Part 93 (1/2)
”Does my Lily love me best?”
Only the white arms answered his whisper, clasping his neck; and Mrs.
Laurance and Mr. Chesley left them, with the dewy roses overhead swinging like censers in the glorious autumn morning and the sacred chimes of church bells dying in silvery echoes, among the olive and myrtle that clothed the distant hills.
CHAPTER x.x.xVII.
In consenting to bestow Regina's hand on Mr. Palma, Mrs. Laurance had stipulated that the marriage should be deferred for one year, alleging that her daughter was yet very young, and having been so long separated she wished her to remain with her at least for some months. Mr. Palma reluctantly a.s.sented to conditions which compelled him to return to America without Regina, and in November Mrs.
Laurance removed to Milan, where she desired that her child's fine voice and musical talent should be trained and developed by the most superior instruction.
Swiftly the twelve months sped away, and in revisiting the Mediterranean sh.o.r.es, linked by so many painful reminiscences with the period of her former sojourn, Mrs. Laurance, despite the efforts of her faithful and fond companion, seemed to sink into a confirmed melancholy.
By tacit agreement no reference was ever made to her past life, but a shadow chill and unlifting brooded over her, and the sleeplessness that no opiate could conquer--a sleeplessness born of heart-ache which no spell could narcotize--robbed her cheek of its bloom, and left weary lines on her patient, hopeless face.
Mr. Chesley had returned with Mr. Palma to the United States, and late in the following autumn Mrs. Laurance and Regina sailed for New York.
The a.s.sociations of the voyage were peculiarly painful to the unhappy wife, whose lips never unclosed upon the topic that engrossed her thoughts, and soon after their arrival her physician advised a trip to Florida or Cuba, until the rigour of the winter had ended, as an obstinate cough again aroused fears of consumption.
To accompany her mother, Regina postponed her marriage until June, and notwithstanding Mr. Palma's avowed dissatisfaction and earnest protest, spent the winter and spring in the West Indies. Mrs.
Laurance gradually regained health, but not cheerfulness, and in May, when they returned to New York, preparations were made for the wedding, which in deference to her mother's feelings, Regina desired should be very quiet.
Her husband's estate had long been in Mrs. Laurance's possession, and the stately mansion had been repaired and refurnished, awaiting its owner; but she shrank with a s.h.i.+ver from the mention of the place, announcing her intention to visit it no more, until she was laid to rest in the proud family tomb, whither the remains of General Rene Laurance had already been removed.
In accordance with her daughter's wishes, she had taken for the summer a villa on the Hudson, only a short distance from the city, and a week before the day appointed for the marriage they took possession of their country home.
As the time rapidly approached, Mrs. Laurance's depression of spirits seemed to increase; she jealously counted the hours that remained, and her sad eyes rested with fateful foreboding on her daughter's happy countenance.
On the afternoon previous to the wedding, the mother sat on the verandah overlooking the velvet lawn that stretched between the house and the river. The sun was setting, and the rich red glow rested upon the crest of distant hills, and smote the sails of two vessels gliding close to the opposite sh.o.r.e.
On the stone step sat Regina, her head leaning against her mother's knee, her hand half buried in the snowy locks of Hero, who crouched at her side.
”Mrs. Palma and Uncle Orme will not arrive until noon; but Olga comes early to-morrow; and, mother, I know you will be glad to learn that at last her brother has persuaded her to abandon her intention of joining the----”
She did not complete the sentence, for glancing up, she saw that Mrs.
Laurance's melancholy eyes were fixed on the crimson sky and purpling hills far away, and she knew that her thoughts were haunting grey, ashy crypts of the Bygone.
For some moments silence prevailed, and mother and child presented a singular contrast. The former was clad in some violet-coloured fabric, and her wealth of golden hair was brushed smoothly back and twisted into a loose knot, where her daughter's fingers had inserted a moss rose with cl.u.s.tering buds and glossy leaves.
The girl wore a simple white muslin, high in the throat, where a quilling of soft lace was secured by a bunch of lemon blooms and violets; and around her coil of jet hair twined a long spray of Arabian jasmine that drooped almost to her shoulder.
One face star-eyed and beaming as Hope, with rosy dreams lurking about the curves of her perfect mouth; the other pale, dejected, yet uncomplaining, a lovely statue of Regret.
Very soon the white hand that wore the black agate, wandered across the daughter's silky hair.
”Yonder goes the train; and Mr. Palma will be here in a few minutes.
How little I dreamed that cold, undemonstrative, selfish man would prove such a patient, tender lover! Truly--
'Beauty hath made our greatest manhoods weak.'