Part 24 (2/2)
One warm, brilliant day he took leave of her and she was left to work out her purpose. She never forgot the day of his departure--it was one of those hot days when the summer skies seemed to be half obscured by a copper-colored haze, when the green leaves hang languidly, and the birds seek the coolest shade, when the flowers droop with thirst, and never a breath of air stir their blossoms, when there is no picture so refres.h.i.+ng to the senses as that of a cool deep pool in the recesses of a wood.
She stood at the grand entrance, watching him depart, and she knew that with all her beauty, her grace, her talent, her sovereignty, no one had ever loved her as this man did. Then, after he was gone, she stood still on the broad stone terrace, with that strange smile on her face, which seemed to mar while it deepened her beauty.
”It will be a full revenge,” she said to herself. ”There could be no fuller. But what shall I do when it is all known?”
She was not one to flinch from the course of action she had marked out for herself, nor from the consequences of that course; but she shuddered even in the heat, as she thought what her life would be when her vengeance was taken.
”He will never forgive me,” she said, ”he will look upon me as the wickedest of women. It does not matter; he should not have exasperated me by slighting me.”
Then the coppery haze seemed to gather itself together--great purple ma.s.ses of clouds piled themselves in the sky, a lurid light overspread the heavens, the dense oppressive silence was broken by a distant peal of thunder, great rain-drops fell--fierce, heavy drops. The trees seemed to stretch out their leaves to drink in the moisture, the parched flowers welcomed the downpour; and still the d.u.c.h.ess of Hazlewood stood out on the terrace, so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that she never heeded the rain.
Madaline hastened out to her with a shawl.
”Dear d.u.c.h.ess,” she cried, ”it is raining; and you are so absorbed in thought that you do not notice it.”
She laughed a strange, weird laugh, and raised her beautiful face with its expression of gloom.
”I did not notice it, Madaline,” she said; ”but there is no need for anxiety about me,” she added, proudly.
They re-entered the house together. Madaline believed that the d.u.c.h.ess was thinking of and grieving over the departure of the duke. Lady Peters thought the same. They both did their best to comfort her--to amuse her and distract her thoughts. But the absent expression did not die from her dark eyes. When they had talked to her some little time she took up the ”Lady of Lyons.”
”How much you admire that play,” said Madaline; ”I see you reading it so often.”
”I have a fancy for it,” returned the d.u.c.h.ess; ”it suits my taste. And I admire the language very much.”
”Yet it is a cruel story,” observed Madaline; ”the n.o.blest character in it is _Pauline_.”
”She was very proud; and pride, I suppose, must suffer,” said the d.u.c.h.ess, carelessly.
”She was not too proud, after all, to love a n.o.ble man, when she once recognized him, d.u.c.h.ess.”
”She learned to love the prince--she would never have loved the gardener,” remarked Philippa; ”it was a terrible vengeance.”
”I do not like stories of vengeance,” said Madaline. ”After all, though, I love the _Claude_ of the story, and find much true n.o.bility in him--much to admire. When reading the play I am tempted all the time to ask myself, How could he do it? It was an unmanly act.”
There was a strange light in the dark eyes, a quiver on the scarlet lips, as Philippa said:
”Do you think so? Suppose some one had offended you as _Pauline_ offended _Claude_--laughing at the love offered, scorned, mocked, despised you--and that such vengeance as his lay in your power; would you not take it?”
The sweet face flushed.
”No, I would rather die,” Madaline replied, quickly.
”I would take it, and glory in it,” said the d.u.c.h.ess, firmly
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