Sword and Gown Part 14

Waring did not avail himself of the chair indicated, but crossed his arms over the back of it, and stood so, regarding her intently.

"You only do me justice there," he replied; "I will speak briefly, and plainly too. I came here from Nice to ask you how much truth there is in the reports that couple your name with Major Keene's?"

No one likes to give the death-blow to the loyalty of a faithful adherent, be he ever so humble; and Cecil was bitterly pained that she could not speak truly, and satisfy him. Her face sank lower and lower, till it was buried in her hands. Nothing more was needed to convince Waring that his worst fears were realized; for a moment or two he felt sick and faint. No wonder; he had given up hope long ago, but not trust and faith; now, these were blasted utterly. In any religion, whether true or false, the fanatic is happier, if not wiser, than the infidel; if you can not replace it with a better, it is cruel to shake the foundation of the simplest creed. Mark's voice--hollow, and hoa.r.s.e, and changed--could not but betray his agony.

"G.o.d help us both! Has it come to this--that you have no words to answer me, when I dare to hint at your dishonor?"

She looked up quickly, flus.h.i.+ng to her white brow, rose-red with anger.

"I will not endure this, even from you. Understand at once--I deny your right to question me." The clear blue eyes met the violet ones with a steady, judicial calmness, undazzled by their ominous lightning.

"Listen to me quietly--two minutes longer," he said, "and then resent my presumption as much as you will. Three years ago it pleased you to make me the subject of an experiment. How far you acted heedlessly, and in ignorance of the consequences, I have never stopped to inquire--it would be wasting time; the sophistries of coquetry are too subtle for me. I only know what the result has been. Before I met you I could have offered to any woman, who thought it worth her acceptance, a healthy, honest love; now--even if I could conquer my present infatuation--I could only offer a feeling something warmer than friends.h.i.+p; to promise more would be base treachery. Do you think I would stand by G.o.d's altar with a worse lie than Ananias's on my lips? Is it nothing that, to gratify your vanity or your whims, you should have condemned a man, whose blood is not frozen yet, to something worse than widowhood for life? My religion may be a false and vain idolatry; but it is all I have to trust to. I will not stand patiently by and see the image that I have bowed down to wors.h.i.+p pilloried for the world to scorn. Now--do you deny my right to interfere?"

His words had a rude energy, though little eloquence; but they came so evidently from the depths of a strong, troubled heart, that they caused a revulsion in Cecil's feelings; returning remorse bore down her stubborn pride. Very low and plaintive was the whisper--"Ah! have mercy--have mercy; you make me so unhappy;" but there came a more piteous appeal from her eyes. In Mark's stout manhood was an element of more than womanish compa.s.sion and tenderness; he never could bear to see even a child in tears; no wonder if his anger vanished before the contrition of the one being whom he loved far better than life. He lost sight of his own wrongs instantly, but _not_ of the object he had in view.

"Forgive me for speaking so roughly; I ought to have declined your challenge. I behaved better once, you remember. But be patient while I plead for the right, though, if you would but listen to them, prudence and your own conscience could do that better than I. When infatuation exists, it is worse than useless to prove the object of it unworthy, so I will not attempt to blacken Major Keene's character; besides, it is not to my taste to attack men in their absence. I fear there are few capitals in Europe where his name is not too well known. From what I have heard, I believe his wife was most in fault when they separated, but the life he has led since deprives him of all right to complain of her, or condemn her. Recollect you have only heard one side. But it is not a question of his eligibility as an acquaintance. There is the simple fact--he is married, and your name being connected with his involves disgrace. You can not have fallen yet so far as to be reckless about such an imputation. In my turn I say, 'Have mercy!' Do not force me henceforth to disbelieve in the purity of any created thing."

Cecil could only murmur, "It is too late--too late!" The ghastly look of horror that swept over Waring's face showed that his thoughts had gone beyond the truth. "I mean," she went on, blus.h.i.+ng painfully, "that I have promised."

"Promised!" Mark repeated in high disdain; "I have lived too long when I hear such devil's logic from your lips. You know full well there is more sin in keeping than in breaking such engagements. I will try to save you in spite of yourself. Listen. I do not threaten; I know you well enough to be certain that such an argument would be the strongest temptation to you to persevere in taking your own course. I simply tell you what I will do. I shall speak to your brother first; if he can not understand his duty, or shrinks from it, I will carry out what I believe to be mine. I utterly disapprove of and despise the practice of dueling, but, at any risk, I _will_ stand between you and Major Keene. He shall not gain possession of you while I am alive. When I am dead, if you touch his hand, you shall know that my blood is upon it, and the guilt shall be on your own head. I believe that in keeping you apart I should act kindly toward both. I do him this justice--it would make him miserable to see you pining away. There are limits to human endurance, and you are too proud to bear dishonor."

Cecil felt that every word he had spoken was good and true, and that he would not waver in his purpose for an instant. She remembered how, when they were returning together four days ago, the sidelong glance of a matronly Pharisee had lighted on her in a spiteful triumph, and how, though neither of them alluded to it afterward, the dark-red flash of anger had mounted to Royston's forehead. She had ceased to care for herself, but could she not save _him_ while yet there was time? And more--had she not wrought wrong enough to Mark Waring without having his murder on her soul? for she never doubted as to the result if those two should meet as foes.

They talk of hair that has grown gray in the briefest s.p.a.ce of mental anguish. It is all a delusion and an old wife's fable. When Cecil rose the next morning there was not a silver line in her tresses. Outward signs of the mortal struggle, while it lasted, there were none, for her clasped hands veiled her face jealously; when she raised it, her cheek was paler than death and wet with an awful dew, and when she spoke her voice retained not one cadence of its wonted melody.

"You have prevailed, as the truth always ought to prevail. Now tell me what to do."

Mark Waring would have drained his heart's blood drop by drop to have lightened one throb of her agony, but he never thought of flinching from his purpose.

"There are perils where the only safety lies in flight. You must leave this before Major Keene returns, and he returns to-morrow."

Perhaps I have failed in making you understand one hereditary peculiarity of the Tresilyans. When their hand was fairly laid to the plow they were incapable of looking back. Had Mark come ten hours later, when Cecil's purpose was absolutely fixed, all his arguments would have been futile. As it was, once having decided finally on the line she was to take, it never occurred to her to make farther objections. "Yes, I will go," she said; "but I must write to him."

"I think you ought to do so," answered Waring, "and if you will give me the letter I will deliver it myself."

Every vestige of the returning color faded from Cecil's cheek. "You do not know him: I dare not trust you." He misinterpreted the cause of her terror. "I promise you that, however angry Major Keene may be, I will bear it patiently, and never dream of resenting it. He is safe from me now."

She smiled very sadly, yet not without a dreary pride; she could have seen Royston pitted against any mortal antagonist, and never would have feared for _him_. "You scarcely understand me; I was not anxious for his safety, but for yours."

Mark was too brave and single-hearted to suspect a taunt, even had such been intended. "Then there is nothing more to be settled," he said, quietly, "but the time and manner of your departure. I will leave you now; I shall see you before you go."

Cecil Tresilyan rose and laid her hand on his arm, her beautiful face fixed in its firm resolve like that of one of those fair Norse Valas, from whose rigid lips flowed the bode of defeat or victory, when the Vikings went forth to the Feast of the Ravens.

"I am not angry with one word you have said to-night; you have only expressed what my own cowardly conscience ought to have uttered; nevertheless, to-morrow sees our last meeting. All your account against me is fairly balanced now. I do not know what I may have to suffer, but I do know that I _will_ be alone till I die. Perhaps some day I may thank you in my thoughts for what you have done; I can not--now."

With a heavy heart Waring owned to himself that her words were bitterly true. In curing such diseases, the physician must work without hope of reward or fee; it will be long before the patient can touch without a shudder the hand that inflicted the saving cautery.

Her tone changed, and she went on murmuring, low and plaintively, as if in soliloquy and unconscious of another's presence.

"I could not help loving him, though I knew it was sin; if there is shame in confessing it, I can not feel it yet. I wish I had told him--_once_--how dearly I loved him; I shall never be able to whisper it to him now, and I dare not write it. No, he will not forget me as he has forgotten others; but he will hate me, and call me false, and fickle, and cold. Cold--if he could only read my heart! I never read it myself till now, when we must be parted forever."

Is it pleasant, think you, to listen to such words as these, uttered by the woman that you have wors.h.i.+ped, even if it be hopelessly, for years?

Men have gone mad under lighter tortures than those that Mark Waring was then forced to endure. But he knew that it was the extremity of her anguish that had hardened for a season Cecil's gentle, generous, nature, and made her heedless of the pain she inflicted. So he answered in a slow, steady voice, such as we employ when trying to calm the ravings of a fever-fit:

"Hus.h.!.+ you speak wildly. My presence here does you no good. You may think of me as hardly as you will; perhaps time will soften your judgment; if not--I shall still not repent to-night's work. I will come for your letter at the moment of your departure. Good-night; I pray that G.o.d may help you now, and guard you always." He raised her hand and just touched it with his lips, with the same grave courtesy that had marked his manner when they parted last, three years ago, and in another second Cecil was alone again.

She was not long in recovering from her bewilderment; and when Mrs.

Danvers returned she was perfectly collected and calm. It is not worth while recording Bessie's noisy expressions of astonishment and delight, nor describing d.i.c.k Tresilyan's way of receiving notice of the sudden change in their plans. His stolid composure was not greatly disturbed thereby; he muttered, under his breath, some sulky anathemas on "women who never knew their own minds;" but this was only because he considered a growl to be the form of protest suitable to the circ.u.mstances and due to his masculine dignity. On the whole, he was rather glad to go. It had become evident, even to his dull comprehension, that great mischief was brewing somewhere, and for days he had been in a state of hazy apprehension--as he expressed it, "not seeing his way out of it at all."

So he set about his part of the preparations for their exodus with a right good will. Neither will we give the details of Cecil's parting with _la mignonne_. The latter was so rejoiced at the idea of her friend's being out of harm's way that she did not question her much as to the reasons for such an abrupt departure: it was not till afterward that she learned that it had been brought about by the influence of Waring. It is unnecessary to mention that the adieus were not accomplished without a certain amount of tears; but they were all shed by f.a.n.n.y Molyneux. Cecil dared not yet trust herself to weep. She took a far more formal farewell of Mr. Fullarton, and the chaplain did not even venture a parting benediction.

The heavy traveling-chariot, with its hundred cunning contrivances, is packed at last, and Karl, the accomplished courier, wiping from his blonde mustache the drops of the stirrup-cup, touches his cap with his accustomed formula, "Zi ces dames zont bretes?" Mark Waring leans over the carriage door to say "Good-by:" the hand he presses lies in his grasp, unresponsive and unsympathetic as a splinter from an iceberg. His sad, earnest look pleads in vain, for there is no softening or kindness in Cecil's desolate, dreamy eyes. The road on which they are to travel is the same for some leagues as that along which Royston Keene must return, and she is thinking, divided between hope and fear, if there may not be a possibility of their meeting. The wheels move, and hasty farewells are waved, and Mark stands there half stupefied, unconscious of any thing but a sense of lonely wretchedness. The one solitary link that still binds him to Cecil Tresilyan will be severed when the letter is delivered that he holds in his hand.

As the carriage swept round the corner of the terrace, it pa.s.sed close to the spot where Armand de Chateaumesnil sat basking in the suns.h.i.+ne.

The invalid lifted his cap in courteous adieu, but his face grew dark, and his s.h.a.ggy brows were knit savagely.

"On l'a triche donc, apres tout," he muttered; "Sang Dieu! les absens ont diablement tort." Sunk as she was at that moment in gloomy meditations, Cecil never forgot that the last object on which her eyes lighted in Dorade was the blasted wreck of the crippled Algerian.

Molyneux and his wife stood silent till their friends were quite out of sight, then Harry turned slowly round and gazed at his _mignonne_. He knew that the same thought was in both their minds, for her sweet face was paler than his own. (Neither of them guessed at the truth, and they saw in Mark Waring nothing more than an old acquaintance of the Tresilyans.)

"Royston will be here in four hours," he said, "and who will tell him this? _I_ dare not."

f.a.n.n.y feigned a carelessness that she was far from feeling.

"I don't know how that is to be managed, but I believe it is all for the best. He can't kill either of us; that is some comfort."

Harry did not smile; his countenance wore an expression of grave anxiety, such as had seldom appeared there.

"No, he will not hurt us, but I fear he will have _some one's_ blood before all is done."

CHAPTER XXI.

It was past nightfall when Major Keene returned to Dorade. As he drove past the hotel where the Tresilyans lodged he looked up at the windows of their apartments, and was somewhat surprised to _see_ no light there; but no suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He had made all preparations for the intended flight with his habitual skill and foresight. The Levantine steamer left Ma.r.s.eilles early on the third morning from this, and relays were so ordered along the road as to prevent the possibility of being overtaken, and just to hit the hour of the vessel's sailing. So far every thing seemed to promise favorably for the accomplishment of his purposes, and Royston could not have explained even to himself the reason of his feeling so moody and discontented. He went straight to his own rooms, without looking in at the Molyneuxs'; for he was heated and travel-stained; and, under such circ.u.mstances, was wont to postpone the greeting of friends to the exigencies of the toilet. This was scarcely concluded when his servant brought him Mark Waring's card, with a request penciled on it for an immediate interview.

Even the Cool Captain started perceptibly when he read the name. He was well acquainted with the episode connected with it; for Cecil had kept back none of her secrets from him, and this was among the earliest confidences. _Then_ he had felt no inclination to sneer; but now his lip began to curl cynically.

"_Coramba!_" he muttered; "the plot begins to thicken. What brings the old lover _en scene_? I hope he does not mean to make himself disagreeable. I haven't time to quarrel just now; and, besides, it would worry Cecil. Well, we'll find out what he wants. Tell Mr. Waring that I am disengaged, and shall be happy to see him."

The major advanced to meet his visitor with a manner that was perfectly courteous, though it retained a tinge of haughty surprise.

"I can not guess to what I am indebted for this pleasure," he said.

"Pardon me, if I ask you to explain your object as briefly as possible.

I have much to do this evening, and my time is hardly my own."

Waring gazed fixedly at the speaker for a few seconds before he replied.

Like most of his profession, he was an acute physiognomist, and in that brief s.p.a.ce he fathomed much of the character of the man who had rivaled him successfully. He confessed honestly to himself that there were grounds, if not excuse, for Cecil's infatuation; but he shrank from thinking of the danger which she had escaped so narrowly.