The White Gauntlet Part 74

"You know, I'm not good at guessing, Lora. I hope you havn't lost your favourite merlin?"

"No--not so bad as that; though I've lost something."

"What, pray?"

"A lover!"

"Ah!" exclaimed Marion with a sad emphasis. Then, making an effort to conceal her emotion, she added in another strain, "I hope Walter hasn't been flirting with Dorothy Dayrell?"

"Bother Dorothy Dayrell!"

"Well--perhaps with one you might have more reason to be afraid of--Miss Winifred Wayland?"

"Not so bad as that neither. It's another lover I've lost!"

"Oh! you confess to having had another. Have you told Walter so?"

"Bother about Walter! Who do you think I'm speaking of?"

"Captain Scarthe perhaps--whom you admire so much. Is he the lover you have lost?"

"Not so bad as that neither. Guess again?"

"A third there is, or has been! You wicked coquette?"

"Not I. I never gave him the slightest encouragement. I am sure, never. Did you ever see me, coz?"

"When you tell me who this lost lover is, I shall be the better able to answer you."

"Who he is! Cornet Stubbs, of course."

"Oh! he. And how have you come to lose him? Has he made away with himself? He hasn't drowned himself in the mere, I hope?"

"I don't know. I shouldn't like to swear he hasn't. When I last looked upon his ugly face, I fancied there was drowning in it. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Well, my light-hearted coz; your loss seems to sit easily upon you.

Pray explain yourself."

"Marion!" said Lora, catching hold of her cousin's arm; and speaking in a tone of greater solemnity. "Would you believe it--that impertinent has again proposed to me?"

"What! a second declaration! That looks more like finding a lover, than losing one?"

"Ay, a second declaration; and this time far more determined than before. Why, he would take no denial!"

"And what answer did you make him?"

"Well, the first time, as I told you, I gave him a flat refusal. This time it wasn't so very flat. It was both pointed and indignant. I talked to him sharp enough: no mincing of words I a.s.sure you. And yet, for all that, the _pig_ persisted in his proposal, as if he had the power to force me to say, yes! I couldn't get rid of him, until I threatened him with a box on the ear. Ay, and I'd have given it him, if some of the company hadn't come up at the time, and relieved me of his importunities. I shouldn't have cared if I had ever given him cause-- the impudent pleb! I wonder that keeping the company of his more accomplished captain don't have the effect of refining him a little--the impertinent upstart!"

"Have you told Walter?"

"No--that I haven't; and don't you, dear Marion. You know Walter has been jealous of Stubbs--without the slightest cause--and might want to challenge him. I shouldn't that, for the world; though I'd like some one--not Walter--to teach him a lesson, such as your brave Henry Holtspur taught--

"Ah!" exclaimed the speaker, suddenly interrupting herself, as she saw the painful impression which the mention of that name had produced.

"Pardon me, cousin! I had quite forgotten. This scene with Stubbs has driven everything out of my mind. O, dear Marion! may be it is not true? There may be some mistake? Dorothy Dayrell is wicked enough to invent anything; and as for that foppish brother of Miss Winifred Wayland, he is as full of conceit as his own sister; and as full of falsehood as his cousin. Dear Marion! don't take it for truth! It may be all a misconception. Holtspur may not be married after all; and if he be, then the base villain--"

"Lora!" interrupted Marion, in a firm tone of voice, "I command--I intreat you--to say nothing of what you know--not even to Walter--and above all, speak not of _him_, as you have done just now. Even if he be, what you have said, it would not be pleasant for me to hear it repeated."

"But, surely, if it be true, you would not continue to love him!"

"_I could not help it. I am lost. I must love him_!"

"Dear, dear Marion!" cried Lora, as she felt the arms of her cousin entwined around her neck, and saw the tears streaming down her cheek, "I pity you--poor Marion, from my heart I pity you! Do not weep, dearest.

It will pa.s.s. In time you will cease to think of him!"

There was but one word of reply to these affectionate efforts at consolation.

It came amid tears and choking sobs--but with an emphasis, and an accent, that admitted of no rejoinder.

"_Never_!" was that word p.r.o.nounced in a firm unfaltering tone.

Then, tossing her head backward, and, by a vigorous effort of her proud spirit, a.s.suming an air of indifference, the speaker clasped the hand of her cousin; and walked resolutely back towards the a.s.semblage, from which she had so furtively separated.

Volume Three, Chapter XIII.

Of all who enjoyed the sports of the hawking party, no one left it with a heavier heart than Marion Wade. The shadows of night descending over the lake--as the company took their departure from its sh.o.r.es--might well symbolise the shadow that had fallen upon her heart. Throughout the afternoon, it had been a hard struggle with her to conceal her chagrin from curious eyes; to appear joyous, amid so many happy faces; to wear pretended smiles, while those around were laughing gaily.

All this, however, her strength of character had enabled her to accomplish; though it was like removing a load from off her breast, when the falling shades of twilight summoned the party to a separation.

That night no sleep for Marion Wade--not enough to give her a moment's relief from the thoughts that tortured her. Her pillow was pressed, but with a pale and sleepless cheek; and often, during the night, had she risen from her couch, and paced the floor of her apartment, like one under the influence of a delirious dream.

The bosom that has been betrayed can alone understand the nature of her sufferings. Perhaps only a woman's heart can fully appreciate the pain she was enduring? Hers had received into its inmost recesses--into the very citadel itself--the image of the heroic Holtspur. It was still there; but all around it was rankling as with poison.

The arrow had entered. Its distilled venom permeated the bosom it had pierced. There was no balsam to subdue the pain--no hope to afford the slightest solace--only regret for the past, and despair for the future.

Until that day Marion Wade had never known what it was to be truly unhappy. Her pangs of jealousy hitherto experienced, had been slight, compared with those which were now wringing her breast. Even her apprehensions for the fate of her lover had been endurable: since hope for his safety had never wholly forsaken her. During the interval that had lapsed since his escape, she had not been altogether unhappy. Her heart had been fortified by hope; and still farther supported by the remembrance of that last sweet interview. So long as Holtspur lived, and loved her, she felt that she could be happy--even under those circ.u.mstances hypothetically foreshadowed in his parting speeches.

There were times when she pondered on their mysterious import; when she wondered what they could have meant--and not without a sense of dissatisfaction.

But she had not allowed this to intrude itself either often or long.

Her love was too loyal, too trusting, to be shaken by suspicions. She remembered how unjust had been those formerly indulged in; and, influenced by this memory, she had resolved never again to give way to doubt, without some certain sign--such as the return of the love-token, as arranged between them. She might have had cause to wonder, why she had not heard from him--if only a word to ensure her of his safety. But she was not chagrined by his silence. The risk of communicating with her might account for it. Under an hypocritical pretence of duty--of obedience to orders he dared not depart from--the cuira.s.sier captain permitted nothing--not even an epistle--to enter the mansion of Sir Marmaduke Wade, without being first submitted to his own scrutiny.

Since the hour of his escape, the only intimation she had had of her lost lover--almost the first time she had heard his name p.r.o.nounced--was when coupled with those two words, that were now filling her with woe--"_His wife_!"

Marion had heard no more. She had stayed for no farther torture from those scandal-loving lips. She had heard that her lover--the man to whom she had surrendered the reins of her heart--was the _husband_ of another! That was knowledge enough for one hour of wretchedness--ay, for a whole lifetime of sadness and chagrin.

Though in the midst of that gay a.s.semblage, she had not essayed to seek an explanation; she was now desirous of having it. So long as the slightest remnant of either hope or doubt remains within the mind of one who suspected an unrequited pa.s.sion, that mind cannot feel satisfaction.

It will seek the truth--although the search may conduct to eternal ruin.

So determined the daughter of Sir Marmaduke Wade, during the mid hours of that sleepless night; and, long before the great bell of Bulstrode summoned its retainers to their daily toil, the young mistress of this lordly mansion might have been seen--closely wrapped in cloak and hood-- issuing forth from one of its portals; and, under the grey light of dawn, with quick but stealthy step, making her way over the dew-bespangled pastures of its park.