Part 53 (2/2)

'I wish we had brought a guitar,' said Miss Grandison; 'Count Mirabel, I am sure, would sing to us?' 'And you, you will sing to us without a guitar, will you not?' said the Count, smiling.

'Henrietta, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison. 'With you.'

'Of course; now you must,' said the Count: so they did.

This gliding home to the metropolis on a summer eve, so soft and still, with beautiful faces, as should always be the case, and with sweet sounds, as was the present--there is something very ravis.h.i.+ng in the combination. The heart opens; it is a dangerous moment. As Ferdinand listened once more to the voice of Henrietta, even though it was blended with the sweet tones of Miss Grandison, the pa.s.sionate past vividly recurred to him. Fortunately he did not sit near her; he had taken care to be the last in the boat. He turned away his face, but its stern expression did not escape the observation of the Count Mirabel.

'And now, Count Mirabel, you must really favour us,' said the d.u.c.h.ess.

'Without a guitar?' said the Count, and he began thrumming on his arm for an accompaniment. 'Well, when I was with the Duc d'Angouleme in Spain, we sometimes indulged in a serenade at Seville. I will try to remember one.'

A SERENADE OF SEVILLE.

I.

Come forth, come forth, the star we love Is high o'er Guadalquivir's grove, And tints each tree with golden light; Ah! Rosalie, one smile from thee were far more bright.

II.

Come forth, come forth, the flowers that fear To blossom in the sun's career The moonlight with their odours greet; Ah! Rosalie, one sigh from thee were far more sweet!

III.

Come forth, come forth, one hour of night, When flowers are fresh and stars are bright, Were worth an age of gaudy day; Then, Rosalie, fly, fly to me, nor longer stay!

'I hope the lady came,' said Miss Temple, 'after such a pretty song.'

'Of course,' said the Count, 'they always come.'

'Ferdinand, will you sing?' said Miss Grandison.

'I cannot, Katherine.'

'Henrietta, ask Ferdinand to sing,' said Miss Grandison; 'he makes it a rule never to do anything I ask him, but I am sure you have more influence.'

Lord Montfort came to the rescue of Miss Temple. 'Miss Temple has spoken so often to us of your singing, Captain Armine,' said his lords.h.i.+p; and yet Lord Montfort, in this allegation, a little departed front the habitual exact.i.tude of his statements.

'How very strange!' thought Ferdinand; 'her callousness or her candour baffles me. I will try to sing,' he continued aloud, 'but it is a year, really, since I have sung.'

In a voice of singular power and melody, and with an expression which increased as he proceeded, until the singer seemed scarcely able to control his emotions, Captain Armine thus proceeded:--

CAPTAIN ARMINE'S SONG.

I.

My heart is like a silent lute Some faithless hand has thrown aside; Those chords are dumb, those tones are mute, That once sent forth a voice of pride!

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