A Heart-Song of To-day Part 43

Vaura woke from a late sleep as Saunders tapped at the door; slumber had only come to her by sweet s.n.a.t.c.hes during the hours of the night; but she lay happy in the dreamy quiet; and the face of the man she loved was ever before her. On waking, as her maid knocked, her first feeling was that something was wanting; that something had gone out of her daily life, and she gave a long deep sigh. Then the sweet sense, that she was loved, came to her; not that the knowledge of this man's love was just come to her--she had known it for some time, but they had both reached that stage when mutual pledges of love were craved for, and which to fill their whole being with the fulness of content, with the fulness of a satisfied bliss, had become a necessity.

The first thing that met her eye on rising, were a few crushed flowers on the seat of her favourite chair. Tied around the stalks was a delicate point-lace handkerchief; on the tiny square of muslin was written, in the handwriting she knew so well, Vaura Vernon; among the blossoms were a few written words:

"My heart aches at leaving you without a word of farewell My brain is in a whirl. I feel as though I shall go mad if you give your love to another; save me by writing me. Writing! how cold. G.o.d help me!--Your LIONEL."

Capt. Trevalyon, not thinking to see Vaura, had, before going into the garden, gone to her boudoir, and placed this mute farewell on her chair.

"Now my darling knows," she thought as she pressed them to her lips.

There were warm Christmas greetings exchanged between the two women friends, on meeting in the breakfast room. When the servants were released from duty, duty, Lady Esmondet said:

"Dear Lionel has left us something to remember him, at least for to-day, Vaura, _ma chere_, see here," and she held up two vinaigrettes she had been admiring; on the cover to the stopper of one was the name "Alice Esmondet," on the other, "Vaura Vernon." Both bottles were small and both gold; on one side of Vaura's were the words, "I am weary waiting, L. T.," in very small letters, while a tiny wreath of forget-me-nots encircled the words; blue stones, inlaid, formed the flowers; round each was a slip of paper--with the words: "With love and Christmas wishes, from Lionel Trevalyon. For the crush at St.

Peter's."

"Kind and thoughtful, for we shall feel his gift refreshing in the crowd," said Lady Esmondet.

"Poor dear, far away; we shall miss him on this bright Christmas morn," said Vaura, as she read the words, "I am weary waiting."

"But I am forgetting my gift to you, and one from dear Uncle Eric,"

and Vaura took from a small box a lovely locket, on one side was a miniature copy of Haughton; on the other the lovely face of the giver.

"And this from Uncle for you came to me on yesterday;" and Vaura presented a photo of Col. Haughton.

"How sweet it is to be remembered, Vaura, and it's a good likeness of your dear uncle. And here is a gift from myself, a mere bagatelle, but I hope you will like it," and she handed Vaura an acknowledgement from Worth of an order for a ball-dress, to be at Haughton Hall on the 5th January, 1878.

"Thanks, G.o.d-mother mine, your thoughts are always of some one other than of Alice Esmondet."

"Not at all, dear."

"I shall be glad to return to England now," and there was a tender light in Vaura's eyes; "that is, dear G.o.d-mother, if you have laid up a sufficient store of strength."

"I have, _ma chere_, and if the revelry at Haughton isn't too much, I shall be able not only to stand, but enjoy the season; I feel very strong, and had I had a happy life--I mean, dear, had I married where my heart was--all would have been right; this 'eating out the heart alone' is not good for one. I have taken all the tricks I could, and made the most of the cards in my hand, but they have not been to my liking."

"My hand shall follow my heart," said Vaura, earnestly; "how I wish yours had, dear."

"Yes, it has been hard for me; but Fate, the dealer, is giving you good cards."

"How think you, G.o.dmother; is the game ours?"

"You will win."

"How did you know?" she said, softly, coming over to Lady Esmondet, and stooping to kiss her.

"By the great light in his eyes when he bade me adieu, and the heart-shine in your own; it has been the wish, of my life lately; G.o.d is giving you a paradise in life, dear."

"He is."

"This plot to damage Lionel's reputation is a something too mean,"

said Lady Esmondet indignantly; "in Mrs. Clayton's last letter to me she asks me to 'decline to receive him, unless he publicly acknowledges his hidden wife;' she says, though 'the women still will pet him, their husbands are down upon him;' she further says, 'Clayton says he has no right to run loose with a hidden wife somewhere;' she says it has been in two or three papers. I declare, Vaura, if it were not for the feeling I have that we shall be a comfort to your uncle, I do not care to go to Haughton."

"Poor Lionel," said Vaura, thoughtfully, "he has got himself into a wasp's nest. Suppose we don't stay at Haughton, excepting for the ball, then go quietly to your town house."

"Yes, dear, as we pa.s.s through London I shall give orders that my house be in readiness any day to receive us; so, dear, if after we stay for a short visit we find it a bore, we shall go up."

"And be voted Goths and Vandals for showing our faces before the season opens; and Mrs. Grundy says 'Come;' what slaves we are!" said Vaura.

Now there is a tap at the door, and a servant enters with contributions from the post.

"Any orders, your ladyship?"

"Yes, the landau is to be at the door to take us to St. Peter's in an hour; at the close of ma.s.s we shall drive to the d.u.c.h.ess of Wyesdale, with whom we lunch; further orders there. And here, Barnes," continued Lady Esmondet, taking out her purse, "distribute this gold to the household, excepting to Somers and Saunders, whom I shall attend to personally; and see that no poor go empty-handed from the villa on this, the Day of Days."

"Thank you, your ladyship, you are very kind, and we all wish you and Mademoiselle a good Christmas."

"Thank you, Barnes."

"The man in bottle-green livery coming to the door," said Vaura, as she left the breakfast-table, "is servant to our friend of Erin."

In a few moments Saunders brought her mistress a beautiful bouquet, with the card of Sir Dennis, on which was written, "A merry Christmas to Miss Vernon."

"What think you of the Irishman?" asked Lady Esmondet.

"Oh, I hardly know; he is a great good-natured creature; if his heart be proportioned to the rest of his frame, the future Lady O'Gormon will require to be intensely lovable."

"The cards are quite artistic this year," said Lady Esmondet; "but of yours, I think the one from poor Marie Perrault the most _recherchee_."

"She encloses me a few lines; poor girl, she makes a great fuss over the few bits of gold I sent her. I have just read a letter from Mrs.

Wingfield; after a good deal of chit-chat she says: We are staying at the Lord Elton's place, Surrey, and are quite lively over the Trevalyon's 'Hidden Wife' story; the men are mad that he runs loose, while they are held in bondage with the fetters that he should be held in also. I declare, G.o.d-mother dear, one is inclined to think envy is the motive power that rules the human family."

"Indeed, yes; envy, hatred and malice are a prosperous firm who will not fail for want of capital."

"This Major Delrose, that the Marchmonts named, must be a sworn enemy of poor dear Lionel?"

"He is, and of years."

"Ah! an intuitive feeling told me so; and at Rose Cottage; and the woodland at the outskirts of our grounds hides it from the Hall; and a man and woman could meet and plot un.o.bserved; but, G.o.d-mother mine, let us away to dress; the first bells are sounding their sweet musical invitation, and I shall try to forget Mrs. Haughton; for, among Christ's gifts to men, I perhaps have not valued that most excellent gift of charity."

Vaura is first robed, but Lady Esmondet enters the hall from her boudoir in a few moments. They are now in the landau, and rapidly driven to that most stately of modern sanctuaries, a type in its magnificent architecture and strength of the pride, riches, and unity of the wonderful system it represents.

Vaura wears a robe of seal brown velvet and tight jacket of seal fur, a small _ecru_ velvet bonnet with scarlet geraniums among the lace.

Lady Esmondet wishes Lionel could see the sweet face, and the far-away look in the great expressive eyes. The vast building was crowded to the doors; the singing of ma.s.s grand to sublimity, and "the holy organ's rolling sound was felt on roof and floor," its vibrations thrilling the hearts of the worshippers. The majestic grandeur of the interior of this stately edifice, with its many altars, was on this holy festival, enhanced by many beautiful decorations, chaste in design and of costly value. Rare gems, vessels of gold, and vessels of silver, the gifts of princes, sparkled on altars of perfect workmanship, while beauteous flowers raised their heads from priceless vases, trying in vain, with their sweet odour to drown the fumes of incense, wafted from the censor in the hands of the acolytes.

High ma.s.s being concluded, Lady Esmondet, with Vaura, slowly emerged from the sacred edifice. O'Gormon and a young Italian attached to the Quirinal having waited for them at the door, conducted them to their landau, when with warm Christmas greetings they parted to meat for lunch with the d.u.c.h.ess of Wyesdale. On reaching their destination they found their slender waisted hostess, with her daughter, the Lady Eveline Northingdon, with a few English and Italian notabilities, a.s.sembled in the _salons_. The d.u.c.h.ess looked blank on seeing that Capt. Trevalyon was not in attendance; for to tell the truth, she had only invited Lady Esmondet and Miss Vernon because she could not very well bid Trevalyon to lunch and ignore his hostess.

For though he had only given her a few careless flatteries, they were her food; still he had looked into her eyes and smiled. It was only a way he had, but she was a silly little woman, and vain, telling herself that in the old days she was sure he loved her hopelessly, but the Duke then lived, and British law was in the way, a woman could not marry more than one man at one time. She little knew that the mighty eagle, as he soars to his home in the mountain heights, with his bold glance wooing the sun, would as soon love the puny night hawk as would Lionel Trevalyon waste his heart's strongest feelings on such a frail b.u.t.terfly as Posey Wyesdale.

So, now, on the _entree_ of our friends without Trevalyon the d.u.c.h.ess, as she greeted them, called out in her thin treble,