Part 45 (1/2)

”I a.s.sure you, Mrs. Churchill,” said Mr. Rutledge, ”I am very much annoyed at having caused you this anxiety. You will fancy me very careless, but it was a contretemps I had never dreamed of.”

The whole party pa.s.sed out of sight into the hall. A group who stood near us and had been watching the scene, also moved on toward the door, but as they turned away I caught the words from one of them:

”It looks very much like it, and it will be an excellent thing on both sides; but I never thought till lately, that he would marry.”

”Will you go in,” said my companion.

”Yes, if you please,” and we followed the crowd.

”Ah! you look like a different person,” he said, smiling as we went into the light. I saw as we pa.s.sed a mirror that a bright spot was burning on each cheek, and my eyes were s.h.i.+ning unnaturally. ”I could see you were dreadfully anxious about your cousin, and indeed I could not wonder at it.”

”For the last time,” said Victor in a low tone at my side, ”will you dance with me?”

I yielded, and in a moment we were on the floor. Not an instant after that did I stop to think. If I had, my cheek would have paled to have found at the mercy of what fierce hatred, resentment and jealousy, my unguided soul then was, and whither they were hurrying me. To others, I was only a gay young girl, revelling in her first flush of triumph, thoughtless, innocent and happy. G.o.d help all such innocence and happiness!

It was the last dance; the carriage was already at the door. Mrs.

Churchill had limited us to five minutes; two or three were contending for my hand. Victor had hung around me all the evening, and I caught a gleam of his sad, expressive eyes. Josephine, on Mr. Rutledge's arm, pa.s.sed us at the moment. Turning toward Victor, I said to the others with a smile, ”Mr. Viennet says this will be his last dance in America.

I think I must give it to him.”

A flash of hope lighted up his handsome face. I trembled at what I had done as I took my place among the dancers. The words that I knew I must hear before we parted, I heard now. There was but a moment for the recital, but it sufficed. Was it that such homage soothed my wounded pride; or that, bewildered by this tempest of emotions, I had mistaken grat.i.tude for tenderness, kind regard for love? Whatever may have been my motive or excuse, the fact remained the same. Before I parted with Victor Viennet at the carriage door, I had accepted his love, and promised myself to him irrevocably.

How hot and still the night had grown! I leaned my forehead on the carriage window to cool its burning. The horses seemed to creep over the smooth road; I clenched my hands together to quiet their impatience. My companions, leaning back on the cus.h.i.+ons, slept or rested. This very tranquillity maddened me, and, holding my breath lest they should know how gaspingly it came, I wished and longed to be alone once more. I could not, did not dare to think till there were bolts and bars between me and the world. At last I caught sight of the welcome lights of Rutledge, and almost before the deliberate horses had stopped in front of the house, I burst open the carriage door, and flew up the steps.

”Have the others got home yet?” I asked of Kitty eagerly.

”No, Miss; but they'll be here in a minute. I see the lights of the barouche just by the park gate.”

The other ladies paused in the parlor till the rest of the party should arrive; for me, I never stopped till I was within the sanctuary of my own room.

”No matter for undressing me to-night,” I said to Kitty, who had followed me. ”I can do all that is necessary for myself, and don't come till I ring for you in the morning; I am so tired I shall want to rest.”

With a look of some disappointment she turned away, and I slid the bolt, with a trembling hand, between me and the outer world. But not between me and conscience, not between me and memory, not between me and remorse. I had thought, when once I am alone, this misery will vent itself in tears--this insufferable pain will yield to the relief of solitude and quiet. But I did not know with what I had to deal. I did not estimate what foes I had invoked--what remorse and regret were to be my comrades through the slow hours of that night.

With suicidal hand, it seemed to me, I had shut myself out forever from peace, forever from all chance of happiness. Nothing now but misery: the past, a sin and guilt to recall; the future, weariness but to imagine.

The promise I had given was to me as irrevocable and sacred as the marriage vow itself; and self-reproach only riveted the fetters more hopelessly, as I remembered the manly love of which I was so unworthy.

To draw back now, would but add perjury to my sins, and deal undeserved misery to the man I had deceived. No, hypocrisy became a duty now; he should never know the agony that I had wrestled with when I had first looked my engagement in the face. He should never know how the first hours of it had been blackened. But oh! plead repentance, I will bury this hateful secret in my heart; I will only live to serve him; I will make him happy; I will be a true and faithful wife.

True? questioned a voice within me; and with a miserable groan I hid my face, and owned that I must leave truth at the threshold of this new relation. I must enter it with a dead love in my heart, a false vow on my lips.

CHAPTER XXIX.

”Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around-- * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I could lie down like a tired child, And weep away the life of care Which I have borne, and yet must bear Till death, like sleep, might steal on me.”

Sh.e.l.lEY.