A Romance of Toronto Part 33

Mr. Cobbe has just called, but had not gone in, ascertaining from Thomas that his mistress was not at home, but that Mrs. Dale and Mr. Blair were in the drawing-room--he volunteering the latter information, instinct telling him it would not be agreeable; for the kitchen did not approve of him as the coming master at Holmnest, saying one to the other, "Pretty fly he is, to think of dividing up of the likes of he between our missis and that bold hussy as follows him."

At this moment, in the drawing-room, Mrs. Dale, as she alternately pats Tyr's head, or, with deft fingers, embroiders a cushion, says, with a curl on her scarlet lips, her Irish eyes flashing:

"I am glad Elaine was out. You see, he knew enough not to come in and be entertained by us."

"Yes, he knows enough for that," he said, mechanically, waking from a reverie. "I wish to heaven we could interview the woman. I am convinced we would elicit information sufficient to absolve our dear friend from her oath. I am driven to my wit's end, I am in such misery. I can a.s.sure you, Mrs. Dale, this matter has taken such hold of me that I neither eat, drink, sleep, nor even think naturally."

And the ring of truth is in his words, as he starts up, and paces up and down the room like a caged lion, eager for action, yet compelled to inactivity. Papers and magazines strew the carpet where he had been seated, on which he had in vain tried to fix his thought. Now he again flings himself into his chair, she sees his brows knit, his eyes small with the intentness of inward musing; his manly, independent bearing is crushed, his firm, determined mouth is still set with a fixed purpose, but his face has lost its glow of happiness.

He haunts Holmnest some hours of each day, his eyes following her every movement as she goes about her home duties, or sits quietly reading, or holding book or newspaper, under pretence of doing so, giving herself a few moments' silent thought, ever and anon lifting her eyes to his face, as quickly to withdraw them, lest sympathy lead her to betray a grief akin to his. One day he asked her how it was she had come in the first place to allow Mr. Cobbe the privilege of friendly intercourse, when she told him all. Of the deaths of loved ones, of her long and tedious law suits, of her losses through the wrong-doings of others, of the flight of summer friends, of her difficulty in earning a sufficiency to eke out her small income, and of Philip Cobbe being introduced; when his jovial, free-from-care nature diverting her attention from her many cares, she and he gradually drifted into a very friendly acquaintance, which resulted in their walk through the Queen's Park. Of her oath she had already told him on the 3rd of January, on his relating to her the boastful words of Mr. Cobbe on the evening previous. At which he had been driven nearly desperate, as also on her resolve that, in honor bound, she must be true to her oath.

She had never allowed him to kiss her since those few blissful moments that lived in the memory of each, in which he had asked her to become his wife on Monday, the 2nd of January, and when he had read her heart.

"It's a miserable fix for Elaine," said Mrs. Dale, picking out a few false st.i.tches she had made in giving her attention to him as he paced the floor in his agony of mind. "She cares for you, but will remain true to her oath; she will go on in this wretched way, Mr. Cobbe coming and going, boasting of his engagement, to keep rivals at bay, and that woman haunting the place until a tragedy ends the whole farce. Elaine will postpone and postpone her union with that man until she dies broken-hearted, poor thing. She has had no end of trouble in the past, and now this must all crop up. Nasty Cobbe; I _hate_ you," she said, emphatically.

"So do I," he said, moodily; "but what availeth it? We, with our strong natures, are as wax in the hands of this vain, foolish, empty-headed fellow; he has the whip-hand of us. I never felt small, impotent, powerless in my life until now. You don't know what mad thoughts come to me sometimes, when I see her going about in her sweet womanliness with a pretence of gaiety lest I feel for her, making this truly home, sweet home; now going to her kitchen, now sewing quietly; again singing, though in unsteady tones, the songs of my own land."

"Perhaps it would be better for you; easier, I mean, if you kept away from her."

"Kept away! that's what she tells me. No; come I must. I am not fit to attend to business, to face the busy hive of men down town. I have not as yet rented an office, or put out my shingle as broker and estate agent, so the world which knows me not does not miss me. Did I not come, I should be tortured by the thought that Cobbe had persuaded her to marry him, and that with the false hope of making me forget her, and the woman to give up her game as lost, she would consent. No; I shall come in the seemingly aimless way; but not aimless, for I am her bodyguard.

Already my being here, and holding my ground, has more than once prevented a _tete-a-tete_, and saved her from (I make no doubt) his hateful caresses. He hates me, and would revenge himself upon me if he could; and, insomuch as he can, he does do so--by using her Christian name, leaning familiarly over her shoulder as she reads or sews, following her even to the kitchen. Once he dared to kiss her good-bye, but I don't think he will try that again; for, on his looking at me maliciously, to note my jealousy, I gave him one look, at which he made a hasty exit."

"So far so good, Mr. Blair; but you and myself are really doing nothing to free Elaine. We _must_ get a hold of the woman; she is not very well clad; is, I dare say, poor; I shall try if the dollar will grease the wheels of her tongue. Now, how shall we manage it? This evening I shall express a wish to telegraph Henry. You must offer to accompany me; this will allow of time to work on Mr. Cobbe's Mary Ann. We shall walk up and down on the other side of the street (thus putting ourselves in Grundy's mouth) until she appears, when, pouncing upon her, we will _make_ her tell her relations to Cobbe. You understand?"

"Yes, but he will be here alone with Elaine."

"Just like a man: as jealous as a rooster in a barnyard. Miss Crew will be here, and chance callers."

"Very well; it shall be as you say, though I mortally hate not being present when he is here; but here she comes, her cheeks like roses, and eyes bright from the frosty air," he said, brightening.

"Oh, you pair of fire-worshippers!" she exclaimed, giving her hand to Mr. Blair. "I have had a glorious walk from Yonge, through Bloor west, and up here. We took the Yonge up-cars, when Miss O'Sullivan, who was one of us, carried off Miss Crew till to-morrow."

"I suppose King Street wore its usual afternoon dress of dudes and sealskin sacques," he said, drawing her wrap from her shoulders.

"I suppose so; but we only went as far as Roche's. What a world of a place it is. Mrs. Francis says, 'One can buy everything but butcher's meat there,' and she is about right. The up-cars were, as usual, over-crowded; we were to blame for taking one, I suppose, as so many poor fatigued-looking men were obliged to stand. However, we were sorry for them in a practical way, for we only occupied one seat by turns; the company should run extra cars about six, or label them, 'For men only.'"

"On the other side," said Mrs. Dale, "men say it's a poor rule that won't work both ways, so, as we advocate equal rights, they, as a rule, don't yield their seats."

"Is that so?" said Blair. "I wonder at that, for Mrs. Gower tells me there is a shrine to woman in every house."

"Oh, never mind her, she is our champion, fights and wins our battles. I used to hope she would marry among us, and strut under our big bird; but alas, she sees more beauty in a common Scotch thistle," she says, teasingly.

Blair smiled, gravely, saying with his eyes on Mrs. Gower, in her pretty, dark blue gown, with broken plaid over-skirt,

"I fear not; to the shamrock she plights her troth."

At this the color rushes to the roots of her hair, to as quickly recede, leaving her like marble, and, gathering up her wraps, saying, in unsteady tones,

"Excuse me a moment, I must see what the kitchen is about: it is near dinner time."

Blair, drawing the hangings, said, wistfully following her into the hall:

"Forgive me, dear."

"I must, when you look so sorry; but, that compulsory oath is killing me, Alec; driving me into heart disease," she said, tremblingly.

"My darling! is it possible? but I can see it. Your heart is fairly jumping, your hands cold, your nails blue; come in here for a few minutes' quiet," he said, sorrowfully, leading her into the library, taking her wraps from her, seating himself quietly beside her, simply taking her hands, while whispering soothing words. His own heart breaking the while, that he may not take her in his arms; but with her breath coming in gasps, the excitement would have killed her, even did she permit any demonstration of feeling from him, which indeed, she had unconditionally forbidden.

On the dinner-bell ringing, she said, in low tones:

"You are nice, and good, and kind to have talked to me so quietly until I recovered the use of my tongue. You see, dear, I can give it a rest sometimes; now come for Ella, to our dish of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. Don't look so grave, Alec; 'Richard is himself again.' I wish you would go away for a time, leave the city; as you have not commenced business actively, really got into harness, you could easily do so; it would be easier for me, I think, if I did not see you," she said, almost breaking down.

"I cannot," he said, looking into her face gravely; "and it would not help you; all I can manage, is to keep to the conditions you made: that in coming I must not speak of my love for you; and you must own, dear, that I fulfil those conditions; holding myself continually in check, curbing my feelings, never outwardly letting loose the reins of pa.s.sion, even when I see that man hanging about you."

"Yes, you are very good; but still, I--oh, I don't know what to say or do," she said, in anguish, covering her face with her hands; then, by a violent effort controlling herself, took her place at table.

During dinner, she was pale and flushed, talkative and silent, by turns; her companion keeping the ball moving to give her a rest.

Oh their returning to the drawing-room, Mrs. Dale gave them some music, thus giving each time for quiet thought. The sweet sounds suddenly ceasing, she wheels round on the piano-stool, saying, energetically,

"I feel restless this evening, active exercise will cure me; a brisk walk down street, or even the toboggan-slide."

But Mr. Blair does not take her up, and sits with averted eyes, not thinking Mrs. Gower well enough to be left with Mr. Cobbe.

"Well, Ella, Mr. Blair is too gallant not to accompany you. You will both go; when I tell you that I wish to see Philip _alone_, I am going to again appeal to him."

"I am afraid it will be too much for you, Elaine, perhaps," she said, hesitatingly, for she does not like to give up her plan; "perhaps Mr.

Blair ought to stay, he need not be in the very same room with you."

"Yes, that is a good idea; I shall go to the library," he said, in relieved tones.

"No, dears, you will both do as I wish. With the knowledge that I am alone, I shall doubly nerve myself to the task."

For she dreads that Mr. Cobbe's excitable temper will give way, causing a scene.

"Well, if you are going to talk to him, Elaine, tell him everything; and that Mr. Blair and I say he is breaking your heart."

"I fear, Ella, your united opinions would have little weight with him,"

she said, with the ghost of a smile; "but I shall tell him _all_, never fear," she said, earnestly feeling that Mr. Blair was, as usual, following her every word. "Never fear, I shall be a good pleader, for I have my life's happiness at stake; away with you at once, and don't come back with broken bones from the slide."

CHAPTER XXIV.

A HAND OF ICE LAY ON HER HEART.