Jasper Lyle Part 25

He detained me gently.

How specious he was--how blind was I! He had "been studying me for weeks;" from the first moment we met, he "had been deeply interested in me. He had perceived the shade that an early sorrow had cast round me, and had come to ask Lady Amabel if there was no hope for _him_; he would not press the question on me now, it would be unkind."

I believed that he felt for me from his soul; that he _would_ have "given worlds for a _look_ which would bid him not quite despair; but this was not the time to a.s.sail me. He knew I had pride; it was blinded now, but the mist would clear away, the scales would fall from my eyes.

I should do him justice; he grieved that the world should have dared to tamper with my name--." He quite frightened me as he said this. I was oppressed with a sense of bitterness and wrong, against which I was powerless; but here was one who seemed disposed to do me justice. I wished to do right. Lady Amabel would have been all kindness had I unburdened my full heart to her, but she would not have understood me; she would have proposed a ride or a drive, or a fete, or might have sent for Clarence, to scold him. Ah me! I had not a friend at hand who could give me good advice; and here sat this clever experienced, silver-tongued man, offering me his sympathy, and teaching me to believe he was the only one near me who could feel for me--who had, in fact, any real regard for me; and this regard was offered so humbly that I had not a word to say against the expression of it. On the one hand was Clarence Fairfax, reckless of my affection, ignoring it indeed, and, as Lyle remarked, with indignation he protested he could not suppress, "insulting me publicly, by doing homage before my face to a shameless woman, whose triumph was the greater in that she had drawn this infatuated young man from one so lovely and pure-hearted as myself."

My tears rained down upon the work-table on which he leaned, contemplating me with an expression of compa.s.sion new to me, yet not unpleasing.

I began to think I had found a friend.

More company on that evening! I longed to return to the quiet of home; but unavoidable delays kept me back. We were to leave Newlands for Cape Town next day. An irresistible impulse seized me--I stole out at dusk, to take a last look at the Grove. I walked swiftly through the avenues, ascended the mound, and went to our old accustomed seat under the plane-tree.

The darkness and the silence that prevailed were in accordance with the gloom that hung over my soul.

At last I bade adieu for ever to this spot, so painfully dear to me. I descended to the avenue. A tall figure approached me--it was Lyle's--"I thought," said he, "that I should find you here; but be not alarmed, I shall not return with you. I recognised your figure leaving the house, and came to prepare you for meeting with Mrs Rashleigh to-night; she is to be among the guests. Lady Amabel's position with regard to this woman is most difficult--but a crisis is at hand; Fairfax is completely in her toils--an _esclandre_ must take place soon. I beseech you do not add to this bad woman's triumph to-night by that heart-broken demeanour which you have lately worn. Ah! Miss Daveney, I shall look for your _entree_ with an anxious eye and beating heart. Pardon my presumption in thus intruding on you, but my interest in your happiness must be my excuse."

He took my hand in his, but dropped it immediately, with a sigh; and, lifting his hat, disappeared in an avenue.

I went to Lady Amabel's dressing-room. I had not the courage to enter the saloons alone. I need not have been afraid. Clarence was not there when I joined the circle; but I felt as if all the guests were looking at me. I condemned myself for the next few hours to wear "That falsest of false things, a mask of smiles."

Lyle's eye met mine--it seemed to haunt me.

It was an _alfresco_ fete. The heat of the season was over, but the nights were soft and mild. One of the long arcades was enclosed, and lit with variegated lamps; a brilliant moon illuminated the lime-groves; every arrangement was made to conduce to the splendour and pleasure of the scene.

I could not stand up to dance. My knees trembled, my teeth chattered, and I felt my lips turn pale as Clarence Fairfax drew near with Mrs Rashleigh. I could not look at her; she was laughing and talking in her usual bold strain, and answering for Clarence questions that were addressed to himself. He saw me not, though he cast himself beside me on the couch--his sash streamed over my dress, his sword rested against my hand, his spur touched my foot. I withdrew it quickly, and moved aside; he begged my pardon for incommoding me. I turned to him to bow, and the crimson tide flushed that fine face. He started up nervously.

Mrs Rashleigh rose, too, took his arm, and led him off. She named me to him in my hearing. I heard him say, "Hush! Anna, for mercy's sake; don't remind me of my misdeed."

"Anna!"--they were indeed on very familiar terms.

She was robed imperially that evening, and looked wonderfully youthful.

Whispers pa.s.sed from lip to lip, as she and Clarence pa.s.sed up the apartment, and went out into the lime-grove. Others were following them. I sat, trying to talk to Lyle, and smiling vacantly at the polite recognitions of some of the guests.

Lady Amabel came up to me. "My dear child," said she, "you look quite ill--come into the air. Mr Lyle, give Miss Daveney your arm."

But I begged to withdraw for a little while, and Lady Amabel excused me.

The library was the only room unoccupied on this festal night. A single lamp stood on the table. The windows of this room opened to that dark walk overshadowed by the mountain. Here there were no illuminations--no crowd of dancers. I extinguished the lamp, and sat down by the open window.

Two figures were walking slowly up and down the avenue. They stepped a few paces beyond the shadow of the mountain, into the moonlit path. It was Mrs Rashleigh and Clarence Fairfax. She was talking vehemently; he was entreating her to be calm.

I sat, transfixed; had a voice from the grave summoned me, I could not have obeyed.

She was reproaching him for some imagined neglect. He told her that she fancied it. Now her tones were those of pa.s.sion, vehement and imperious; he implored her, for her own sake, to restrain her wrath.

It is impossible to relate to you all I saw and heard, as, statue-like, I leaned against the window--bitter imprecations were heaped on my own head. Clarence would have burst from her at this, but she cast herself upon his bosom, and clung there, pouring forth the most pa.s.sionate expressions of love and regret. "Would he desert her? She should die!

She only lived in his presence. He saw her gay and brilliant in society--Oh! if he knew the dark hours she pa.s.sed without him."

They moved slowly, close by the window; she was talking to him, with her head resting on his shoulder. She was speaking of her husband-- complaining of him--for Clarence uttered his name in an angry tone, and then whispering, "My poor Anna! and you suffered this for me!" folded her in his arms, and embraced her wildly.

They were within a yard of me, and I dared not move. Icy cold were my hands, clasped together; my eyeb.a.l.l.s burned and throbbed, but no tears came to their relief. I seemed to realise the sensation that Niobe must have felt on being turned to stone.

They leaned against the window--some one approached--they started, and were moving on, when the angry voice of the outraged Mr Rashleigh arrested the steps of the guilty pair. The wretched woman screamed aloud, and clung to Clarence, who, on Mr Rashleigh raising his hand to strike him, received a blow on the arm he had lifted to ward it.

It was Lyle who had thus brought about this terrible _esclandre_, though of this no one then was aware. It was he who, as the crowd moved to a refreshment tent, had put a slip of paper into Mr Rashleigh's hands, warning him of his wife's delinquency, and the scorn in which he was held for his contemptible indifference to her shamelessness. He was informed of her whereabouts at that instant.

Mr Rashleigh opened this doc.u.ment in the sight of many persons; its tone of contempt galled him to the quick, and, forgetting all consequences but the desire of revenge, he rushed at once to the scene of his disgrace.

I fainted--some one lifted me from the floor. It was Lyle--he carried me into Lady Amabel's boudoir; she was there, walking nervously up and down. She received me with tears. Lyle withdrew. I felt grateful for his sympathy, and the kind and delicate manner in which he had expressed it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

STRIFE.

I saw Clarence Fairfax but once again.

The exposure which had taken place separated the Rashleighs for ever.

Challenges were interchanged between the gentlemen at the same hour.

The selfish woman who had thus brought disgrace on her husband, herself, and the man she had infatuated by her art, lost all prudence in her ungovernable state of excitement, and wrote a pa.s.sionate appeal, from her retirement near Newlands, entreating Captain Fairfax to see her once again. But Sir Adrian had placed his nephew under arrest. Mrs Rashleigh had the hardihood to endeavour to force her way into his quarters by night; she was repelled from the door at the point of the bayonet, the sentry having due orders to prevent the ingress of such a visitor. In vain she implored, in vain she stormed.

Captain Walton kept watch upon his brother aide-de-camp within, and would not let him yield to the temptress.

Clarence resigned his appointment on his uncle's staff, and was ordered to England forthwith.

Lady Amabel and I were in the library with Sir Adrian when his nephew entered to take his leave. It was before official hours, and such a meeting was wholly unexpected on our part, nor perhaps had he antic.i.p.ated it.

Lady Amabel could not pa.s.s him by; her heart was full--her eyes swimming with tears as he caught her hand.

"Dear aunt," said he, "_you_ will wish me well."

"Sit down, Amabel; sit down, Miss Daveney," said Sir Adrian.

"Yes, Clarence, they will both wish you well; I do, from my soul; I take some blame to myself in this wretched business; but what is done cannot be undone. You have been the victim of that wretched, worthless being, whom it would be an insult to name here. Sit down, my lad, amongst us again; we are all deucedly sorry to part with you; when we meet again, you will be all the wiser for this business, I hope. I hardly like to let you go, but I suppose I must. I shall not get on at all well without you, my dear boy. Confound that devil.

"Well, Amabel, it is enough to make any one swear; for, now that she is fairly down, every one comes forward to say that she ought to have been banished from society long ago. I don't pity her one bit," continued the General, rising and pacing the chamber; "but I am heartily vexed to think she has seduced my sister's son, and in this affair _she_ is the seducer, not Clarence."

"Oh! sir, I deserve more reproaches than you dream of," replied his nephew. "I cannot stay; I unworthy of any kindness or consideration.

Aunt, G.o.d bless you."

Lady Amabel was sobbing audibly.