Part 46 (1/2)

Rutledge were at the other end of the room.

”We shall miss you so much, Mr. Viennet,” Josephine was saying, in a very charming tone. ”Your place cannot be filled. Mr. Rutledge, cannot you manage to have him arrive at the station a few minutes too late?”

”Why didn't you suggest it a little sooner, Miss Josephine?” said Mr.

Rutledge, with a smile, as he looked at his watch. ”I think I hear the horses at the door now. Thomas will attend to your baggage--don't trouble yourself, Mr. Viennet.”

”It is all ready, sir; I have nothing to do but make my adieux, and such painful work had better be short. Mrs. Churchill, I have many pleasures to remember during my residence in America, but none so great as those for which I am indebted to you. Will you accept my sincere thanks?”

I had not dared before to look at him, but I stole a glance at his face now. It was deadly pale, and showed but too plainly the pain and disappointment that he was trying to conceal.

The whole party now gathered round him; his parting with Josephine was very courteous, on her part very gracious; with Grace the same; a little less warm with Miss Wynkar, perhaps; but no one cared to revive old quarrels now. When he approached me, I gave him my hand, but my eyes were fastened on the ground. He held it for one instant, then dropping it, turned hastily away.

”Mr. Rutledge,” he said, in a voice that trembled audibly, despite his manly efforts to control it, ”I have to thank you for your hospitality.

I shall not soon forget my visit here.”

Mr. Rutledge's manner had less coldness than usual in it, as he bade his young guest good bye; there was no lack of warmth in the adieux of the other gentlemen.

And I, cruel and cowardly, stood rooted to the floor; I was afraid to acknowledge what I had not been afraid to promise; I was letting him go without a word of kindness, when I might never see him again; when I was, in the sight of heaven, affianced to him, when nothing could absolve me from my vow, shrink and falter as I might. He had reached the hall, and stood for an instant in the doorway as I raised my eyes. They met his; I sprang forward from the circle where I stood.

”Victor, I am not afraid they should know it now,” I whispered, putting my hand in his.

I only knew the misery I had caused him, when I saw the change that came into his face, the light that hope lit in his eyes. He had but short grace to tell his love--a few brief minutes before we parted, perhaps for many years, yet nothing could have made me more certain of the depth and ardor of it, than those few moments did.

We walked once down the hall, then slowly back again,

”You must go now,” I whispered, as we reached the door. ”Good bye!”

For a moment he stood as if it were an effort rending soul and body to leave me; he held my hands tightly in his own, then, bending forward, pressed a kiss on my forehead, and was gone.

It was the seal of our engagement, that first kiss; I stood in the sight of what was all the world to me, tacitly acknowledging what I had done.

I was parting from the lover to whom they all fancied I was devoted, but it was shame, and not love, that brought the blood into my cheeks to meet his first caress. I did not move or raise my eyes till the sound of carriage-wheels died away down the avenue. Then the treacherous color receded slowly from my face, and left it white as marble. Conquering as best I might the giddy faintness that came over me, I walked steadily into the parlor, where the whispering and amazed group of ladies still stood. Not heeding Josephine's, ”Well, my dear, we weren't quite prepared for this! We didn't know how far things had gone,” I went up to Mrs. Churchill and said:

”I should have told you of this before, Aunt Edith. I have accepted Mr.

Viennet.”

”I should have been gratified by your confidence if you had chosen to bestow it. However, you have my congratulations,” and she gave me her hand, and touched her lips lightly to my forehead.

”I suppose we must all congratulate you,” said Grace, with a laugh.

”But, really, it took _me_ so entirely by surprise, that I shan't be able to collect my wits for an appropriate speech under two hours.”

”I will excuse you from it altogether,” I said, turning away to the door. I stopped involuntarily as I pa.s.sed Josephine.

”If it is a matter of congratulation at all, I hope I have yours, Josephine,” I said, holding out my hand.

”Of course,” she returned, awkwardly, accepting my hand. ”Of course you have.”