A Romance of Toronto Part 9

"Indeed!"

"Yes, sir; Mr. Stone, he came in, and Miss Villiers, she waited outside in the trap."

The mere mention of the people from Broadlawns having come to hunt him up, had such a depressing effect, that he abandoned all idea of distraction at the play.

"There is not a particle of use of my trying to sit through the farce with this thumping headache; have a hansom here for me in a couple of hours, to convey me to Broadlawns; I shall walk out and get a glimpse of the city."

"All right, thank you, sir."

"Some one hath it," he thought, entering Trafalgar Square, "that the grand panacea, the matchless sanative which is an infallible cure for the blues, is exercise, exercise, _exercise!_ so now for a trial; here goes for five miles an hour."

On, and ever onwards, with, and yet apart from, the stream of busy life, alone and lonely amidst the throngs not once staying his steps; winging his flight in the vain effort to flee from self, drifting on the waves of unrest, they engulfing him, his face white and worn as a ghost, his blue eyes weary and with a hunted look, a neuralgic headache driving him to the brink of madness; the panorama of wonderful sights on which, under other circ.u.mstances, he would have feasted his eyes. Peers of the realm, having gained notoriety in one way or another, pa.s.sed unnoticed, with lovely women, from professional beauties reclining in their own carriages, whose toys were men's hearts, with the world as a stage, to the avowed actress, whose bright eyes looked from a hired equipage, who played for men's gold on the stage of the theatre; far-famed Regent Street was traversed with less interest than he would have accorded to Lombard Street, Toronto; for man loves freedom as a bird--there he was free, now he feels his fetters.

"Take care, sir," said a policeman, kindly.

"Blockhead! it would serve him right to come to his senses under the feet of my horse," said the only occupant of a low carriage, in the voice of a shrew, as she drove on.

At this juncture Cole shook himself to rights, as it were.

"She was ugly enough to give a fellow a scare, after our pretty Canadian women," he said to the policeman.

"Oh, she isn't no type of what we can show you, sir; she's but small, but enough o' her sort, say I."

"Ditto; and now be good enough to hail a cab for me."

"Yes, sir; here you are, and thank you, sir."

"To Morley's hotel."

"All right, sir."

On reaching his destination he learned that Mr. Stone had driven in to ascertain whether he had arrived, when, on hearing that he had, but was out, had waited; when a lady, calling for him, had gone, leaving a note for him, which on opening read thus:

"DEAR BABBINGTON-COLE,--Am very pleased to hear of your safe arrival; have important business, so cannot wait; in fact arrangements for the immediate marriage of my niece to yourself; kindly come out at once, on your return.

"Yours sincerely, "TIMOTHY STONE."

"The net is well laid," thought poor Cole; "they are bound to rope me in; how strange it all seems; even my name sounds unfamiliar, having at home, in dear old Toronto, dropped the Babbington; but I must adorn myself for the altar." And once more he seeks retirement in his own chamber. "Hang that evolution of a woman's corsets and curling tongs, viz., the modern dude! such a choking and tightening a fellow's throat and legs undergo; I wonder if my shrinking bride will expect me to kneel to her. Ah! there goes for a rip; under the knee, though, as luck would have it; not being quite educated up to a chamois pad and face powder, my modest Pearl will have to be satisfied with candle and throat moulds.

I wonder if she will compliment me on my handsome black moustache, as my women friends at home do; and now to fortify myself with dinner, or at least oysters and a gla.s.s of stout. Hang it, how faint and dizzy I feel."

CHAPTER IX.

VULTURES HABITED AS CHRISTIAN PEW-HOLDERS.

In due time his hansom enters the gates of Broadlawns; at the door he is met by Mr. Stone.

"Welcome to England and Broadlawns," said the spider to the fly, his ferret-like eyes scanning his victim eagerly, as if to read whether he would give him trouble. "We have been expecting you for twenty-four hours; the ladies have been most anxious. Simon, bring this gentleman's baggage upstairs, to the east room; and put in an appearance soon, Babbington-Cole, or the ladies will think you a myth."

"Thank you; as I dressed at Morley's, I shall be with you in a few moments," responded Cole, in subdued accents, feeling that struggles would be now of no avail, that he was well in their net; but the house itself would have depressed him under any circ.u.mstances. It was solid, ma.s.sive, thick-set gloom; happiness and mirth were far away; the cold, chill atmosphere of distrust, dislike, deceit and hypocrisy dwelt in its dark corridors and gloomy apartments. The last gleam of "Home, sweet home," had fled with the spirit of the second wife of its late master; she, poor thing, was wont to say, "Broadlawns is like a lovely, smiling face, with a black, lying heart; its exterior is bright with Nature's beauteous flowers, its interior a very Hades."

Miss Villiers and Miss Stone rose to greet Mr. Cole on his entering the gloomy, but handsomely furnished oak drawing-room; his first glance at the former served to show him that the lady who had wished he might come to his senses under the feet of her horse and Miss Villiers were one and the same.

"Jove! that vixen," he thought; "but, thank Heaven, there are two daughters; the other is my one, for my father says she is the prettiest girl in all England, and this one, ugh, she makes one's flesh creep."

"My conscience, 'tis that dolt," thought his bride-elect, giving her hand with her false smile. "We expected you to dinner, but cook has my orders to get you up something, so come with me to the dining-room," she added, insinuatingly.

"Don't trouble about me, Miss Villiers, I beg; I had a bit of dinner at Morley's."

"m.u.f.f," thought Miss Villiers, spitefully, "not to have taken his chance to become acquainted."

"Margaret is, as you are aware, Mr. Babbington-Cole, the Christian name of my niece (and a beautiful name it is); she will be better pleased if you drop all formality, and call her so, eh, Margaret."

"Yes, under the circ.u.mstances," she answered, with a meaning glance.

"Thank you; I have not seen your sister yet; is she quite well?" he asked, timidly; for, with a forboding of evil, he unconsciously looked to the sister as an escape.

"Margaret's fascinations fall flat," thought her uncle, with a malicious chuckle.

"I don't take; he wants a milk and water miss, but no you don't, young man; you are _my tool_," thought his bride-elect, setting her teeth.

"My poor step-sister is well--I hope, but we never name her; she is a--a mistake; however, _she_ is not your one."

"But is she not here?" said Cole, nervously, now really frightened, "does she not reside with you? My poor father said--" here he utterly broke down. Accustomed ever to lean on some one, of a clinging, trusting nature, with a strong spice of feminine gentleness, which caused him to turn to some woman friend for advice or moral support, so that here, in the hour of his greatest need, he feels doubly alone, as he gazes around at the three hard, cruel faces, each with a set purpose and false smile perceptibly engraven, he is in despair. Miss Villiers especially; will he ever cease to be haunted by her as she sits in a high Elizabethan chair, an ebony easel exactly on a line with her face, and partly behind her, on which is a frightful head of Medusa, the reptiles for hair looking to him, in his highly nervous state, like the tight, crisp curls and braids covering the head of his bride-elect, and the lines from Pitt's "Virgil" recurred to his memory:

"Such fiends to scourge mankind, so fierce, so fell, Heaven never summoned from the depths of h.e.l.l."

Mr. Stone broke the momentary silence by saying, in matter-of-fact tones:

"It is natural, I suppose, to a man of your seemingly nervous temperament, to be a little upset at not meeting your father; but, in my opinion, life is too short for sentiment, especially when wasted as in this case, for your father, according to cablegram sent us, is improving, and is, I dare swear, kicking his heels about St. Lawrence Hall, Montreal, waiting impatiently for your return."

"Yes, Uncle Timothy, yours is the practical view of it; sentiment is, or should be, a monopoly of the poets; self-interest, with pounds, s.h.i.+llings and pence, are good enough for us."

"Margaret means to convey, Mr. Charles, that you should be thankful to Providence that you have been spared to come to us; to a land, also, flowing with milk and honey, ready to your hand and purse," said her aunt, sanctimoniously adding, "How is religious life in Toronto?"

"Religious life?" he said, half dazed, wholly absorbed in the thought that he was to be held in bondage by that stony-eyed woman with snake-like hair--his Medusa.

"Alas, I fear you are dead in sin, Mr. Charles. You do not even know the meaning of my words. I have heard that New York is the most wicked city in America, and you, I fear, frequently go there to partic.i.p.ate in the pleasures of sin. I dread to allow my niece to go out, even as your wife; it was only the other day I read, copied from one of your newspapers, that at Tahlequah, which I suppose is near you, that a Chickasaw Indian was arrested by a deputy United States marshal with three a.s.sistants; the company camped on the prairie, with the exception of the marshal, who, riding on, reached his goal; waited there until weary, he rode back, and what did he find? The entire posse with heads cut off, and the Indian fled. America must be a very Sodom and Gomorrah.

But I see you are not listening to me, Mr. Charles. We have a saintly young man here, the Rev. Claude Parks, whom I must ask to influence you to a better frame of mind, with an intense grat.i.tude to Providence for the favors about to be showered upon you."

Thus did Miss Stone give vent to her feelings to unlistening ears. Fond of hearing her own voice, it mattered little to her that she received no replies but to be told impatiently that "he was ill," and to be compelled to waste the eloquence she seduced herself into believing she possessed, upon a man with now his hands pressed upon his feverish brow, now his eyes fixed on vacancy, now upon the entrance as though he would fain flee, incensed her almost to rage; during the absence of Mr. Stone and his niece she had determined to improve the occasion, and so read him no end of lectures. The two absent ones, after a few minutes'

whispered conversation in the library, had crossed the lawn to a neat cottage where the clergyman in charge of the Bayswater Mission existed on one hundred and fifty pounds per annum. As they stepped through the flower beds, which the moon rising in unclouded splendor lit with her soft white light, Miss Villiers in cold, hard tones, said:

"Yes, you are right; he showed his hand, and of how much he loved me at first sight, as he asked in that scared way for my sweet sister, but bah! such maudlin folly in our wasting our precious moments over _his_ feelings in the matter; they are of no more consequence than are the blades of gra.s.s we crush beneath our feet in reaching our goal; let him laugh who wins, even though the goal be reached by a foul."

"Yes, the sooner we hold the lines the better; he has not spirit enough to be a runaway horse."