Part 49 (2/2)
The dark, beautiful eyes had a wistful look in them as they were raised to his face.
”How beautiful she is, how fair and stately!” she said.
”Yes, beautiful; but compared to you, Leone, as I said before, she is like moonlight to sunlight, like water to wine.”
”I have done no wrong,” continued Leone, with a thrill of subdued pa.s.sion in her voice; ”on the contrary, a cruel wrong was done to me.
But when I am with her, I feel in some vague way that I are guilty. Does she know anything of your story and mine?”
His dark face burned.
”No,” he replied; ”she knows nothing of that except that in my youth--ah, Leone, that I must say this to you--in my youth I made some mistake; so my lady mother Was pleased to call it,” he added, bitterly.
”She does not know exactly what it was, nor could she ever dream for one moment that it was you.”
She looked at him with a serious, questioning gaze.
”Surely you did not marry her without telling her that you had gone through that service already, did you? If so, I think you acted disloyally and dishonorably.”
He bent his head in lowly humility before her.
”Leone,” he said--”ah, forgive me for calling you Leone, but the name is so sweet and so dear to me--Leone, I am a miserable sinner. When I think of my weakness and cowardice, I loathe myself; I could kill myself; yet I can never undo the wrong I have done to either. She knows little, and I believe implicitly she has forgotten that little. Why do you ask me?”
”It seems so strange,” said Leone, musingly, ”I asked you to come here to speak to me that I might ask your advice. She, Lady Marion, has asked me to her house--has pressed me, urged me to go; and I have said that I will think of it. I want you to advise me and tell me what I should do.”
”My dear Leone, I--I cannot. I should love above all things to see you at my house, but it would be painful for you and painful to me.”
She continued, in a low voice:
”Lady Marion has asked me to be her friend; she is good enough to say she admires me. What shall I do?”
He was silent for some minutes, then he said:
”There is one thing, Leone, if you become a friend, or even a visitor of Lady Marion's, I should see a great deal of you, and that would be very pleasant; it is all there is left in life. I should like it, Leone--would you?”
Looking up, she met the loving light of the dark eyes full upon her. Her face flushed.
”Yes,” she whispered, ”I, too, should like it.”
There was silence between them for some little time, then Leone said:
”Would it be quite safe for me to visit you? Do you think that Lady Lanswell would recognize me?”
”No,” he answered, ”if the eyes of love failed to recognize you at one glance, the eyes of indifference will fail altogether. My mother is here to-night; risk an introduction to her, and you will see. It would give fresh zest and pleasure to my life if you could visit us.”
”It would be pleasant,” said Leone, musingly; ”and yet to my mind, I cannot tell why, there is something that savors of wrong about it. Lord Chandos,” she added, ”I like your wife, she was kindness itself to me.
We must mind one thing if I enter your house; I must be to you no more than any other person in it--I must be a stranger--and you must never even by one word allude to the past; you promise that, do you not?”
”I will promise everything and anything,” he replied. ”I will ask Madame de Chandalle to introduce you to my mother--I should not have the nerve for it.”
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