Part 26 (1/2)
”Good-bye, beauty. I hate to leave you; upon my word I do; but duty before pleasure, my heavenly-eyed monitress. I have not had my Christmas present yet, and have it I will.”
”On one condition, Hugh; that you drive cautiously and moderately, instead of thundering down hills and over bridges like some express train behind time. Will you promise?”
”To be sure I will! everything in the world; and am ready to swear it, if you are sceptical.”
”Well, then, good-bye, Hugh, and take care of yourself.”
She allowed him to press his hot lips to hers, and, accompanying him to the door, saw him jump into the frail open-topped buggy. Wildfire plunged and sprang off in his usual style, and, with a crack of the whip and wave of his hat, Hugh was fairly started.
Seven hours later Irene sat alone at the library table, absorbed in writing an article on Laplace's Nebular Theory for the scientific journal to which she occasionally contributed over the signature of ”Sabaean.” Gradually her thoughts wandered from the completed task to other themes of scarcely less interest. The week previous she had accompanied Hugh to an operatic concert given by the Parodi troupe, and had been astonished to find Russell seated on the bench in front of her. He so rarely showed himself on such occasions that his appearance elicited some comment. They had met frequently since the evening at Mr. Mitch.e.l.l's, but he pertinaciously avoided recognizing her; and, on this particular night, though he came during an interlude to speak to Grace Harris, who sat on the same row of seats with Irene, he never once directed his eyes toward the latter. This studied neglect, she felt a.s.sured, was not the result of the bitter animosity existing between her father and himself; and though it puzzled her for a while, she began finally to suspect the true nature of his feelings, and, with woman's rarely erring instincts, laid her finger on the real motive which prompted him. The report of his engagement to Grace had reached her some days before, and now it recurred to her mind like a haunting spectre. She did not believe for an instant that he was attached to the pretty, joyous girl whom rumour gave him; but she was well aware that he was ambitious of high social position, and feared that he might possibly, from selfish, ign.o.ble reasons, seek an alliance with Judge Harris' only daughter, knowing that the family was one of the wealthiest and most aristocratic in the State.
Life had seemed dreary enough before; but, with this apprehension added, it appeared insupportable, and she was conscious of a degree of wretchedness never dreamed of or realized heretofore. Not even a sigh escaped her; she was one of a few women who permit no external evidences of suffering, but lock it securely in their own proud hearts. The painful reverie might, perhaps, have lasted till the pallid dawn looked in with tearful eyes at the window, but Paragon, who was sleeping on the rug at her feet, started up and growled. She raised her head and listened, but only the ticking of the clock was audible, and the wailing of the wind through the leafless poplars.
”Down, Paragon! hush, sir!”
She patted his head soothingly, and he sank back a few seconds in quiet, then sprang up with a loud bark. This time she heard an indistinct sound of steps in the hall, and thought: ”Nellie sees my light through the window, and is coming to coax me upstairs.” Something stumbled near the threshold, a hand struck the k.n.o.b as if in hunting for it, the door opened softly, and, m.u.f.fled in his heavy cloak, holding his hat in one hand, Russell Aubrey stood in the room. Neither spoke, but he looked at her with such mournful earnestness, such eager yet grieved compa.s.sion, that she read some terrible disaster in his eyes. The years of estrangement, all that had pa.s.sed since their childhood, was forgotten; studied conventionalities fell away at the sight of him standing there, for the first time, in her home.
She crossed the room with a quick, uncertain step, and put out her hands toward him--vague, horrible apprehension blanching the beautiful lips, which asked s.h.i.+veringly--
”What is it, Russell? What is it?”
He took the cold little hands tremblingly in his, and endeavoured to draw her back to the hearth, but she repeated--
”What has happened? Is it father, or Hugh?”
”Your father is well, I believe; I pa.s.sed him on the road yesterday. Sit down, Miss Huntingdon; you look pale and faint.”
Her fingers closed tightly over his; he saw an ashen hue settle on her face, and in an unnaturally calm low tone, she asked--
”Is Hugh dead? Oh, my G.o.d! why don't you speak, Russell?”
”He did not suffer much; his death was too sudden.”
Her face had such a stony look that he would have pa.s.sed his arm around her, but could not disengage his hand; she seemed to cling to it as if for strength.
”Won't you let me carry you to your room, or call a servant? You are not able to stand.”
She neither heeded nor heard him.
”Was it that horse; or how was it?”
”One of the bridges had been swept away by the freshet, and, in trying to cross, he missed the ford. The horse must have been frightened and unmanageable, the buggy was overturned in the creek, and your cousin, stunned by the fall, drowned instantly; life was just extinct when I reached him.”
Something like a moan escaped her as she listened.
”Was anything done?”
”We tried every means of resuscitation, but they were entirely ineffectual.”
She relaxed her clasp of his fingers, and moved toward the door.