Infelice Part 43

After forty years' sole undisputed mastery of his heart, something suddenly and unexpectedly wakened there, groped about, would not "down" at his bidding; and a new sensation made itself felt.

A brief sentence of Elliott Roscoe had like Moses' rod smitten the rock of his affections, and forthwith gushed a flood of riotous feelings never known before. At the thought of any man claiming Regina's perfect dainty lips and peerless imperial eyes a hot wave of indignant protest rolled over his whole being. That she should belong to another now seemed monstrous, sacrilegious, and all the strength of his own nature rose in mutiny.

Never until to-day had he a.n.a.lyzed his sentiments toward his ward, never had he deemed it possible for his wisely disciplined heart to bow before anything of flesh; but now, as he sat looking at the sweet face, he saw that rebellion desperate and uncompromising had broken out in his rigidly governed, long downtrodden nature, and with the prompt vigilance habitual to him he calmly counted the cost of crushing the insurrection.

Shading his countenance with his fingers he deliberately studied her features, even the modelling of the waxen hands folded together on her knee; and then and there, weighing all his achievements, all his pictured future, so dazzling with coveted ermine, he honestly confessed to his own soul that the universe held for him nothing so precious as that fair pure young girl.

How superlatively presumptuous appeared Elliott Roscoe's avowed admiration and preference! How dared that humble impecunious divinity student now sojourning in the "Land of the Veda," lift his eyes toward this priceless treasure, which Erle Palma wanted to call his own!

Just then Regina took her hymn-book to search for the closing verses designated by the minister, and as she opened the volume the inscription on the fly-leaf showed conspicuously. The lawyer set his teeth, and the fingers of his right hand opened, then closed hard and tight, a gesture in which he often unconsciously indulged when resolving on some future step.

The benediction was p.r.o.nounced, and the congregation dispersed.

Walking silently beside her guardian, until they had proceeded some distance from the church, Regina wondered how she should interpret the grave preoccupied expression of his countenance. Had he been sadly bored, and did he repent the sacrifice made to gratify her caprice?

"Mr. Palma, I am very much obliged to you for kindly consenting to accompany me. Of course I know this church and service must seem dull and plain in comparison with that to which you are accustomed, but I hope you liked Mr. Kelsey's sermon?"

"In some respects this afternoon has been a revelation, and I am sure I shall never forget the occasion."

"Oh! I am so glad you enjoyed going," she said, with evident relief.

"I did not intend to convey that impression; you infer more than my words warrant. I was thinking of other and quite irrelevant matters, and to be frank, really did not listen to the sermon. Do you attend church from a conviction that penance conduces to a sanitary improvement of the soul?"

"Penance? I do not exactly understand you, sir."

"I certainly have never seen you weep so bitterly; not even when I ruthlessly tore you from the kind sheltering arms of Mother Aloysius and Sister Angela. You appeared quite heartbroken. Was it contrition for your manifold transgressions?"

"Oh no, sir!"

"You are resolved not to appoint me your confessor?"

"Mr. Palma----" her voice faltered.

"Well, go on."

"I was very much distressed; it made my heart ache."

"So I perceived. But was it the bare church, or the minister, or my ward's sensitive conscience?"

After a moment she lifted her misty eyes to meet his, and answered tremulously:

"It was the singing of 'Oh that I had wings!' I have not heard it since that dreadful time I sang it last, and you can't possibly understand my feelings."

"Certainly not, unless you deign to explain the circ.u.mstances."

"Dear Mr. Hargrove asked me to go in and play on the organ in the library, and sing that sacred song for him. I sang it, and played for awhile on the organ, and then went back to him on the verandah, and he had died--alone, in his chair, while I was singing 'Oh that I had wings!' To-day, when the choir began it, everything came back so vividly to me. The dear happy home at the parsonage, the supper I had set for my dear Mr. Hargrove, the flowers in the garden, the smell of the carnations, the sound of the ring-doves in the vines, the moonlight shining so softly on his kind face and white hair--and Oh!----"

They walked the length of two squares before either spoke again.

"I was not aware that you performed on the organ."

"Mrs. Lindsay gave me lessons, and I used the cabinet organ."

"Do you prefer it to the piano?"

"For sacred songs, I do."

"If we had one in the library, do you suppose you would ever sing for me?"

"If you really desired it, perhaps I would try; but of course I know very well that you care nothing for my music; and our dear old hymns and chants would only tire and annoy you."

"To whom does 'our' refer?"

"My dear Mr. Hargrove and Mrs. Lindsay and her son. We so often sang quartettes at home in the long, delicious, peaceful summer evenings, before the awful affliction came and separated us."

The lamps were lighted, and night closed in, with silvery constellations overhead, before Mr. Palma and his companion were near their destination. As they crossed a street, he said, abruptly breaking a long silence:

"Take my arm."

Never before had such a courtesy been tendered, and she looked up in unfeigned surprise.

He was so tall, so stately, that the proposition seemed to her preposterous.

"Can't you reach it?"

He took her hand, drew it beneath, and placed the fingers on his arm.

"Of late you have grown so rapidly, your head is almost on a level with my shoulder; and you are quite tall enough now to accept my escort."

When they were within a square of home, Mr. Palma said very gravely:

"This afternoon I indulged one of your whims: now will you recipricate, and gratify a caprice of your guardian?"

"Have you caprices? I think not but I will oblige you if I can do so."

"Thank you. In future you must never walk to see Mrs. Mason, always go in the carriage; and I am unwilling that you should be out as late as this, unless Mrs. Palma accompanies you, or I am with you. You need not ask my reasons; it is sufficient that I wish it, and it is my caprice to be obeyed without questions. One thing more: I do not at all like your name--never did. Latinity is not one of my predilections, and _Regina, Reginae, Reginam_, wearily remind me of the cla.s.sic-slough of declensions and conjugations of my Livy, Sall.u.s.t, Tacitus. In my mind you have always been a.s.sociated with the white lilies that you held at the convent the first time I saw you, that you held to your heart while asleep on the cars; and hereafter when only you and I are present, I intend to indulge the caprice of calling my ward--Lily."

CHAPTER XVIII.

"Yonder they come! They have just left the carriage, and as usual she is escorted by her body-guard; those grim old fogies, who watch her like a pair of grey owls. Now, Doctor, you must contrive an introduction."

General Rene Laurance raised his gold eyegla.s.s, and looked curiously toward a group of three persons who were walking amid the ruins of Pozzuoli.

His companion Dr. Plymley, who was examining an inscription, turned around and looked in the direction indicated.