Part 32 (1/2)
Dr. Grey collected his letters and walked away, followed by his guest; and, a moment after, a low, scornful laugh, floated in through the window which opened on the little flower-garden.
Miss Jane had requested Salome to gather the seeds of some apple and nutmeg geraniums that were arranged on a shelf near the western window of the library; and, while stooping over the china jars, and screened from observation by a spreading lilac-bush, the girl had heard the conversation relative to herself.
Excessive vanity had never been numbered among the faults that marred her character, but Dr. Grey's indifference to personal attractions, which strangers admitted so readily, piqued, and thoroughly aroused a feeling that was destined to bring countless errors and misfortunes in its train; and, henceforth,--
”There was not a high thing out of heaven, Her pride o'ermastereth not.”
Hitherto the love of one man had been the only boon she craved of heaven; but now, conscious that the darling hope of her life was crushed and withering under Dr. Grey's relentless feet, she resolved that the admiration of the world should feed her insatiable hunger,--a maddening hunger which one tender word from his true lips would have a.s.suaged,--but which she began to realize he would never utter.
During the last eighteen hours, a mournful change had taken place in her heart, where womanly tenderness was rapidly retreating before unwomanly hate, bitterness, and blasphemous defiance; and she laughed scornfully at the ”idiocy” that led her to weary heaven with prayers for the preservation of a life that must ever run as an asymptote to her own. How earnestly she now lamented an escape, for which she had formerly exhausted language in expressing her grat.i.tude; and how much better it would have been if she could mourn him as dead, instead of jealously watching him,--living without a thought of her.
All the girlish sweetness and freshness of her nature pa.s.sed away, and an intolerable weariness and disappointment usurped its place. Since her acquaintance with Dr. Grey, he had been her sole _Melek Taous_, adored with Yezidi fervor; but to-day she overturned, and strove to revile and desecrate the idol, to whose vacant pedestal she lifted a colossal vanity. Her bruised, numb heart, seemed incapable of loving any one, or anything, and a hatred and contempt of her race took possession of her.
The changing hues of Muriel's tell-tale face when Mr. Granville arrived, and the excessive happiness that could not be masked, had not escaped Salome's lynx vision; and very accurately she conjectured the real condition of affairs, relative to which Dr. Grey had never uttered a syllable. Bent upon mischief, she had, malice prepense, dressed herself with unusual care, and arranged her hair in a new style of coiffure, which proved very becoming.
Now, as the hum of conversation mingled with the sound of Muriel's low, soft laugh, reached her from the parlor, her chatoyant eyes kindled, and she hastily went in to join the merry circle.
”Come here, child, and sit by me,” said Miss Jane, making room on the sofa, as her _protegee_ entered.
”Thank you, I prefer a seat near the window.”
Dr. Grey sat in a large chair in the centre of the floor, with Muriel on an ottoman close to him, and Mr. Granville leaned over the back of the chair, while Miss Dexter shared Miss Jane's old-fas.h.i.+oned ample sofa. In full view of the whole party, Salome seated herself at a little distance, and, with admirably a.s.sumed nonchalance, began to enclose and sew up the geranium-seeds, in some pretty, colored paper bags, prepared for the purpose.
After a few minutes Mr. Granville sauntered across the room, looked at the cuckoo clock, and finally went over to the window, where he leaned against the facing and watched Salome's slender white fingers.
She was dressed in a delicate muslin, striped with narrow pink lines, and flounced at the bottom of the skirt, and wore a ribbon sash of the same color; while in the broad braids of hair raised high on her head, she had fastened a superb half-blown Baron Provost rose, just where two long glossy curls crept down. The puffed sleeves, scarcely reaching the elbows, displayed the finely rounded white arms, and the exactness with which the airy muslin fitted her form, showed its symmetrical outline to the greatest advantage.
Muriel touched her guardian, and whispered,--
”Did you ever see Salome look so beautiful? Her coiffure to-night is almost Parisian, and how very becoming!”
Dr. Grey was studying the innocent, happy countenance of his unsuspecting ward, and he could not repress a sigh, when, turning his eyes towards Salome, he noticed the undisguised admiration in Mr.
Granville's earnest gaze.
A nameless dread made him take Muriel's hand and lead her to the piano.
”Play something for me. I am music-hungry.”
”Is Saul sad to-night?” she asked, smiling up at him.
”A little fatigued and perplexed, and anxious to have his cares exorcised by the magic of your fingers.”
With womanly tact she selected a _fantasia_ which Mr. Granville had often p.r.o.nounced the gem of her _repertoire_, and momentarily expected to hear his whispered thanks; but page after page was turned, and still her lover did not approach the piano, where Dr. Grey stood with folded arms and slightly contracted brows. Muriel played brilliantly, and was pardonably proud of her proficiency, which Mr. Granville had confessed first attracted his attention; and to-night, when the piece was concluded and she commenced a _Polonaise_, she looked over her shoulder hoping to meet a grateful, fond glance. But his eyes were riveted on the fair rosy face at his side, and his betrothed bit her pouting lip and made sundry blunders.
As she rose from the piano-stool, Mr. Granville exclaimed,--
”Miss Muriel, you love music so well that I trust you will add your persuasions to mine, and induce Miss Owen to sing for us, as she declares she is comparatively a tyro in instrumental music, and would not venture to perform in your presence.”
”She has never sung for me, but I hope she will not refuse your request. Salome, will you not oblige us?”
Muriel's eyes were dim with tears, but her sweet voice did not falter.