by Lucas Malet
VI
The young man's astonishment was immense. Recovering from the firstshock of it, he was taken with reprehensible irreverence towards thesick man upstairs.
"The old sinner, how he has lied!" he said to himself. "A pretty ass hehas made of me with this card up his iniquitous, old sleeve all thewhile!"
He debated momentarily whether good manners demanded his retirementbefore his presence was perceived; or whether he was free to go forwardand make acquaintance with this unacknowledged member of his uncle'shousehold. Strong curiosity, coupled with a spirit of mischief, provokedhim to adopt the latter course. He owed it to himself, surely, not toneglect so handsome an opportunity of turning the tables upon old Mr.Rivers. While, astonishment and levity, notwithstanding, Laurence wasaware of a strong attraction drawing him towards the slender, rose-cladfigure. He began to question, indeed, whether it, like the room and itsfurnishings, was not in a degree familiar to him? Whether it was not theembodiment of just all that of which he had been so singularly expectantwhen visiting the room this same morning?
Meanwhile the young lady's hands moved over the rounded cover of theescritoire as though endeavouring to open it. The lace frills, edgingher muslin cape, flew upwards, showing her bare arms. These were thin,but beautifully shaped; while the movement of her hands was singularlygraceful and rapid. She touched, yet seemed unable firmly to grasp thegilded handles of the escritoire again and again; clasped her hands, asit appeared to Laurence--for her back was still towards him--with abaffled, despairing gesture, and then moved away across the room. Sheappeared to flit rather than walk, so light and silent were her steps,bird-like in their swift and dainty grace. Watching her, Laurence wasreminded of a certain Spanish _danseuse_, who, during the previouswinter, had excited the wild enthusiasm and considerably lightened thepockets of the _jeunesse doree_ of New York. But the charm of thedancer had, for him at least, been spoilt by the somewhat unbridledpride of success perceptible in her bearing. Whereas the flitting figurenow before him, notwithstanding the beguiling loveliness of its motions,struck him as penetrated with the sorrow of failure, rather than thearrogance of success.
She wandered to and fro, regardless or unconscious of his presence,searching--searching--as it seemed; passing her hands over thework-table, sweeping them along the surface of the chimney-piece betweenthe ornaments and china, fingering the music upon the piano. He caughtsight of a delicate profile, a round and youthful cheek. But hermovements were so anxious and rapid that he could get no definite viewof her face. Indeed, her action was so quick that it was not withouteffort Laurence followed it.
At first the young man's attitude had been one of slightly irritatedamusement at the concealment practised on him by his host. But as therose-clad lady's search continued, the sense of amusement was merged inone of sympathy. She was so graceful a creature. She appeared so sadlybaffled and perplexed. A subtle anxiety laid hold of him--anapprehension that something momentous and of far-reaching consequence tohimself was in act of accomplishment--that he was himself deeplyinvolved, and pledged by a long train of antecedent circumstances toassist those delicately framed and apparently so helpless hands in theirunceasing search.
"Pardon me, but what have you lost?" he asked her at last, speakinggently as to a timid and unhappy child. "Tell me, and let me try to helpyou find it."
At the sound of his voice the flitting figure paused, stood a momentlistening, as though striving to collect the purport of his address.Then it turned to him. For the first time Laurence saw his companion'sface clearly, and he shrank back, penetrated at once by a greatadmiration and a vague dread of her. For it was a very lovely face, butshy and wild as no other human face he had ever beheld. The sweet mouthdrooped at the corners, as with some haunting, but half-comprehendeddistress. The eyes were serious; blue-purple--as are deep, high-lying,mountain tarns, set in a soft gloom of pine-trees and of heather. Agentle distraction pervaded the young lady's aspect. And this was themore arresting, that each bow and curl of her pretty hair was in place;every detail of her dress fresh and finished, from the string of pearlsabout her white throat, to the toes of her rose-pink, satin slippers,sparkling with an embroidery of brilliants, which showed beneath thesmall flounce edging her rose-pink skirt.
Laurence had lived at least as virtuously as most men of his class; yetit would be idle to declare Virginia his first and only flame. He hadmarried her, which constituted the difference between her and all thoseother flames--and at times it occurred to him what a prodigiously greatdifference that was! Since his marriage he had been guiltless of lookingto the right hand or to the left even in thought. But, before thatevent, it must be owned, he had had his due share of affairs of theheart. He was thoroughly conversant with the premonitory symptoms ofthat fascinating disorder, commonly known as "falling in love." And, tohis dismay, as he looked on the sad and lovely person before him, hewas conscious that some of those premonitory symptoms were not entirelyabsent. An immense pity and tenderness took him; a deepening conviction,too, of recollection, as one who after a long lapse of years hears againsome almost forgotten melody, or sees again a once well-known andwell-beloved landscape. The sad face was new to him, not in itself, butin its sadness only. The corners of the sweet mouth should not droop,but tip upward in soft, discreet laughter. The serious eyes shoulddance, as the surface of these same mountain tarns in sunlight under arippling breeze. The face, remembered thus, had indeed never been whollyforgotten--he knew that. It formed part of inherent prenatalimpressions, of which, all his life, he had been potentially if notactively aware.
All this flashed through him in the space of a few seconds; while herepeated, somewhat staggered by the fulness of emotion which the tonesof his own voice implied--
"Only tell me what you have lost--tell me; and let me help you findit."--Then he added more lightly, smiling at her with his sincere andkindly smile:--"Really, my services are worth enlisting. I've alwaysbeen a rather famous hand at finding things, you know."
She gazed at the young man for a minute or more, a tremulous wonder inher expression, while she fingered the string of pearls about herrounded throat. Her lips moved, but no sound came from them. Herattitude changed. She stood with her head raised, apparently listening.Then reluctantly, as in obedience to some unwelcome summons, she movedswiftly across the room to the outstanding, painted satin-woodescritoire, passed at the back of it, and the young man found himselfalone.
