Roland Cashel Volume Ii Part 66

It is no part of our object to follow the changing fortunes of that long contest, nor watch the vacillating chances which alternately elevated to hope and lowered to very desperation. Before the day began to dawn, every player, save the Duke, had ceased to bet. Some, worn out and exhausted, had sunk to sleep upon the rich ottomans; others, drinking deep of champagne, seemed anxious to forget everything. Frobisher, utterly ruined, sat in the same place at the table, mechanically marking the game, on which he had no longer a stake, and muttering exclamations of joy or disappointment at imaginary gains and losses, for he still fancied that he was betting large sums, and partic.i.p.ating in all the varying emotions of a gambler's life.

The luck of the bank continued. Play how he would, boldly "back the color," or try to suit the fitful fortunes of the game, the Duke went on losing.

Were such an ordeal one to evoke admiration, it could scarcely be withheld from him, who, with an unwearied brain and unbroken temper, sat patiently there, fighting foot to foot, contesting every inch of ground, and even in defeat, preserving the calm equanimity of his high breeding.

Behind his chair stood Linton,--a flush of triumph on his cheek as he continued to behold the undeviating course of luck that attended the bank, "Another deal like that," muttered he, "and I shall quarter the arms of Marlier with Linton."

The words were scarcely uttered, when a deep sigh broke from the Duke--it was the first that had escaped him--and he buried his head between his hands. Rica looked over at Linton, and a slight, almost imperceptible, motion of his eyebrows signalled that the battle was nigh over.

"Well! how is the game? Am I betting?--what's the color?" said the Duke, pa.s.sing his clammy hand across his brow.

"I am waiting for you, my Lord Duke," said Rica, obsequiously.

"I am ready--quite ready," cried the other. "Am I the only player? I fancied that some others were betting. Where's my Lord Charles?--ah! I see him. And Mr. Linton--is he gone?"

"He has just left the room, my Lord Duke. Will you excuse me if I follow him for an instant?" And at the same moment Rica arose, and left the chamber with hasty steps.

It was at the end of a long corridor, tapping gently at a door, Linton stood, as Rica came up.

"What! is't over already?" said Linton, with a look of angry impatience.

"This is not fair, Linton!" said Rica, endeavoring to get nearest to the door.

"What is not fair?" said the other, imperiously. "You told me awhile ago that she must p.r.o.nounce, herself, upon her own future. Well, I am willing to leave it to that issue."

"But she is unfit to do so at present," said Rica, entreat-ingly.

"You know well how unsettled is her mind, and how wandering are her faculties. There are moments when she scarcely knows _me_--her father."

"It is enough if she remember me," said Linton, insolently. "Her intellects will recover--the cloud will pa.s.s away; and, if it should not, still--as my wife, it is an object I have set my heart on; and so, let me pa.s.s."

"I cannot--I will not peril her chances of recovery by such a shock,"

said Rica, firmly; then changing suddenly, he spoke in accents of deep feeling: "Remember, Linton, how I offered you _her_ whom you acknowledged you preferred. I told you the means of coercion in my power, and pledged myself to use them. It was but two days since I discovered where they were; to-morrow we will go there together. I will claim her as my daughter; the laws of France are imperative in the matter. Mary Leicester shall be yours."

"I care for her no longer," said Linton, haughtily. "I doubt, indeed, if I ever cared for her; she is not one to suit my fortunes. Maritana is, or at least may become so."

"Be it so, but not now, Linton; the poor child's reason is clouded."

"When she hears she is a d.u.c.h.ess," said Linton, half sneeringly, "it will dispel the gloomy vapor."

"I implore you--I entreat--on my knees I beg of you--" said the distracted father, and, unable to utter more, he sank powerless at Linton's feet; meanwhile the other opened the door, and, stepping noiselessly over the prostrate figure, entered the room.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI. ARREST OF LINTON

Like a bold criminal he stood, Calm in his guilt

The Forger.

With firm step and head high, Linton entered a room where the dim half-light of the closed jalousies made each object indistinct. He halted for an instant, to cast a searching glance around, and then advanced to a door at the farthest end of the apartment; at this he tapped twice gently with his knuckles. He waited for an instant, and then repeated his summons. Still no answer, even though he rapped a third time, and louder than before. Linton now turned the handle noiselessly, and opened the door. For a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether to advance or retire; but his resolution was soon made,--he entered and closed the door behind him.

The chamber in which Linton now stood was smaller than the outer one, and equally shaded from the strong sunlight. His eyes were now, however, accustomed to the dusky half-light, and he was able to mark the costly furniture and splendid ornaments of the room. The walls were hung with rose-colored damask, over which a drapery of white lace was suspended, looped up at intervals to admit of small brackets of bronze, on which stood either "statuettes" or vases of rare "Sevres." At a toilet-table in the middle of the room were laid out the articles of a lady's dressing-case, but of such costly splendor that they seemed too gorgeous for use. Trinkets and jewellery of great value were scattered carelessly over the table, and an immense diamond cross glittered from the mother-o'-pearl frame of the looking-gla.s.s.

The half-open curtains at the end of the room showed a marble bath, into which the water flowed from a little cascade of imitation rustic, its tiny ripple murmuring in the still silence of the room. There was another sound, still softer and more musical than that, there,--the long-drawn breathing of a young girl, who, with her face upon her arm, lay asleep upon a sofa. With stealthy step and noiseless gesture, Linton approached and stood beside her. He was not one to be carried away by any enthusiasm of admiration, and yet he could not look upon the faultless symmetry of that form, the placid beauty of that face, on which a pa.s.sing dream had left a lingering smile, and not feel deeply moved. In her speaking moments, her dark and flashing eyes often lent a character of haughty severity to her handsome features; now their dark lashes shrouded them, and the expression of the face was angelic in sweetness. The olive-darkness of her skin, too, was tempered by the half-light, while the slight tinge of color on her cheek might have vied with the petal of a rose. Linton drew a chair beside the sofa, and sat down. With folded arms, and head slightly bent forward, he watched her, while his fast-hurrying thoughts travelled miles and miles,--speculating, planning, contriving; meeting difficulties here, grasping advantages there,--playing over a game of life, and thinking if an adversary could find a flaw in it.

"She is worthy to be a d.u.c.h.ess," said he, as he gazed at her. "A d.u.c.h.ess! and what more?--that is the question. Ah, these women, these women! if they but knew their power! If they but knew how all the boldest strivings of our intellects are as nothing compared to what their beauty can effect! Well, well; it is better that they should not.

They are tyrants, even as it is,--petty tyrants,--to all who care for them; and he who does not is their master. _That_ is the real power,--there the stronghold; and how they fear the man who takes his stand behind it! how they crouch and tremble before him! what fascinating graces do they reserve for _him_, that they would not bestow upon a lover! Is it that they only love where they fear? How beautiful she looks, and how calmly sweet!--it is the sleeping tigress, notwithstanding. And now to awake her: pity, too; that wearied mind wants repose, and the future gives but little promise of it."

[Ill.u.s.tration: 411]

He bent down over her, till he almost touched the silken ma.s.ses of her long dark hair, and, in a low, soft voice, said,--

"Maritana! Maritana!"

"No, no, no," said she, in the low, muttering accents of sleep, "not here,--not here!"

"And why not here, dearest?" said he, catching at the words.

A faint shudder pa.s.sed over her, and she gathered her shawl more closely around her.

"Hace mal tiempo,--the weather looks gloomy," said she, in a faint voice.

"And if not here, Maritana, where then?" said he, in a low tone.

"In our own deep forests, beneath the liana and the cedar; where the mimosa blossoms, and the acacia scents the air; where fountains are springing, and the glow-worm shines like a star in the dark gra.s.s. Oh, not here! not here!" cried she, plaintively.

"Then in Italy, Maritana mia, where all that the tropics can boast is blended with whatever is beautiful. In art; where genius goes hand-in-hand with nature; and where life floats calmly on, like some smooth-flowing river, unruffled and unbroken."

A faint, low sigh escaped her, and her lips parted with a smile of surpa.s.sing loveliness.

"Yes, dearest--there, with me, beside the blue waters of the Adriatic, or lost amid the chestnut forests of the Apennines. Think of those glorious cities, too, where the once great still live, enshrined by memory, in their own palace walls. Think of Venice--"

The word was not well uttered, when, with a shrill scream, she started up and awoke.

"Who spoke to me of my shame? Who spoke of Venice?" cried she, in accents of wild terror.

"Be calm, Maritana. It was a dream,--nothing but a dream," said Linton, pressing her gently down again. "Do not think more of it."

"Where am I?" said she, drawing a long breath.

"In your own dressing-room, dearest," said he, in an accent of deep devotion.

"And you, sir? Why are _you_ here? and by what right do you address me thus?"

"By no right," said Linton, with a submissive deference which well became him. "I can plead nothing, save the devotion of a heart long since your own, and the good wishes of your father, Maritana, who bade me speak to you."