Philadelphia, March 1850
GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK
Philadelphia, March 1850
THE CONFIDENT.
BY MRS. L. W. STEWART
( See Plate. )
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But the speaker did not move from the couch, on which she half-reclined, to greet the new comer,
The girl called Marion glided softly – stealthily, you might almost have called it – across the gorgeous carpet, and placed her arm caressingly about the lady's form.
" You have good news," and her keen, gray eyes bent eagerly over a letter which her friend held.
Lucy Granger did not speak for a moment, though she clasped the hand resting upon her shoulder. It was as if a bright morning dream, which she feared to dispel, had bound her with its gentle thrall. There was a soft light in her beautiful eyes, and a sigh, low and tremulous, yet not of pain, parted her crimson lips. It seemed to recall her once more from whatever reveries she had indulged; but still she did not move, and spoke with downcast eyes, and a voice so subdued, that Marion knew the memory of pleasant thoughts yet lingered.
" I have a letter from Louis Vernon, my father's ward. I have not heard from him in years – yes, it is years since he sent me that little casket from Venice. It stands upon my dressing-table, Marion. Be was leading an idle life then; and his letters to my poor brother were filled with descriptions of gorgeous fetes and beautiful women, and moonlight seas. How he loved the beautiful! Harry and he were such friends! Then Harry died; and my father, who is so proud and cold – they only wrote on business; and, at last, Louis ceased to speak of me in his hurried letters. He is coming to England again."
Marion did not answer. She waited as if to hear more.
"He is come, I should have said; and will be here, in this very house, to-night. He wrote so kindly! I thought he had forgotten me; but he is just the same as ever. I wonder if he will think me altered. He says he hopes to find me the same; but I am a woman now, and he left a school-girl. Oh, Marion, he is so beautiful! Did you ever wish to be beautiful, Marion? To have those who look on you confess that you were so, with involuntary homage? Somehow, I could almost wish it for myself this afternoon. Louis loves all that is lovely."
If Lucy's eyes had been upraised, she would have seen a shadow, dark and almost malignant, pass over the face that bent above her. Ungraceful in person, and cold in her exterior, the companion and dependent of the heiress of Granger Park had often cursed in her heart the adverse fate that had denied her all external attractions. Often as she had wreathed the beautiful curls of whose grace Lucy was unconscious, or arrayed the form whose every motion was grace itself, a bitter, envious thought poisoned the better feelings of her nature, until she had almost come to hate the gentle girl, who loved and trusted her with all the earnestness of an affectionate, guileless nature.
" Fortune, beauty, love; all showered upon her," Marion had murmured; "while I, born her equal, must rest in obscurity because a tithe of these gifts has been denied me. Oh, if I were but beautiful, how I would win men's hearts! How they should acknowledge the spell of my presence, and bow down before me, forgetful that my loveliness was my only dowry!"
And then the mirror would reflect a face pale with envy, and features harsh and contracted. Alas for Marion!
She remembered Louis Vernon. Could she ever forget him? for in his rude boyhood he had taunted her with her dependence – she could have borne that – and with her plainness, of which she hated even then to hear. She could recall every incident of that scene; his frank, manly face, and her own glance of defiance. " So he was coming home, and, no doubt, would woo and win his old playfellow. He was Sir Louis Vernon now, though Lucy had forgotten that." Thus ran Marion's thoughts. "And she will be mistress of all her father's wealth, and I, still in the shadow, must stand by and see the bridal pageant, and guard the jewels that she is to wear, and smile when I could weep, and bless when my heart curses!"
Oh, it was sad to see a human heart given up to such evil guidance; but it was the festering thought of a lifetime, and Marion was a rare dissembler.
" Nay, confess it," she said, playfully, as she still looked down upon the letter filled with kindly words and glad anticipations; "you love your father's ward, Lucy. Your brother's friend – that is not all. Well, you will, be happy, for he could not refuse such homage."
" I offer him homage! But you are jesting." " Nay; do you think I have been blinded all this while to the love-dream that filled your heart? There are orange flowers in that little casket; withered, it is true; but Sir Louis gave them to you ere he sailed from England. There is a curl of' brown hair beneath the velvet cushion: it is marvelously like some curls I have seen on his forehead. And perhaps you forget standing Before the picture that hangs in your brother's room, ere it was closed, and sighing as you turned away?"
No wonder that Lucy blushed, and withdrew her hand impatiently.
"And your eyes will welcome him back again; and your lands may finish the conquest," she half murmured.
"There, go, Marion; my eyes shall never tell unmaidenly secrets. Did I not love you so well, I should chide you for speaking thus. I hear a bustle in the court-yard I am not lady to receive my father's guests; you must do it for me. They have entered the drawing-room –"
It needed not Lucy's impatient entreaties, for Marion's heart beat fast with the wish to see Louis Vernon first – alone; and yet she complied as one who confers a favor. Then Lucy sank back upon the couch once more, and seemed to forget what was required of her. The rich fall of lace trembled to the quick beatings of her heart, and her hands clasped the letter nervously. She listened eagerly to catch the sound of voices from below; but there was nothing but the trampling of steeds as they were led from the court-yard, and the murmur of the summer fountain that played beneath her window.
" Marion spoke strangely," thought she; "have I been unmaidenly? Have I given my love unsought? Have I cherished other than a sister's love for Louis? I cannot tell. I do not know myself this afternoon. But I will be cold and formal – yes, my .father's own child – and thus I will atone it. Louis" the name was spoken with a lingering accent, as her reverie ceased; nor was the lady conscious how much that little word revealed.
She rose and stood before the mirror to adjust her robe. She drew one sprig of the starry white jessamine from a vase before her to twine among her curls, and in another moment had glided down the old oak staircase, already dusky with evening shadows, and stood before the subject of her thoughts.
She gave her hand lightly to a tall, dark-browed stranger, so different from the Louis of her memory, who bowed as haughtily as her father could have done, and led her to a seat.
How coldly his formal inquiries fell upon her ear; the measured tone was an unfamiliar sound. Her heart, that had fluttered so wildly, sank frozen in her breast. Poor Lucy, when they had parted as brother and sister part, with a kiss and loving clasp! She would have shrunk from 'either now, it is true; but the kind letter, hid beneath her silken bodice, had not prepared her for this unlooked-for coldness. The weary moments passed heavily, and Marion supported the lagging conversation in which neither of the others seemed to take interest. For once Lucy was glad to hear the firm, heavy tread of her father sounding in the hall, and half sprang forward to meet him; but a thought seemed to check her, and she paused at the entrance, more embarrassed than ever before.
Mr Granger was, as Lucy had characterized him, stern and proud. There was strength in his compact figure and massive head. Masses of thick hair, now beginning to silver, were pushed back from his square forehead; and his mouth had a resolute compression, that did not relax as he bid the young stranger welcome. There was little sociability added to the group by his entrance; and when, after a dull and formal evening, they separated, all felt the relief of being once more alone.
"Dull enough, and cold enough," muttered Sir Louis, as he stood by the open window of his own apartment, looking out upon the exquisite landscape before him. The moonlight shone clear upon the dark recesses of foliage that enclosed the beautiful lawn, and in soft fantastic shadows lay on the velvet turf, quivering with every breath of the summer breeze. The dun deer slept peacefully in their sheltered coverts; and afar off' the white cottages of the village were distinctly visible.
"No; nothing else has changed," went on the soliloquy; "except that Harry, my old playfellow, is not here to welcome me. There is the spire of the village church, where he sleeps. Poor Harry – I saw his smile when Lucy sprang to meet her father. How this has chilled me – I had hoped a warmer greeting; but, perhaps, I have been among the children of the bright South so long, that I have forgotten English coldness. She might have had one smile for her brother's friend. That Marion – she's not altered. The very same stealthy tread – that quick, upward glance when she thinks herself unobserved! But, perhaps, this is mere boyish prejudice, She always came between Lucy and myself in the old days; perhaps this is why I have shunned her. How very, very beautiful Lucy has grown; those soft clustering curls – the downcast eyes – the floating, sylph-like motion! and yet so womanly withal. She w like the hand I half worshipped in Florence – that soft Calo Dolce that hung in the east window. I wish her manner and her soul were more unlike her father's. She should have her mother's spirit with her mother's eyes. Ah, well, this tiresome visit will soon be ended; and then I will lay down my dream, and forget all under sunnier skies –"
And so the days went by at Granger Park. Sir Louis coldly, serenely courteous; and the lady as distant as at first in her stately bearing. Marion hovered like g shadow ever near them; for, when business was over, Mr. Granger was invisible, save at dinner, for the rest of the day.
It was the settlement of a tedious lawsuit, in which the estate of Sir Louis had been involved while under his guardian's control, which had called him to England. Perhaps his heart beat a little faster when he heard that Lucy was still unmarried, and had far exceeded the promise of her girlish loveliness. He may have had a dream of turning from the gay, idle life in which he had passed so many years, and making his English home a paradise, whose Eve had the sweet mouth and gentle eyes of his old playfellow. Rut that was passed now, and he fretted impatiently at the chain in which " the law's delay" had bound him for many weeks at Granger Park.
Now and then he would fancy Lucy less cold, and his own iciness gave way before it. Sometimes, when strolling side by side through the dim old paths they had loved so well in years gone by, they would speak of those old days, and wish that they could return. Once they talked of Harry, and Sir Louis felt the hand that lay upon his own so lightly tremble, and thought the old confidence might be again established. Rut just then they came suddenly upon Marion, and both turned instinctively from the theme of their discourse.
"Nay, do not talk to me of Louis," the lady had said that night; "he has brought his fine Italian manners, and I like them not. My father must see it, for he shuns him; and I – oh, Marion, he was not so once."
And when the girl was gone, she took a slender key from the chain which she always wore, and unlocked the Venetian casket. It was empty, save those few faded flowers she had treasured. She took them up with an impatient gesture; as if she would have trampled them under her feet; but a tear fell on them: then they were pressed to her lips an instant, and again returned to their hiding-place. "No, no, J cannot destroy them now," she said; "Harry stood near when he gave them to me. I will still keep them for my brother's sake."
Sir Louis was already in the breakfast-room as she entered the next morning. Could she be mistaken in thinking that he smiled more kindly when he bade her "good morning?" Certain it is that he held her little prisoned hand for a moment, and drew her towards the open window.
"How very beautiful that far-off winding road looks in this fresh morning light," he said. "I was just thinking how often we have cantered over it, and wondering if the copses and the heath through which it wound are as green and leafy as then. I even had bolder thoughts, for I was wondering if I might not be permitted to accompany Miss Granger in her evening ride, and find for myself if it were
It was hard to repress the joy that came gushing to her heart at these words, but Lucy had strong self-control, and only bowed an assent.
"And Marion ?" he added, in a tone of inquiry. " Poor Marion,." replied Lucy, " she will not leave her room to-day; she is ill, and has been so for a week past, but would not confess to it. I have noticed her burning hands and flushed cheek; and now I will not consent to her rising until good Dr. Morton has been consulted."
A new light came into the eyes that bent over her as she spoke. It was plain Sir Louis was not anxious for the invalid's recovery,
"Poor Marion!" Lucy said to herself a hundred times that morning; and yet she seemed to feel her absence a relief, she knew not how or wherefore.
How anxiously she watched a dark, portentous cloud that rolled slowly from the west as dinner was announced. But she would not believe that a shower was at hand as she ordered the horses. More than once, during the almost interminable meal, she looked anxiously toward the window to watch its progress. Her father chided her more than once for her thoughtlessness, and once looked almost angrily towards her as her trembling hand spilled the wine she was raising to her lips. It was just as her ear had caught the first long, low muttering of the far-off storm. It was sweeping down in all its wrath when Sir Louis was released from his attendance upon Mr. Granger, and joined her in the drawing-room. There was no denying it now; the ride must be given up, and gloomily enough they watched the horses led away.
But after all it was a very pleasant evening. There was a sense of comfort when the rain beat against the windows, where the heavily-draped curtains excluded all but the voice of the storm; for the fire, which the chilliness of the atmosphere made most grateful, blazed cheerily upward; and Sir Louis sat near his fair hostess, and watched the colors that her skillful hands mingled in the delicate embroidery over which she bent. They did not talk much; but the silence was not oppressive; and, as the evening came on, Lucy sang the simple ballads Sir Louis could so well remember, when she first learned to mingle the rich notes of her voice with the melody of the " light guitar."
Lucy started at last with a feeling of self-reproach, that she had left Marion alone so long, and then the formal separation was exchanged for the briefer "good-night," which may be made to say so much.
With all her remorseful pangs, Lucy did not linger long at the bedside of the fretful invalid, and when in her own room the little casket was held once more within her hands. She awoke the next morning with that half dreamy yet undefined consciousness that something pleasant has occurred, which all can recognize; and when she remembered why she was glad to see the cheerful sunshine come streaming in, she sprang from her couch and commenced a hurried toilet.
Marion's fever had not abated; indeed, a sleepless, restless night had quickened her already rapid pulse, and, though she moaned impatiently at the durance, she was obliged to give up ail thoughts of breakfasting below.
Lest something might again frustrate their project, Sir Louis petitioned a morning ride. How very beautiful was Lucy as she came bounding down the stone-steps, with a childlike, graceful movement, her habit gathered over her arm, to caress the noble steed, that acknowledged the hand of his gentle mistress.
Sir Louis could have kissed the dainty foot he held for an instant in his hand as she vaulted to the saddle, and in one moment more they were lost in the green vista that opened before them. They did not know from what a wild, strange gaze they were thus hidden; but the "evil eyes" were there of Marion, whose lips trembled as she fell back once more upon her pillow.
The spell could not pursue them that cloudless, sunbright morning. The air was loaded with fragrance from the blooming hedges and the rich clover fields by which they passed; a bird song thrilled through the copse before them, and far away the smoke-wreaths of the hamlet curled lazily upward. There was excitement to horse and rider as on they swept, and Lucy's curls floated back with the dark plume that fell upon her shoulders, and her eyes sparkled with a clear, joyous light Sir Louis had not seen in many a day. After a time, their road lay through an old forest, where the sunlight and the bird song were softened; while almost unconsciously they reined their steeds, and side by side rode onward more quietly.
There was enchantment in the very atmosphere; in the solemn, emerald light; in the soft shadows that trembled across their pathway. Then they heard the murmur of a little brook, and Sir Louis dismounted, while his steed bent to drink. It was a pleasant grassy glade through which the brook sparkled, and Lucy needed no second invitation to rest awhile in its shade. But she gathered wild flowers – while Sir Louis stood beside her only to crush them – and, quite unconsciously, dipped that pretty foot into the stream before her.
Imprudent Lucy!
At last she was again seated in the saddle, and she gathered the reins through her slender hand. Rut Sir Louis did not seem disposed to yield them, and stood leaning against a beech-tree and looking up into the fair face that bent over him.
"Do you know what a happy dream I had," he said at length, " as we sat on the bank together? It was a memory of ' days long vanished,' when a blue-eyed, fairy child first stood trembling with fear st mounting a steed like this. I saw those blue eyes fill with tears, and turn to me beseechingly. Once more I comforted the trembler, and lifted her to the saddle. Once more I placed the reins in hands almost too tiny to grasp them, and led the steed along with one of those little hands resting upon my shoulder. Then a sweet voice called me dear Louis!' and I forgot for the moment that I could not take the child in my arms, as I then held her; that she was a woman now, and the pledged wife of another. Dear Lucy, forgive me if I envy him."
"Who? Of whom do you speak, Louis?" " The child is here no longer – of you, and of your betrothed, the heir of Stanton Hall."
"My betrothed! You are dreaming now."
"Would that I could find it a dream. But. I know full well who claims this hand," and he kissed it involuntarily as he spoke.
Lucy did not withdraw it, and the curls hid the deep blushes of her cheek as she bent forward, and whispered –
" I see all now. She lied to you!"
"And you are not to be his bride ?"
"Never! I would die first!"
" Dear Lucy!" and his arm encircled her as of old.
The lady's head bent still lower, but her heart beat very fast.
The birds heard strange tales that day in Beechwood Forest; and they might have whispered that a bride was won beneath its shadows. But they could not tell the angry malice of one burning heart, when its treachery was discovered, and Marion found, with all her lying tales and covert sneers, she could not separate Lucy from her betrothed. It was she who had placed the barrier between them at their meeting, when Louis came with hope to win the sister of his friend. And Lucy's father! For once his sternness vanished, when he clasped Sir Louis in his arms and called him "son," the dearest wish of his proud heart fulfilled. And, in due time, bridal chimes were rung, though Marion was not there to hear them; for her evil presence no longer darkened the hearth of Granger Hall.
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