A Heart-Song of To-day Part 34

"Their idol, yes," said Vaura, musingly; "could this falsehood be the invention of some disappointed woman who has taken for her motto the words of Honorius, that 'there is a sweeter strain than that of grief-revenge, that drowns it.'"

As she ceased speaking, the voice of Trevalyon is heard quieting Mars, who is leaping wildly in welcome. And now he is with them; and as with smiles and warm hand-clasps he is welcomed, he feels that this is home. Vaura, who has been colouring some photographs, lets her hands fall idly to her lap, as she listens to the manly voice which, coming in and joining its music with their own, she feels makes their life complete.

"Yes, I have dined, thank you, and do feel more like myself than I have done since the weight of this scandal has been upon me; but I shall not worry myself or you with naming it. I turned my horse's head east, and always find a day with Nature so exalts and uplifts my whole being that life, again is filled with the calm, clear star of hope, and that my burden of care falls to the dust under my horse's feet; my spirit is again buoyant; I again live. And what have you both, my charming home angels, been about? you look yet as if a sun-warm bath would be your best medicine, Lady Alice."

"You are right, Lionel; you have had the sunbeams to-day; I must bask in them on to-morrow (D.V.) I feel fatigued even yet, though lazy enough to have kept my room until dinner hour."

"You have explored the gardens, I suppose, _ma belle_."

"No, that is a pleasure to come; I, too, was lazy today."

"I am selfish enough to be almost glad, as we can roam there to-morrow together," and there is a lingering emphasis on the last word as his blue eyes in a long gaze rest on her face.

"Come, Lionel, you and Vaura give me some music; draw the screen between my eyes and the firelight; I shall lie on this lounge and listen."

"Is not this an ideal music-room?" said Vaura, "opening as it does into the conservatory; and see Euterpe, standing in her niche, with flute and cornet at her feet, violin and guitar on either side, and the perfection of pianos, with this sweet-stringed harp;" and, sinking into the low chair beside it, she drew her fingers over the strings.

"I perceive," said Lionel, handling the flute, "your friend is a maker of sweet sounds."

"Awake the echo."

"To hear is to obey, _ma belle_."

Whereupon Lionel, looking down at the face upturned to him as her head lay on the cus.h.i.+oned chair-back, or droops as she draws her fingers across the harp-strings; and with the fever of love hot within him he sang in his sweet tenor the songs of Italia with the pa.s.sion of a living love breathing in their every note and word.

Thus song after song was softly sung, Vaura sometimes blending her voice with his, and he was so near, and it was an intoxicating hour; and Trevalyon, bound in honour not to speak his love, forgot that one of our poets, Sterne I think, says that "talking of love is making it," and sings on, as he drinks in fresh draughts from the warmth of her eyes, and her face is pale with emotion, her lips, that "thread of scarlet," and her neck, gleams in its whiteness as her bosom heaves with her quickened heart-beats, as she feels his meaning in his warm words; and fearing for herself, she is so sympathetic, and knows it is only because of the "difficulty," that he has not spoken, starts to her feet, laying her hand gently on his arm, says softly:

"You must be tired."

"Tired! no; this hour has been so perfect, my heart yearns for many such."

"See, my G.o.d-mother has deserted us unnoticed; ah! what a spell is there in music."

"The magnetism of your dear presence; ah, Circe! Circe what spells you weave," and there is a tender light in his eyes. She lets him look so, for a second, when she says gently, giving him her hand in good-night; "it would not do to leave you all the power of witchery," and she lets him put her hand through his arm and lead her to the foot of her stairs, where, with a silent hand-clasp they part for the night.

Dismissing her maid, whom she found asleep on the rug before the fire:

"I dare say you are tired, Saunders; you may retire; give me my dressing gown; there, that will do, I shall comb out my hair."

And, arrayed in dainty dressing gown, of white embroidered flannel, the combing of the bright tresses is a lengthy affair, for thought is busy; "Yes, this intense sympathy, this earnest tenderness, this languor and sweet sense of a new joy in living, all mean that I love him; and, as 'tis so, I am not at one with the poet when he says, ''tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all;'

lost! lost! what a world of loneliness it would be to me, what a world of loneliness in the very word; my love, your mesmeric eyes seem to be on me now; I wonder," and a smile comes to the dark eyes and the sweet mouth, "I wonder what you would think of me in this robe; but what nonsense I am dreaming," and the _robe de nuit_ is on; the short, fluffy hair pushed up a little from the eyes, which close as the soft cheek presses the pillow, and Somnus, the sleepy G.o.d, claims his dues.

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE UNRULY MEMBER IS HEARD.

The following morn is bright and glorious, the mountains, ah! the grandeur of them, their peaks in changing hues as the sun's breath grows warmer, cut the azure of the heavens, and rest there; one involuntarily feels on a morning like this one cannot love nature intensely enough; and now, Old Sol, giving his brightest beams to the Italian, who loves him, s.h.i.+nes into every corner of the Eternal City, from the King in his palace, and the Pope in the palace of the Vatican, to the peasant stretched on his door-step; for the good king Victor Emmanuel is sick, and the bright beams s.h.i.+ning through his window, cheer him; and he thinks of his people who are poor and ill, and also welcomes the sunbeams for their sake. And his gentle Holiness, Pius IX, in walking past the great painting of the Transfiguration, thinks "how glorious it looks in the sun's rays," and he too was glad. And the lazy peasant lying in the sun, stretched himself and was glad, for surely many n.o.ble ladies and gentlemen would be abroad in the sweet warm air, and he would beg many _soldi_ and buy macaroni.

Vaura, usually an early riser, but not having slept until dawn, was only awakened an hour ago by a sunbeam opening her eyelids, so that it was luncheon hour ere she made her appearance in the aesthetic little morning-room, whither Lady Esmondet had ordered it to be brought; on entering kissed her G.o.d-mother, and giving her hand to Lionel, her eyes drooping under his long gaze,

"You look quite yourself, G.o.d-mother mine, after your nights rest,"

she said.

"Yes, I am feeling very well to-day; but your roses are of a pale tint, how is that?"

"Whose roses could bloom with undimmed l.u.s.tre surrounded by flowers of such brilliant colouring?" she answered, evasively, indicating by a gesture the floral beauties filling the vases and jars, not wis.h.i.+ng to own before Lionel her sweet sleeplessness of the night.

Captain Trevalyon's man now brought letters from the post-office.

"Ah," said Vaura, taking her share, "one from Haughton Hall in the handwriting of madame, and to me."

On opening it a very well-executed photograph of the Hall fell to the floor, which Lionel picked up, while Vaura read aloud as follows:

"DEAR MISS VERNON,--

"I enclose you a photo of the Hall as I have made it. It was a perfect barracks when I saw it first; see what money can do. The American eagle is a great bird, eh? You must marry money. I shall have a gentleman here at Christmas with lots of land and a t.i.tle. The d.u.c.h.ess of Hatherton would sound well."

"A _bete noire_ of yours," said Lady Esmondet.

"Yes," said Vaura, carelessly, with a shrug of shoulders, going on with the letter.

"I must also settle Blanche this coming season. You observed, I suppose, how, much flesh she had; well, she loses weight every month; secret pining I expect for that naughty"--and Vaura stopped short as she saw the name, a curl of contempt coming to her lip as she read silently--"Trevalyon. She thought by his attentions that he loved her, poor thing; but the Colonel and myself would or could never hear of such a match, as he has a snug little wife hid away somewhere. I have Major Delrose a good deal with me. Your uncle doesn't care for him, neither would you; but the Colonel, dear man, is considerate, and don't expect everyone to be cut after his cloth; and as you will never be able to come north in the cold weather you won't meet him. Give my love to the willowy Marchmonts. We are the gayest of b.u.t.terflies.

"Your frolicsome, "KATE HAUGHTON, "Haughton Hall, Surrey, England.

"MISS VERNON, "The villa Iberia, "Rome, Italy.

"November, 1877."

To Delrose at Haughton madame, after mailing above, had said:

"I have settled Miss Vernon at all events; she will not show up at Christmas. I know she hates the Duke of Hatherton so I told her he is coming, and I don't know as yet whether he is. It takes a woman to outwit a woman."

"I cannot see," Delrose had answered, "why you don't want her, Kate."

"Because you are blind, you goose; if she came Trevalyon might, and you don't want him; and I don't want her, and so I please you, you ungrateful man."

To Trevalyon by same mail came:

"My own idol, come to me and Delrose shall go; I have written Miss Vernon that he is here, because I _don't want_ her freezing ladys.h.i.+p.

Everyone says you are so naughty in having a hidden wife; they will cut you I am sure; but I _love you all the more for your naughtiness_; only come to yours evermore.--KATE HAUGHTON."