"I hope mine are not too small," said Cecil, not quite crediting that an American foot could be as small as that of a Charnock; but she found herself mistaken, they were a perfect fit; and as they were tried, there came a loud laugh, and she saw a tall girl standing by her, whom, in her round felt hat and thick rough coat with metal buttons, she had really taken for one of the Captain's male friends.
"I wouldn't have such small feet," she said; "I shouldn't feel secure of my understanding."
"Mrs. Tallboys would not change with you, Gussie," said Captain Duncombe. "I'd back her any day-"
"What odds will you take, Captain-"
But Mrs. Duncombe broke in. "Bless me, if there aren't those little dogs of mine! Lena Vivian does spoil them. Send them home, for pity's sake, Bob."
"Poor little kids, they are doing no harm."
"We shall have them tumbling in, and no end of a row! I can't stand a swarm of children after me, and they are making a perfect victim of Lena. Send them home, Bob, or I shall have to do it."
The Captain obeyed somewhat ruefully. "Come, my lads, Bessie says you must go home, and leave Miss Vivian in peace."
"O, Bob, please let us stay; Lena is taking care of us-"
"Indeed I like nothing so well," protested Lenore; but the Captain murmured something about higher powers, and cheerfully saying he would give the boys a run, took each by an unwilling hand, and raced them into a state of frightened jollity by a short cut, by which he was able to dispose of them in the drag.
The Professor, meanwhile, devoted himself to Mrs. Charnock Poynsett, took her chair for a whirl on the ice; described American sleighing parties; talked of his tour in Europe. He was really a clever, observant man, and Cecil had not had any one to talk Italy to her for a long time past, and responded with all her full precision. The Professor might speak a little through his nose, but she had seldom met any one more polite and accomplished.
Meantime, a quadrille was being got up. Such a performance and such partners had never been seen in light that shone on water or on land, being coupled by their dexterity in the art. They were led off by Mrs. Duncombe and the Reverend James Bindon. Mrs. Tallboys paired with Terry De Lancey, Lady Tyrrell with Herbert Bowater, Lady Rosamond with one of the officers. Tom was pounced on by the great 'Gussy Moy,' who declared, to his bitter wrath, that she preferred little boys, turning her back on Mr. Strangeways and two or three more officers, as she saw them first solicitous to engage Eleonora Vivian-who, however, was to skate with Charlie.
A few wistful glances were cast towards the Wil'sbro' road, for Frank had been obliged by the cruel exigencies of the office to devote this magnificent frosty day to the last agonies of cram. This, however, had gone on better for the last fortnight-owing, perhaps, to some relaxation of Eleonora's stern guard over her countenance in their few meetings since Jenny's departure.
"And after all," as Charlie said, with the cheeriness of one who has passed his own ordeal, "a man who had taken such a degree as Frank could not depend on a few weeks of mere cramming."
Frank did come speedily up the road just as the quadrille was in full force; and perhaps the hindrance had stood him in good stead; for when the performance ceased in the twilight, and voices were eagerly talking of renewing it as a fackel-tanz in the later evening, and only yielding at the recollection of dinner engagements, it was not Charlie who was taking off Eleonora's skates; and when, after fixing grand plans for the morrow, Lady Tyrrell mounted her pony-carriage and looked for her sister, she heard that Miss Vivian was walking home.
Yes, Miss Vivian was walking home; and there was a companion by her side feeling as if that dark, hard gravelled road were the pebbly beach of Rockpier.
"When do you go to London?" she asked.
"To-morrow afternoon. Wish me well through, Lenore."
"Indeed I do."
"Say it again, Lenore! Give me the elixir that will give me power to conquer everything."
"Don't say such exaggerated things."
"Do you think it is possible to me to exaggerate what a word from you is to me?" said Frank, in a low voice of intense feeling.
"O Frank! it is wiser not to say such things."
"Wise! what is that to me? It is true, and you have known it-and why will you not allow that you do, as in those happy old days-"
"That's what makes me fear. It would be so much better for you if all this had never begun."
"It has begun, then!" murmured Frank, with joy and triumph in the sound. "As long as you allow that, it is enough for me."
"I must! It is true; and truth must be somewhere!" was whispered in a strange, low, resolute whisper.
"True! true that you can feel one particle of the intensity-Oh! what words can I find to make you understand the glow and tenderness the very thought of you has been!"
"Hush, hush!-pray, Frank. Now, if I do own it-"
"It-what? Let me hear! I'm very stupid, you know!" said Frank, in a voice of exulting comprehension, belying his alleged stupidity.
"What you have been to me-"
"Have been-eh?" said this cruel cross-examiner.
"Do not let us waste time," said Eleonora, in a trembling voice; "you know very well."
"Do I?"
"Now, Frank!"
"If you only knew what it would be worth to me to hear you say it!"
"I'm afraid it would be only worth pain and grief to you, and anger from every one," said she, in a low dejected voice, "far more than I am worth."
"You? Trust me to judge of that, Lenore. Would not you be worth all, and more than all, that flesh or spirit could feel! I could face it all for one look from you!" said Frank, with fervour from his heart of hearts.
"You make me more and more afraid. It is all too wretched to lead any one into. Since I knew the whole truth, I have tried to spare you from it."
"That is why you have been so cold, and held so cruelly aloof all this time, so that if I had not caught one ray now and then, you would have broken my heart, Lenore; as it is, I've been wretched beyond description, hardly able to sleep by night or speak rationally by day. How had you the heart to serve me so, like a stony Greek statue?"
"I thought it must be right. It seemed to break my own heart too."
"That's the woman's way of showing a thing is right; but why I can't see. If you did hate me, it might be all very well to throw me over; but if not, why torture two as well as one? Are you afraid of my people? I'll manage them."
"You little know-"
"Know what?"
"All that made it cruel in Camilla to throw us together."
"Cruel! when it was the crowning joy of my past life, and is to be the crowning joy of the future?"
"How can it? Frank, you must know the causes your mother has for abhorring any connection with our unhappy family."
"My mother has too much sense to think a little extravagance among the men of a family can affect the daughters. I know the outer world is afraid of her, but she is the tenderest and most indulgent of mothers to us. No fear of her!"
"Ah! but that's not all."
"You mean that she has not taken much to your sister. I know; and I'm very sorry; but bring them together, and it would soon be got over. Besides, it is not your sister, but you. What do you mean?" rather disconcerted.
"Then you really did not know of the old engagement between Camilla and your eldest brother?"
"Oh, oh! So she consented once! Then she will do so again."
"Listen! Camilla broke it off because your mother could not resign her position to her."
He gave a whistle of dismay, then recovering himself with a laugh, said, "Fourth sons don't have such expectations founded on them. Don't fear, dearest; that can't be all the story, though no doubt it was part of it. My mother would rather go into a hermitage than stand in the way of Raymond's happiness. Some one must have made mischief."
"It was not all," said the girl; "it was Lord Tyrrell's coming in the way. Yes, my father told me so; he held it up to me as
an example of what one ought to do for one's family."
"Then she was coerced?"
"I don't know; but such a marriage for me, with some one who would redeem the property, is their scheme for me. Even if your mother and brother could tolerate the thought of one of us, my poor dear father will never dare to consent as long as she is with him."
"Nay, Lenore; have I not often heard her say she prefers happiness to ambition? Whatever she may have done, she has come to think differently. She has well-nigh told me so."
"Yes, at Rockpier," sighed Eleonora. "Hark!" The sound of the ponies' bells and hoofs was heard; Lenore put her hand on his arm, and drew him aside on the grass, behind a clump of trees, hushing him by a silent pressure as he tried to remonstrate. He clasped her hand, and felt her trembling till the tinkling and tramp were gone by.
"You frightened darling!" were his first words, when she let him speak. "Who would have thought you would be so shy? But we'll have it out, and-"
"It is not that," interrupted Lenore, "not maidenly shyness. That's for girls who are happy and secure. No; but I don't want to have it all overthrown at once-the first sweetness-"
"It can't be overthrown!" he said, holding arm and hand in the intense grasp.
"Not really, never; but there is no use in attempting anything till I am of age-next autumn, the 7th of November."
"Say nothing till then!" exclaimed Frank, in some consternation.
"We are only where we were before! We are sure of each other now. It will be only vexation and harass," said she, with the instinct of a persecuted creature.
"I couldn't," said Frank. "I could not keep it in with mother! It would not be right if I could, nor should I feel as if I were acting fairly by your father."
"You are right, Frank. Forgive me! You don't know what it is to have to be always saving one's truth only by silence. Speak when you think right."
"And I believe we shall find it far easier than you think. I'm not quite a beggar-except for you, my Lena. I should like to go home this minute, and tell mother and Charlie and Rose, that I'm-I'm treading on air; but I should only be fallen upon for thinking of anything but my task-work. So I'll take a leaf out of your book, you cautious Lenore, and wait till I come down victorious, happy and glorious-and I shall now. I feel as if you had given me power to scale Olympus, now I know I may carry your heart with me. Do you remember this, Lena?" He guided her hand to the smooth pebble on his chain. She responded by putting her own into his.
"My talisman!" he said. "It has been my talisman of success many a time. I have laid my hand on it, and thought I was working for you. Mine! mine! mine! Waters cannot quench love-never fear."
"Hush!" as the light of the opening hall door was seen, and Lady Tyrrell's voice was heard, saying, "I thought we passed her; I am sure she was near."
Eleonora withdrew her arm, patted Frank back, waved him into silence, and went forward, saying, "Here I am, Camilla; I walked home."
Her voice was calm and self-contained as ever-the unassailable dignity just as usual. The hall was full of officers, standing about the fire and drinking tea, and Eleonora's well-worn armour was instantly on, as her sister asked where she had been, since others had walked home and had not overtaken her.
"I came by the lower road," said she.
"Indeed! I never saw you."
"I saw you pass-or rather heard you."
"And did not let me pick you up! Did you hide yourself?"
"It was much warmer to walk."
"So you seem to have found it, to judge by your cheeks," said Lady Tyrrell.
And Mr. Strangeways and one or two others could not restrain a murmured exclamation on the exceeding loveliness of that deepened colour and brightened eye; but Lenore only knew that an equally bright and keen eye was watching her heedfully, and knew that she was suspected, if not read through and through.
She mingled in the discussion of the skating, with those outward society-senses that she learnt to put on, and escaped as soon as possible to her own room.
Again she almost fell on the ground in her own little oratory chamber, in a tumult of gladness that was almost agony, and fear that was almost joy.
She wanted to give thanks that Frank had become so wholly and avowedly hers, and for that deep intense affection that had gone on, unfed, uncherished, for years; but the overflow of delight was checked with foreboding-there was the instinctive terror of a basilisk eye gazing into her paradise of joy-the thanksgiving ran into a half-despairing deprecation.
And she knew that Frank was under Camilla's spell, and admired and trusted her still; nor had she been able to utter a word of caution to undeceive him. Should she have the power on the morrow? Camilla really loved skating, and surrounded as she was sure to be, there was hope of escaping her vigilant eye once more. To-morrow there would be another meeting with Frank! perhaps another walk with him!
That anticipation was soothing enough to bring back the power of joyful gratitude, and therewith of hopeful prayer.
CHAPTER XV. Plot and Counterplot
A lady a party of pleasure made,
And she planned her scheme full well, And day and night the party filled
The head of the demoiselle.-FABER
Though Frank had no reason to expect that the tidings of his success would be hailed with much satisfaction at home, yet his habit of turning to his mother for sympathy would have been too much for his prudence, but for the fact that Terry De Lancey had dragged into her room a massive volume of prints from the Uffizi Gallery, and was looking it over with her, with a zest she had not seen since the days when her father gloried in his collection.
His victory could only be confided to Charlie, who might laugh, but fully appreciated the repose of mind with which he could now encounter the examiners, and promised to do his part to cover the meetings of the lovers the next day. But even then the chances of another performance on the lake, or of a walk among the icicles afterwards, were departing. Thaw was setting in and by breakfast- time there was a down-pouring rain. Frank lingered about Cecil in hopes of a message to serve as an excuse for a rush to Sirenwood; but she proved to be going to drive to the working-room, and then to lunch at Mrs. Duncombe's, to meet the Americans and the ladies from Sirenwood, according to a note sent over in early morning at first sight of the wet.
Thereupon Frank found he had a last reference to make to his tutor, and begged for a lift. A touch of warmth in Cecil would have opened the flood-gates of his confidence, but she was exercised about a mistake in the accounts, and claimed his aid in tracking a defective seven-pence. When she heard him utter the monstrous statement that a hundred and five farthings were almost nine shillings, she looked at him with withering compassion, as sure to fail, and a small loss to Her Majesty; nor would she listen to any of his hints that he was very curious to see her working-room.
His question to the tutor judiciously lasted till twelve, when he dropped in to consult Captain Duncombe about horse-hire in London; and that gentleman, who had been undergoing a course of political economy all the morning, eagerly pounced on him for a tour of his stables, which lasted till luncheon was due, and he could casually enter the dining-room, where Lady Tyrrell held out her hand good- naturedly to him, laughing at the blankness he could not entirely conceal. "Only me!" she said. "It can't be helped! Poor Lenore caught such a dreadful sore throat last night, that I have shut her up in her room with a mustard poultice."
"Indeed! I am very sorry."
"You may well look horrified! You were the guilty party, I suspect. Taking her all across the park under those dank trees!"
He coloured up to the eyes, little expecting to be thus convicted; but Mrs. Duncombe came to his aid. "My impartiality would impute the damage to her standing about with those wretched little dogs of mine."
"It is your climate," said Mrs. Tallboys. "In our dry atmosphere there would be no risk with a far lower temperature."
"I hope it is nothing serious," said Frank, anxiously.
"I hope so too," said Lady Tyrrell, looking archly into his face, which had not learnt such impenetrability as poor Lenore's.
"No; but really?" he said, in anxiety that would not be rallied away.
"This is the way," said Lady Tyrrell. "Young gentlemen persuade young ladies to do the most imprudent things-saunter about in the cold after skating, and dawdle under trees, and then wonder when they catch cold.-Do they do such things in your country, Mrs. Tallboys, and expect the mammas and elder sisters to be gratified?"
"Mammas and elder sisters are at a discount with you, are not they?" said Mrs. Duncombe.
"Our young women are sufficient to protect themselves without our showing tacit distrust, and encumbering them with guardianship," returned the Professor.
"Mr. Charnock wishes we had reached that point," said Lady Tyrrell.
She had put him completely out of countenance. He had not supposed her aware of his having been Lenore's companion, and was not certain whether her sister had not after all confided in her, or if he himself had not been an unconscious victim. The public banter jarred upon him; and while Cecil was making inquiries into the extent of the young ladies' privileges in America, he was mentally calculating the possibilities of rushing up to Sirenwood, trying to see Lenore in spite of her throat, and ascertaining her position, before his train was due; but he was forced to resign the notion, for Raymond had made an appointment for him in London which must not be missed; and before luncheon was over the dog-cart, according to agreement with Charlie, called for him.
"Good-bye, Mr. Frank," said Mrs. Duncombe; "will you have an old shoe thrown after you for luck?"
"The time is not come for that yet," said Cecil, gravely.
"Tending in that direction. Eh, Charnock?" said the Captain. "Here's to your success-now, and in what's to come!"
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