Part 20 (1/2)
CHAPTER XVII.
”I WOULD RATHER SEE MY SON DEAD.”
The countess stood alone in the drawing-room. The sun was setting over the trees in the park, and a warm glow filled the beautiful room with rosy light--a light that fell on costly pictures, on marble statues, on buhl and jasper, on silver and gold, on mirrors and flowers, whose fragrance was delicious even to breathe, but it fell on my lady's proud face and figure as though it liked best to linger there.
The dressing-bell had not rung, and she, waiting for it, had fallen into a reverie. She was sure she had done right, yet, without doubt, the girl would feel it keenly. What matter? ”Women must weep,” it was part of their lives. Whoever paused or cared for a woman's tears? Women had wept before and would weep again. She looked round on the superb home where she reigned mistress, and laughed with scorn as she tried to picture the farmer's niece queen of these ancient walls.
Right? Most certainly she had done right; let weak minds and weak hearts think as they would. The golden sunset, the rosy clouds, the soft, sweet song of the birds, the fragrance of the thousand blooming flowers, the faint whisper of the odorous wind appealed to her in vain. What was a bleeding heart and weeping eyes to her?
Yet she was but a woman; and these sweet voices of nature could not leave her quite unsoftened. She wondered where Lance was. She remembered him a fair-haired, laughing, defiant boy, playing there under the trees when the red light fell. She started suddenly when one of her well-trained footmen opened the door, and said a lady wished to see her.
The countess looked at him in haughty vexation.
”Why do you bring a message so vague? I see no lady who gives neither card nor name.”
”I beg pardon, my lady,” said the man, humbly. ”I did not forget. The lady herself said you did not know her, but that her business was most important.”
”You must say that I decline to see any one who gives neither name nor card,” said the countess. Then, seeing the man look both anxious and undecided, she added, sharply: ”Is it a lady?”
He looked greatly relieved.
”It is, my lady. She is young and beautiful,” he would have added, if he had dared.
”You would surely be able to discriminate between a lady and--a person of any other description?” said the countess.
The man bowed.
”The lady wishes me to add that her business was of great importance, and that she had traveled some distance to see you.”
”Show her in here,” said the countess.
The red light of the setting sun had moved then, and fell over her in great gleams on her dark velvet dress, on her exquisite point lace, and fine, costly gems. She looked regally proud, haughty, and unbending--the type of an English aristocratic matron, true to her cla.s.s, true to her order, intolerant of any other. As she stood in the heart of the rosy light the door opened, and this time the countess of Lanswell was startled out of her calm. There entered the most beautiful girl she had ever beheld--tall, slender, graceful, exquisitely dressed, moving with the most perfect grace and harmony; her face like some grand, pa.s.sionate poem--a girl lovely as a houri, who walked up to her with serene and queenly calm, saying:
”Lady Lanswell, I am your son's wife.”
The countess, taken so entirely by surprise, looked long and keenly into that beautiful face--looked at the clear, bright eyes, so full of fire and pa.s.sion--at the lovely, imperial mouth, and the whole face so full of tragedy and beauty; then in a clear, distinct voice, she answered:
”My son has no wife.”
Leone drew the glove from her left hand, holding it before my lady's eyes.
”Will you look at my wedding-ring?” she asked.
A scornful smile played round my lady's lips.
”I see a ring,” she said, ”but not a wedding-ring. There can be no wedding-ring where there is no marriage.”
”Do you believe that marriages are known in Heaven?” Leone asked. ”Do you believe that if a marriage had been contracted in the presence of Heaven, witnessed by the angels, do you suppose that a mere legal quibble can set it aside?”
”You choose your arguments badly,” said the countess. ”If you appeal to Heaven, so can I. One of the greatest commandments given from there says, 'Children, obey your parents.' My son is commanded by a divine voice to obey me, and I forbid him to marry until he is of age.”