Lady Maude's Mania Part 45

And then the door was thrown open, and they entered.

The room was empty, and upon the proprietor being consulted, it was announced that the gentleman and lady had left that evening by the Lyons mail.

Telegraph communication failed.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

AN ENCOUNTER.

Sunny Italy, the home of music.

The sun was shining as it can shine in Naples, but the courtyard of the Hotel di Sevril was pleasantly shady, for there was a piazza all round, and in the centre a cool and sparkling fountain played in its marble basin, while evergreen trees spread dark tracery on the white pavement.

In one of the shadiest and coolest spots sat Maude, daughter of The Earl of Barmouth, looking exceedingly pretty, though there was a certain languid air, undoubtedly caused by the warmth of the climate, which seemed to make her listless and disposed to neglect the work which lay in her lap, and lean back in the lounging chair, which creaked sharply at every movement.

"I do wish he would come back," she said softly, and as she spoke her eyes lit up with an intense look of happiness, and a sweet smile played about her lips. "But he will not leave me alone long."

Here she made a pretence of working, but ceased directly.

"I wonder what they are all doing at home. How dear Tryphie is, and papa, and darling Tom. Will Tom marry Tryphie? Yes, he is so determined, he will be sure to. Heigho! I shall be so glad when we are forgiven, and Tom and he are friends. I can feel sure about papa, but Tom can be so stern and sharp."

There was no allusion made to Lady Barmouth, for she seemed to have dropped out of her daughter's thoughts, but Sir Grantley Wilters was remembered with a shudder, which was cleared away by the coming of a smiling waiter.

"Would the signore and signora dine at the _table-d'hote_?"

Maude hesitated for a few moments, moved by monetary considerations, and then said--"Yes. Has the signore returned?"

"No, signora," said the waiter, and he bowed and went back into the old palazzo.

"I wanted to go to a cheap hotel," said Maude, dreamily, and with a happy smile upon her face--somewhat inane, it is true, for it was the young married lady's smile--"but he said his _cara bella sposa_ must have everything of the best. Oh, my darling! my darling! how he loves me. Poor? What is poverty? I grow more proud of him every day. What do we want with society? Ah, how I hate it. Give me poverty and love.

Oh, come back, my darling, come back. That's what my heart keeps beating whenever he is away."

It was certainly a very pleasant kind of poverty, in a sunny land with a delicious view of the bay, and a good _table-d'hote_; and a loving husband; and as Maude, the young wife, dreamed and adored her husband in his absence, she smiled and showed her white teeth till a sound of voices made her start and listen.

"Oh, how I do tremble every time any one fresh comes to the hotel. I always fancy it is Sir Grantley Wilters come to fetch me back. But he dare not try to claim me now, for I am another's. But what are we to do when the money is all gone?"

She thought dreamily, but in a most untroubled fashion.

"I can sing," she said at last, "so can he, and he plays admirably. Ah, well, there's time enough to think of that when the money is all gone.

Let me be happy now after all that weary misery, but I must write home.

There, I'll go and do it now before he returns.--Oh!"

She had risen to go, but sank back trembling and half-fainting in her seat as a pallid, weary-looking, washed-out elderly gentleman tottered out of the house into the piazza, and dropped into a chair just in front of the door.

"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" he sighed, as he let his walking-stick fall clattering down. "How tired out I do feel."

"Oh!" sighed Maude, as she saw that her only means of exit was barred.

"I with--I wish--damme, I wish I was back at home with my legs under my own table, and--and--and a good gla.s.s of port before me. Hang that Robbins, a confounded scoundrel; I--I--I know I shall finish by breaking his head. Four days before I left England I asked him to put one single bottle of the '20 port in my dressing-room with the cork drawn, and he threw her ladyship at my head, and, damme, I didn't get a drop. And my own port--a whole bin of it--my own port--my own port. Hah! how comfortable a chair is when you're tired. He was a good fellow who first invented chairs."

He shuffled himself down, and lay right back.

"Shall I never find my little girl?" he sighed.

"What shall I do?" murmured Maude. "Why isn't he here?"

"I'm not fit to come hunting organ men all over the continent,"

continued the old gentleman; "but Tom insisted, you see. Oh, my poor leg! It's worse here than it was in town."

He rubbed his leg slowly, and Maude made a movement as if to go to his side, but something seemed to hold her back.

"Tom is sure to be near," she thought, "and they must not meet yet. Tom would not forgive him. If I could only get away and warn him."

"Why don't Tom come and order something to eat? I'm starving. Oh, dear: London to Paris--Paris to Baden--Baden to Nice--Nice to Genoa, and now on here to Naples. Poor Tom, he seems to grow more furious the more we don't find them. Oh, hang the girl!" he added aloud.

Maude started, and had hard work to suppress a sob.

"They'll separate us; they'll drag me away," she sighed.

"No, no, no, I will not say that," cried Lord Barmouth, aloud. "I am hungry, and it makes me cross. My poor leg! I should like to find my poor darling," he said, piteously. "Bless her! bless her! she was a good girl to me."

"Oh! oh! oh!" sobbed Maude, hysterically, for she could contain herself no longer.

"Eh! eh! eh!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lord Barmouth. "What the deuce! A lady in distress. Doosed fine woman too," he added, raising his gla.s.s as he tottered to his feet. "I was a devil of a fellow among the ladies when I was a youngster. Can I, madam--suppose she don't understand English-- can I, madam, be of any service? What, Maudey, my darling? Is it you at last?"

"Oh, papa! papa!"

There was a burst of sobbing and embracing, ended by the old man seating himself in Maude's chair, and the girl sinking at his feet.

"And--and--and I've--I've found you at last then, my dear, or have you found me? Is--is it really you?"

"Yes, yes, yes, my own dear darling father," sobbed Maude.

"Yes, it is--it is," he cried, fondling her and drawing her to his breast, till he seemed to recollect something.

"But, damme--damme--damme--"

"Oh, don't--don't swear at me, papa darling!"

"But--but I must, my dear. Here have I been searching all over Europe for you, and now I have found you."

"Kiss me, papa dear," sobbed Maude.

"Yes, yes, my darling, and I am so glad to see you again; but what a devil of a wicked girl you have been to bolt."

"Oh, but, papa darling, I couldn't--I couldn't marry that man."