His Majesty's Well-Beloved Part 30

The next moment the serving Man threw open the door and the Lady Barbara walked in. I could not see her until she had advanced further into the middle of the Room. Then I beheld her in all her Loveliness. Nay!

I'll not deny it. She was still incomparably beautiful, with, in addition, that marvellous air of Breeding and of Delicacy, which rendered her peerless amongst her kind. I hated her for the infinite wrong which she had done to my Friend, but I could not fail to admire her. Her Mantle was thrown back from her Shoulders and a dark, filmy Veil, resembling a Cloud, enveloped her fair Hair. Beneath her Mantle she wore a Dress of something grey that shimmered like Steel in the Candlelight. A few tendrils of her ardent Hair had escaped from beneath her Veil, and they made a kind of golden Halo around her Face. She was very pale, but of that transparent, delicate Pallor that betokens Emotion rather than ill-health, and her Eyes looked to me to be as dark as Sloes, even though I knew them to be blue.

For the s.p.a.ce of one long Minute, which seemed like Eternity, these two remained absolutely still, just looking at one another. Methought that I could hear the very heart-beats within my breast. Then the Lady said, with a queer little catch in her Throat and somewhat hesitatingly:

"You are surprised to see me, Sir, no doubt ... but ..."

She was obviously at a loss how to begin. And Mr. Betterton, aroused no doubt by her Voice from his absorption, rose quickly to his Feet and made her a deep and respectful Obeisance.

"The Angels from Heaven sometimes descend to Earth," he said slowly; "yet the Earth is more worthy of their Visit than is the humble Artist of the Presence of his Muse." Then he added more artlessly: "Will You deign to sit?"

He drew a Chair forward for her, but She did not take it, continued to speak with a strange, obviously forced Gaiety and in a halting Manner.

"I thank you, Sir," she said. "That is ... no ... not yet ... I like to look about me."

She went close up to the Desk and began to finger idly the Books and Papers which lay scattered pell-mell upon it, he still gazing on her as if he had not yet realized the Actuality of her Presence. Anon she looked inquiringly about her.

"What a charming room!" she said, with a little cry of wonder. "So new to me! I have never seen an Artist's room before."

"For weeks and months," Mr. Betterton rejoined simply, "this one has been a temple, hallowed by thoughts of You. Your Presence now, has henceforth made it a Sanctuary."

She turned full, inquiring Eyes upon him and riposted with childlike Ingenuousness:

"Yet must You wonder, Sir, at my Presence here ... alone ... and at this hour."

"In my heart," he replied, "there is such an Infinity of Happiness that there is no Room for Wonder."

"An Infinity of Happiness?" she said with a quaint little sigh. "That is what we are all striving for, is it not? The Scriptures tell us that this Earth is a Vale of Tears. No wonder!" she added navely, "since we are so apt to allow Happiness to pa.s.s us by."

Oh! how I wished I had the Courage then and there to reveal myself to these Twain, to rush out of my Hiding-place and seize that wily Temptress who, I felt sure, was here only for the undoing of a Man whom she hated with unexampled Bitterness. Oh, why hath grudging Nature made me weak and cowardly and diffident, when my whole Soul yearns at times to be resourceful and bold? Believe me, dear Mistress, that my Mind and my Will-power were absolutely torn between two Impulses-the one prompting me to put a stop to this dangerous and purposeless Interview, this obvious Trap set to catch a great and unsuspecting Artist unawares; and the other urging me not to interfere, but rather to allow Destiny, Fate or the Will of G.o.d alone to straighten out the Web of my Friend's Life, which had been embroiled by such Pa.s.sions as were foreign to his n.o.ble Nature.

And now I am thankful that I allowed this latter Counsel to prevail.

The Will of G.o.d did indeed shape the Destinies of Men this night for their Betterment and ultimate Happiness. But, for the moment, the Threads of many a Life did appear to be most hopelessly tangled: the Lady Barbara Wychwoode, daughter of the Marquis of Sidbury, the fiancee of the Earl of Stour, was in the house of Tom Betterton, His Majesty's Well-Beloved Servant, and he was pa.s.sionately enamoured of her and had vowed Vengeance against the Man she loved. As he gazed on her now there was no Hatred in his Glance, no evil Pa.s.sion disturbed the Look of Adoration wherewith he regarded her.

"Barbara," he pleaded humbly, "be merciful to me.... For pity's sake, do not mock me with your smile! My dear, do you not see that I scarce can believe that I live ... and that you are here? ... You! ... You!" he went on, with pa.s.sionate Earnestness. "My Divinity, whom I only dare approach on bended Knees, whose Garment I scarce dare touch with my trembling Lips!"

He bent the Knee and raised the long, floating End of her cloudlike Veil to his Lips. I could have sworn at that Moment that she recoiled from him and that she made a Gesture to s.n.a.t.c.h away the Veil, as if his very Touch on it had been Pollution. That Gesture and the Recoil were, however, quite momentary. The next second, even whilst he rose once more to his Feet, she had already recovered herself.

"Hush!" she said gently, and drew herself artlessly away from his Nearness. "I want to listen.... People say that Angels wait upon Mr.

Betterton when he studies his Part ... and I want to hear the flutter of their Wings."

"The Air vibrates with the Echo of your sweet Name," he rejoined, and his exquisite Voice sounded mellow and vibrant as a sensitive Instrument touched by a Master's Hand. "Your name, which with mad longing I have breathed morning, noon and eve. And now ... now ... I am not dreaming ... You are near me! ... You, the perfect Lady Barbara ... my Lady Babs.... And you look-almost happy!"

She gave him a Look-the true Look of a Siren set to enchain the Will of Man.

"Happy?" she queried demurely. "Nay, Sir ... puzzled, perhaps."

"Puzzled?" he echoed. "Why?"

"Wondering," she replied, "what magic is in the air that could make a Woman's Heart ... forsake one Love ... for ... for Another."

Yes! She said this, and looked on him straight between the Eyes as she spoke. Yet I knew that she lied, could have screamed the Accusation at her, so convinced was I that she was playing some subtle and treacherous Game, designed to entrap him and to deliver him helpless and broken into her Power. But he, alas! was blinded by his Pa.s.sion. He saw no Siren in her, no Falsehood in her Smile. At her Words, I saw a great Light of Happiness illumine his Face.

"Barbara!" he pleaded. "Have pity on me, for my Reason wanders. I dare not call it back, lest this magic hour should prove to be a Dream."

He tried to take her in his Arms, but she evaded him, ran to the other side of the Desk, laughing merrily like a Child. Once again her delicate Fingers started to toy with the Papers scattered there.

"Oh, ho!" she exclaimed, with well-feigned astonishment. "Your desk!

Why, this," she said, placing her Hand upon the neat pile before her, "must be that very Thunderbolt wherewith to-morrow you mean to crush an arrogant Enemy!"

"Barbara!" he rejoined with ever growing pa.s.sion, and strove to take her Hand. "Will you not let me tell You--"

"Yes, yes!" she replied archly, and quietly withdrew her Hand from his grasp. "You shall speak to me anon some of those Speeches of our great Poets, which your Genius hath helped to immortalize. To hear Mr.

Betterton recite will be an inestimable Privilege ... which your many Admirers, Sir, will envy me."

"The whole world would envy me to-night," he retorted, and gazed on her with such Ardour that she was forced to lower her Eyes and to hide their Expression behind the delicate Curtain of her Lashes.

I, who was the dumb Spectator of this cruel Game, saw that the Lady Barbara was feeling her way towards her Goal. There was so much Excitement in her, such palpitating Vitality, that her very Heart-beats seemed to find their Echo in my breast. Of course, I did not know yet what Game it was that she was playing. All that I knew was that it was both deadly and treacherous. Even now, when Mr. Betterton once more tried to approach her and she as instinctively as before recoiled before him, she contrived to put strange softness into her Voice, and a subtle, insidious Promise which helped to confuse his Brain.

"No-no!" she said. "Not just yet ... I pray you have pity on my Blushes. I-I still am affianced to my Lord Stour ... although..."

"You are right, my beloved," he rejoined simply. "I will be patient, even though I am standing on the Threshold of Paradise. But will You not be merciful? I cannot see you well. Will you not take off that Veil? ... It casts a dark shadow over your Brow."

This time she allowed him to come near her, and, quite slowly, she unwound the Veil from round her Head. He took it from her as if it were some hallowed Relic, too sacred to be polluted by earthly Touch. And, as her back was turned towards him, he crushed the Gossamer between his Hands and pressed its Fragrance to his Lips.

"There!" she said coolly. "'Tis done. Your magic, Sir Actor, has conquered again."

It seemed to me that she was more self-possessed now than she had been when first she entered the Room. Indeed, her Serenity appeared to grow as his waned perceptibly. She still was a little restless, wandering aimlessly about the Room, fingering the Books, the Papers, the Works of Art that lay everywhere about; but it seemed like the restlessness of Curiosity rather than of Excitement. In her own Mind she felt that she held the Winning Hand-of this I was convinced-and that she could afford to toy with and to befool the Man who had dared to measure his Power against hers.

After awhile, she sat down in her Chair which he had brought forward for her, and which stood close to the Desk.

"And now, Sir," she said with cool composure, "'tis You who must humour me. I have a fancy ... now, at this moment ... and my Desire is to be thoroughly spoiled."

"Every Whim of yours," he rejoined, "is a Command to your humble Slave."

"Truly?" she queried.

"Truly."

"Then will You let me see you ... sitting at your Desk ... Pen in hand ... writing something just for me?"

"All my work of late," he replied, "has been done because of You ... but I am no Poet. What I speak may have some Merit. What I write hath none."

"Oh!" she protested with well-simulated Coquetry, "what I desire You to write for me, Sir Actor, will have boundless Merit. It is just a couple of Lines designed to ... to ... prove your Love for me-Oh!" she added quickly, "I scarce dare believe in it, Sir ... I scare understood ...

You remember, this morning in the Park, I was so excited, yet you asked me-to be-your Wife!"

"My Wife!" he cried, his Voice ringing with triumphant Pa.s.sion. "And you would consent?--"

"And so I came," she riposted, evading a direct Answer, "to see if I had been dreaming ... if, indeed, the great and ill.u.s.trious Mr. Betterton had stooped to love a Woman ... and for the sake of that Love would do a little Thing for Her."