by Royston, "pikemen's" is an apparent misquotation for "pikeman's", and "scatheless" may be a typo for "scathless"

 p46: "missionery" corrected to "missionary"

 p46: "innuendoes" retained as archaic spelling

 p47: "tranquillity" retained as archaic spelling

 p62: "partez-seul" corrected to "partez seul"

 p62: "betise" corrected to "bêtise"

 p62: "vegeance" corrected to "vengeance"

The following obscure English words used by the author need no correction

 p32: "tulwar" is a variant spelling of "talwar", a kind of Indian sabre

 p33: "glozing" means explaining away/glossing over

 p39: "teind" is a tithe

 p44: "pursy" means short-winded

 p46: to "aby" means to pay the penalty

 p46: to "lanch" means to throw or let fly