Marguerite Verne; Or, Scenes from Canadian Life Part 20

"I am determined to see those places later in the season."

"Then you will be repaid a thousand times, Helen," said Madge, a smile resting upon the madonna-like face and throwing a halo around her. "Last summer a number of friends were staying at the 'Barker,'

and in the meantime Cousin Jennie and I found ourselves in Uncle William's care and registered at the 'Queen.' It was a lovely morning in August, and as we were engaged to attend a garden party on the self-same evening, we set off in the direction of Mr.

Bebbington's garden, to get some of his choice roses. I was somewhat ahead of the party, and on turning the corner of Queen and Church streets the scene was truly enchanting. I was pleased to be alone to drink in the grandeur. I never could half describe that picture, it was as one brief glimpse of some paradise that appears only in dreamland. Not a sound marred the effect. All was calm and peaceful indeed. Stretching out in graceful curves lay the river, looking indeed like living silver; the soft, green sward and gra.s.sy bank; then the Cathedral in its sombre Gothic dress, its leafy grove, its hallowed a.s.sociations. I looked further, and there stood the outlying hills crowned with lovely foliage, and above all the soft, fleecy clouds chasing each other through the blue sky. Soft and beautiful as an Italian landscape! And the neat, suburban cottages with artistically-arranged flower gardens in front. All was in keeping with the scene.

'No sound of busy life was heard.'

"As I stood in wrapt admiration, the Cathedral clock chimed out in soft, silvery tones, summoning the worshipper to the morning matin.

Presently a figure emerges from the doorway of a neat residence and crosses the street. It is the Lord Bishop, who for so many years has crossed the same well-beaten path. The calm serenity of the place, the hour and the solemnity of the scene was overpowering. I dared not wait until the ethereal sweetness of the music would cease. I took one lingering gaze and murmured: This is indeed Elysium--a step nearer Heaven, and with feelings of reverential awe set forth on my errand."

"It must indeed have been grand!" cried the listeners in concert.

"I can never forget it," said Marguerite, "and if you should ever happen to see the same picture, you can imagine my emotions at the time."

"It is growing late, and I must attend to business," said Josie, taking up the package and setting off for the post office, while Helen and Marguerite stood on the balcony throwing tokens of affection, and as the coquettish form was lost in the distance, Helen, turning towards her companion, said:

"If Josie could only remain as she is--a grown-up child!"

CHAPTER XVI.

MRS. ARNOLD AS A DIPLOMATIST.

Some evenings later Phillip Lawson found his way to "Sunnybank." He was received by the stately mistress with more than usual courtesy.

"You have surely forgotten us of late, Mr. Lawson," exclaimed she, in a playful and remonstrating style. "Are we to attribute your delinquency to business or total neglect?"

"I must plead business to a certain extent, Mrs. Verne," said the young man with a quaint dignified reserve.

"I understand that you intend spending your vacation at 'Gladswood'

Mr. Lawson. Really I envy you the prospect, for it is a truly delightful spot."

Mrs. Verne had seated herself upon the sofa. She wore a rich black moire robe which, with the addition of a magnificent display of garnets with setting of gold, made an elaborate costume.

"I am sorry that circ.u.mstance has cancelled my engagement in that direction. In fact I regret it deeply, I was antic.i.p.ating too much and was justly punished."

"It must be weighty business that would thus interfere, Mr. Lawson.

I am inclined to believe that you are already becoming too worldly."

Mrs. Verne had raised her jewelled fingers and rested them upon her forehead.

Among the many weaknesses of Mrs. Verne was her vain and uncontrollable desire to show off her beautifully shaped hands--fit models for the sculptor's chisel--rivals for those of, the Venus of Cnidos by Praxiteles.

The young barrister had kept his negotiations quiet and had no intention to gratify the woman's curiosity.

Marguerite now entered accompanied by Louise Rutherford. The latter had returned from Montreal and was making her first call at "Sunnybank."

"Mr. Lawson has just been receiving a slight reproof, young ladies, and I think you have arrived in time to a.s.sist me," said Mrs. Verne glancing at Louise with a bewitching smile.

"I for one always think that when Mr. Lawson neglects any part of his duties it is wholly from inability to perform them," said Louise.

"Duties! That is the great trouble. It is to duty that we attribute the true source of our complaint. To the stern G.o.ddess is sacrificed every would-be pleasure."

"Forgive me Mrs. Verne, I believe that Mr. Lawson is right, and forgetful of every presence Louise exclaimed:--

"Stern daughter of the voice of G.o.d, O duty, if that name thou love, Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove-- Thou, who art victory and law, When empty terrors overawe; From vain temptations dost set free, And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity."

"n.o.ble girl," thought the young man, "those words give me greater strength."

Little did Marguerite Verne dream of the thoughts pa.s.sing through Mr. Lawson's mind as he bowed acknowledgment to her companion's quotation.

The rising blush betrayed Louise Rutherford's embarra.s.sment.

"Really Mr. Lawson, I beg to be excused. I have a habit of committing to memory any subject that I admire and it sometimes makes me seem very ridiculous when they unconsciously repeat themselves."

"Not in this particular, I a.s.sure you, Miss Rutherford," said the young man very earnestly, and as Marguerite fancied, with a hidden meaning in their depths.

"I presume you are aware that Mr. Tracy has sailed for Europe?" said Mrs. Verne, casting a meaning glance at Marguerite and watching the effect upon Mr. Lawson.

"Yes; I was somewhat surprised when he called at the office to make his adieu. It must surely have been an impromptu arrangement. Within a fortnight he had been planning a different course," said Mr.

Lawson, quite cheerily.

"Sooner or later he will join Mr. and Mrs. Arnold," said Mrs. Verne, referring to the newly wedded pair with proud delight.

"That will be very pleasant, indeed," said Mr. Lawson.

"Would you not like to be one of the party, Madge?" cried Louise, with all the honest enthusiasm of her nature."

"I cannot say that I would," replied Marguerite.

"Oh! you are such an old-fashioned home body, Madge; I might know your answer without asking the question. Suppose I might ask _you_, Mr. Lawson," ventured Louise, persistent in getting a favorable reply.

The young barrister smiled, and that smile was a conquest in itself.

It had powers to enable a mild and _spirituelle_ maiden to form a resolve that was as unyielding as the marble hearthstone beside her, while on the other hand it exercised a spirit in the calculating matron that no human influence could brook.

Mr. Lawson had little thought of the agencies at work in those two beings of widely different natures, and of which time alone will interpret the result.

Marguerite Verne was sweetly irresistible. Her dress was simple--a sweet simplicity in every look, motion and gesture. The pure white draperies gave to the _spirituelle_ face the radiance of a Madonna, and placed the maiden in striking contrast to the sparkling bright and witty Louise--a striking and high-spirited brunette, with a mind of no common order.

As Mr. Lawson sat in the Verne drawing-room with the being that he idolized so near him, a deadly struggle was going on within. What a conflict--what doubt, what irresolution!

It was worse than ever to give up all earthly hope, all earthly happiness.

What prevented the young man--aye, every inch a man--from falling on his knees and declaring his love, and begging a slight return for such love?

Go ask the weird sisters upon whose spindles hang the threads of every human life! Go ask the winds that echo the wails of human hearts and often carry them along with a cruel insatiable spirit of revenge, until all is hushed in the stillness of death.