A Heart-Song of To-day Part 33

Miss Vernon was led by a maid up a few steps, covered in the softest of velvet pile, so deep and rich as to cause one not to feel the pressure of the sole of one's foot, and now into two rooms built out in a projection, and the villa Iberia, being located on a knoll, commanding one of the finest views of the Eternal City, the occupant of these rooms feasted his eyes on a scene unrivalled in Italy. Here also, a cheerful fire glowed in the fire-place; the long, narrow windows were hung in a pale, blue tinted satin, the walls painted in choice studies by deft Italian fingers; the opening between the rooms was hung in unison with the windows, and on the satin, cl.u.s.ters of the rose in every hue were embroidered; easy chairs, lounge, satin bed coverlid, and soft carpet, were of the same soft tint, with the warmth of the rose thereon. The air was fragrant, for the hyacinth, rose, and many a gay foreign sister, vied with each other in perfumed welcome to the flower face bending over them, and drinking in their sweets.

"And he has done all this for me," she mused, giving herself up to Saunders to have her hair dressed. "How glad I am," she thought looking dreamily at her reflection in the mirror, for a very pa.s.sible loveliness, "but Lionel was always my ideal cavalier, he loves me now," and she smiled softly, "and has brought into existence in my heart a pa.s.sionate love he little dreams of, poor fellow; I have hitherto played with men's hearts, so they say, but not intentionally; Heaven knows I merely enjoyed their free submission, their love, as my natural food; I always enjoyed dainties, and men's hearts were as such to me; I could never endure the bread and b.u.t.ter of life, but I wrong myself or I am of little worth; one is apt to have luxurious inclinations, at an hour and in a scene like this," she thought as she toyed with one of the gold perfume bottles, in the form of a Cupid, standing on the breast of a sleeping man, and aiming for his heart. "I know I have drunk in the pleasure their looks of love and warmth of words have given me, not thinking perhaps enough of to what end it might lead, but if I dream here any longer, I shall experience much the same sensation as sleeping Richard at Bosworth Field, while my ghosts of the departed, rise up before me, and while I think pityingly of poor Cyril and many more, let me also remember the deserved cut I gave Sir Edward Hatherton, when he laid his insignificant t.i.tle, his supreme vanity and egotism, with his mean heart at my feet, while boasting of his broad acres, making too sure he had but to ask, and be accepted with thanks. Yes, though I have hurt some brave manly hearts, I have given a check to the vanity of that man that will send him into the corner to think that there are some women, even in this age of barter, who, though they love acres of the dear warm mother earth, they will not give their loveliness and powers of loving for the broad acres of which he is lord."

And so fair Vaura pondered, as Saunders with deft fingers performed her easy task of robing her mistress, and now she has finished, and both maid and our sweet Mlle. Vernon are satisfied with the result.

And well they may, for her cardinal satin robe fits her full bust and figure like a glove, her eyes are full of dark and tender depths, her lips red as the rose, while the rose bloom of the mountain air has not faded from her cheeks, and neck and arms being bare gleam in their whiteness.

Trevalyon met her at the foot of the steps to lead her to the dining-room whither Lady Esmondet has already gone; they immediately seat themselves ami do justice to the tempting little dinner awaiting them.

The room is handsome and furnished with a mixture of English comfort and solidness with French brightness the furniture being of carved oak, while the carpet and hangings are of a gay Paris pattern, the table bright with silver and decorated with flowers, its dinner service of old Sevres china, each piece of beautiful delicate design, while the dishes would have tempted an anchorite from his cave. Over the mantel-piece of purest white marble was a painting, evidently the work of a master, representing Bacchus riding in a chariot, and on his head among his curls vine leaves, in his hand a cup. The whole painting had a warmth of color and gay dashing style, with a life-like look about it very pleasing.

"One almost expects to see the merry G.o.d lift the cup to his lip,"

said Vaura; "he looks so life-like."

"It is a remarkably well executed thing," said Trevalyon.

"The whole villa," echoed Lady Esmondet, "has a cheerful brightness pervading it that would dispel the chronic grumbling of a Diogenes or an Englishman."

"Even Gladstone," cried Vaura, gaily, "would here forget that Beaconsfield wants a 'war supply.'"

"And I, Trevalyon, shall so lose myself in the intoxicating sweetness of the hour as to forget that on my return to England I have to enter the arena of the strife of tongues, and combat Dame Rumour in facing a 'difficulty.'" At the last word be looked meaningly at Vaura, and with quickened heart-beats she remembered his flowers, and knew what would come when the 'difficulty' was faced and removed.

"The absent Marquis likes well the form of the G.o.d of wine," said Lady Esmondet, directing her companion's gaze towards a group of statuary on a small inlaid stand, and reflected in a pier gla.s.s, representing Anacreon smilingly advancing, carrying in his arms the infants Bacchus and Cupid.

"'Tis a pretty group, extremely _chic_," said Vaura.

"What think you, Vaura, of the painting behind you?" inquired Lady Esmondet.

On turning slightly she saw the pictured face of the owner of the villa, the eyes of her admirer seemed so steadfast in their gaze that a faint blush suffused her cheek as she said:

"A true likeness of a true friend, for we are most comfortably placed by his kindness; indeed I think when the day comes to leave the villa we would fain remain."

"It is a handsome face," said Trevalyon.

"It is," said Vaura, as she played with the dainties on her plate and sipped her gla.s.s of sparkling Moselle.

"On leaving here it will be for either the crush of the London season or Haughton Hall under the new _regime_," said Lady Esmondet, "and I know just how I shall feel: as a man who, coming home after a day with the hounds, is enjoying a pipe in slippered feet when reminded by madame of the state dinner he has forgotten."

"Either London or the dear old place will be an awakening," said Vaura, as they wend their way to the _salons_.

"Yes." said Trevalyon, "for nowhere could one better enjoy the _dolce far niente_ of Italian languor than here. Del Castello, I fancy, lives his life."

"_Dum vivimus vivamus_," said Vaura.

The salons are a suite of three; taken separately, of medium dimensions; but when the heavy hangings are drawn aside which divide the apartments they form one long handsome room, extending the entire length of the villa, at one end of which is a conservatory where bloom flowers of great beauty, the tiny structure being in miniature form of the villa; it was entered from the _salon_ by sliding doors of stained gla.s.s; a smiling statue of Flora was placed near the entrance and seemed to welcome one's approach.

"It is a bower of beauty," said Vaura. The moonlight streaming in from the heaven-illumined gardens outside, bringing into life the scarlet blossoms of the camelia and the satin of her gown, and lending to her beauty a transparent softness, her eyes seeming darker and with a tender light, as she says, looking out upon the garden:

"It is a living idyl in the white moon light; did I gaze long enough, strange fancies would come to me, the statuary would be living marbles, while the leaves of the palm-tree and olive would sing to me of their story as given by the dead poets."

"We must revel in the beauties of the gardens, when to-morrow comes, Vaura: I am going to be very early tonight," said Lady Esmondet.

"It must have been a great disappointment to Del Castello," said Trevalyon, inwardly applying the lash, "to winter elsewhere."

"_N'importe_," said Lady Esmondet, seeing the sadness of expression, "we, have so much of the London fog; he, has his villa and the south always."

"But he could have been here with all his elegant _recherche_ surroundings, only for me," and as he silently thought the lash went down.

In the villa, many things beautiful and rare occupied their attention; in the small library were some deep German and English books on philosophy, with Tennyson in every style of dress; also Byron, with novels of all tone and colour; as Vaura moved about among the treasures of the absent Marquis, Trevalyon, watching her intently, tortured himself by imagining that she handled everything lovingly, read s.n.a.t.c.hes from his books tenderly.

"What a couple they would have been," he thought, as Vaura's syren voice read aloud some marked pa.s.sages from the poets; "even if I can clear myself of this hateful scandal, I have only the gloomy 'towers'

to offer her, while he has his sunny palaces in the lands or climes she loves so well."

And Lady Esmondet seeing his intent gaze following Vaura, and observing his quiet thought,

"He is unhappy, and dreads lest she come to love the handsome Spaniard, while daily amongst his treasures, with his silent pictured face watching her from the walls; I wonder how it is; has she refused him, and accepted the villa as slight atonement, or is this the beginning of the end, and that she will give herself to him; alas for dear Lionel if so."

"How selfish I am," said Vaura, impulsively closing the book from which she had read aloud a few marked pa.s.sages in the sadly sweet "Prisoner of Chillon." "You both look weary, how is it I did not notice it before? come away G.o.d-mother mine; uncle Eric would say I am not redeeming my promise to take care of you; goodnight, Captain Trevalyon," giving him her hand, the soft touch of which seemed as a new revelation to him, reinvigorating him as it were, but only in the contact, for alone he is again a prey to gloomy forebodings which crowd upon him, so as to seem to stifle him; loosening his collar and tie, and throwing himself on the bed, he tells himself, "What am I, in comparison to him? his unclouded life, at least as far as human eye can tell, with the looks of an Adonis, his immense wealth, his southern blood, eloquent tongue, and life in climes kissed by the sun.

I fear he will woe her again; and is it in woman to come to me; even though I give the love of my life in preference to all that the Fates give in him; alas! my knowledge of them tells me no; yes, I know she has smiled tenderly on me, bat is not this because of her old remembrance of me--as part of her by-gone life in her loved home; yes I fear it is, or because she is playing with my heart as she has with others; heavens, how unmanned I am, Father," and his hands are clasped reverently, "pity me, steep my soul in forgetfulness, and let me remember naught, save that Thou ruleth all," when, as if in answer to his imploring cry, slumber, fitful it is true and broken by dreams came to him; when now fully awake again in slippered feet, and with his pipe, he noiselessly steps out into the night, pacing the verandah to and fro, or leaning against one of its columns, thinks on of the past and present, when in the dim future, the vast unknown, he feels the necessity of calm; else this scandal will so overwhelm him in the waves of unrest, as to cause his life to be a wreck, and Vaura to be indeed, and in truth, lost to him forever more. In the determined quiet of a man controling self, he now again, this time undressing, takes to his bed and gains an hour's sleep ere it is time to rise for a new day.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

HEART-STIRS TO DIVINE MUSIC.

At break of day, springing from bed, and after a cold plunge bath, feeling more like himself, he went out into the half slumbering city; but the sunbeams give their roseate kiss and mists roll up the great mountain slopes, and the lazy Italian rubs his black eyes not seeing the beauties in nature that surround him--they are part of his life-- but only wondering how easiest he can pa.s.s the day, while Trevalyon bending his steps to a favourite restaurant, after a pretty fair breakfast, for the fresh air of the morning has given him an appet.i.te, hiring a horse, goes for a long ride, and turning his horse's head for the country, determines by getting away with nature to find that old self that he has lost, or by thinking out his plan to how best use the information received from Father Lefroy, recover his customary tranquility of mind, for just now he is torn by doubts and fears; he should be in England, but dreads to leave Vaura, lest the Marquis hearing of his departure would endeavour personally to press his suit.

And so putting spurs to his horse he is nearer the pure lofty mountains on whose breast he hopes to find peace.

While at the villa, the woman he loves, after a somewhat sleepless night in which she is haunted by the faces of her Spanish admirer and the hero of her early girlhood, descends from her room to find Lady Esmondet not yet up, though it is luncheon hour, and Trevalyon away for the day. The afternoon is occupied until it is time to dress for dinner by visitors. With dinner comes Lady Esmondet, Trevalyon not having returned it is a _tete-a-tete_ affair; afterwards in the salons, the conversation drifts from fair Italia, the after-luncheon visitors, and the London _Times_ to Lionel.

"Poor fellow, one can easily see how unsettled and worried he is at times over this wretched scandal," said Lady Esmondet.

"I should treat the whole matter with perfect contempt," Vaura answered haughtily.

"In this instance it won't answer."

"Why not? if he is sure it is false."

"Vaura! Vaura, you know it is false."

"The fact is, G.o.d-mother, I know nothing about it, nor do I care to, unless he tells me himself; my life, that is my woman life as you know, has been spent _a_ Paris, and so my ears have not been a receptacle for London scandal."

"Dear Lionel has been too independent."

"Yes, G.o.d-mother, that's just it; it's his character; had he had a town house, a French cook, and given half a dozen big dinners during the season, he might indulge in secret marriage if his fancy ran that way, and society would smile at him through rose-coloured spectacles."

"Too true, Vaura, _ma chere_; Madame Grundy is an odd mixture of inconsistencies; should a vulgar _parvenu_ pay society's tolls in shape of boastful charities, b.a.l.l.s and dinners, he is one of the pets of the season, and is allowed any lat.i.tude as to his little weaknesses. Had Lionel made atonement by marriage, all would have been forgiven; but he has dared to please himself, and so they at the first chance pelt their idol."