One Of Them

CHAPTER XXIII. BROKEN TIES

It was a sorrowful morning at the Villa Caprini on the 22d of November. Agincourt had come to take his last farewell of his kind friends, half heart-broken that he was not permitted even to see poor Layton before he went. Quackinbose, however, was obdurate on the point, and would suffer no one to pass the sick man’s door. Mr. Ogden sat in the carriage as the boy dashed hurriedly into the house to say “Good-bye.” Room after room he searched in vain. No one to be met with. What could it mean? – the drawing-room, the library, all empty!

“Are they all out, Fenton?” cried he, at last.

“No, my Lord, Sir William was here a moment since, Miss Leslie is in her room, and Mrs. Morris, I think, is in the garden.”

To the garden he hurried off at once, and just caught sight of Mrs. Morris and Clara, as, side by side, they turned the angle of an alley.

“At last!” cried he, as he came up with them. “At last I have found some one. Here have I been this half-hour in search of you all, over house and grounds. Why, what’s the matter? – what makes you look so grave?”

“Don’t you know? – haven’t you heard?” cried Mrs. Morris, with a sigh.

“Heard what?”

“Heard that Charles has gone off, – started for England last night, with the intention of joining the first regiment ordered for India.”

“I wish to Heaven he ‘d have taken me with him!” cried the boy, eagerly.

“Very possibly,” said she, dryly; “but Charles was certainly to blame for leaving a home of happiness and affection in this abrupt way. I don’t see how poor Sir William is ever to get over it, not to speak of leaving May Leslie. I hope, Agincourt, this is not the way you ‘ll treat the young lady you ‘re betrothed to.”

“I ‘ll never get myself into any such scrape, depend on’t. Poor Charley!”

“Why not poor May?” whispered Mrs. Morris.

“Well, poor May, too, if she cared for him; but I don’t think she did.”

“Oh, what a shame to say so! I ‘m afraid you young gentlemen are brought up in great heresies nowadays, and don’t put any faith in love.”

Had the boy been an acute observer, he would have marked how little the careless levity of the remark coincided with the assumed sadness of her former manner; but he never noticed this.

“Well,” broke in the boy, bluntly, “why not marry him, if she cared for him? I don’t suppose you ‘ll ask me to believe that Charley would have gone away if she had n’t refused him?”

“What a wily serpent it is!” said Mrs. Morris, smiling; “wanting to wring confidences from me whether I will or no.”

“No. I ‘ll be hanged if I am wily, – am I, Clara?”

What Clara answered was not very distinct, for her face was partly covered with her handkerchief.

“There, you see Clara is rather an unhappy witness to call to character. You ‘d better come to me for a reputation,” said Mrs. Morris, laughingly.

“It’s no matter, I’m going away now,” said he, sorrowfully.

“Going away, – where?”

“Going back to England; they ‘ve sent a man to capture me, as if I was a wild beast, and he’s there at the door now, – precious impatient, too, I promise you, because I ‘m keeping the post-horses waiting.”

“Oh, make him come in to luncheon. He’s a gentleman, – isn’t he?”

“I should think he is! A great political swell, too, a something in the Admiralty, or the Colonies, or wherever it is.”

“Well, just take Clara, and she ‘ll find out May for you, and send your travelling-companion into the garden here. I’ll do the honors to him till lunch-time.” And Mrs. Morris now turned into a shady walk, to think over what topics she should start for the amusement of the great official from Downing Street.

If we were going to tell tales of her, – which we are not, – we might reveal how it happened that she had seen a good deal of such sort of people, at one era of her life, living in a Blue-Book atmosphere, and hearing much out of “Hansard.” We merely mention the fact; as to the how, it is not necessary to refer to it. Not more are we bound to say why she did not retain for such high company what, in French, is called “the most distinguished consideration,” – why, on the contrary, she thought and pronounced them the most insupportable of all bores. Our readers cannot fail to have remarked and appreciated the delicate reserve we have unvaryingly observed towards this lady, – a respectful courtesy that no amount of our curiosity could endanger. Now, “charming women,” of whom Mrs. M. was certainly one, have a great fondness for little occasional displays of their fascinations upon strangers. Whether it is that they are susceptible of those emotions of vanity that sway smaller natures, or whether it be merely to keep their fascinations from rusting by want of exercise, is hard to say; but so is the fact, and the enjoyment is all the higher when, by any knowledge of a speciality, they can astonish their chance acquaintance. For what Lord Agincourt had irreverently styled the “great political swell,” she therefore prepared herself with such memories as some years of life had stored for her. “He’ll wonder,” thought she, “where I came by all my Downing Street slang. I ‘ll certainly puzzle him with my cant of office.” And so thinking, she walked briskly along in the clear frosty air over the crisped leaves that strewed the walk, till she beheld a person approaching from the extreme end of the alley.

The distance between them was yet considerable, and yet how was it that she seemed to falter in her steps, and suddenly, clasping her heart with both hands, appeared seized with a sort of convulsion? At the same instant she threw a terrified glance on every side, and looked like one prepared for sudden flight. To these emotions, more rapid in their course than it has taken time to describe them, succeeded a cold, determined calm, in which her features regained their usual expression, though marked by a paleness like death.

The stranger came slowly forward, examining the trees and flowers as he passed along, and peering with his double eye-glass to read the names attached to whatever was rarest. Affecting to be gathering flowers for a bouquet, she stooped frequently, till the other came near, and then, as he removed his hat to salute her, she threw back her veil and stood, silent, before him.

“Madam! madam!” cried he, in a voice of such intense agony as showed that he was almost choked for utterance. “How is this, madam?” said he, in a tone of indignant demand. “How is this?”

“I have really no explanation to offer, sir,” said she, in a cold, low voice. “My astonishment is great as your own; this meeting is not of my seeking. I need scarcely say so much.”

“I do not know that! – by Heaven I do not!” cried he, in a passion.

“You are surely forgetting, sir, that we are no longer anything to each other, and thus forgetting the deference due to me as a stranger?”

“I neither forget nor forgive!” said he, sternly.

“Happily, sir, you will not be called upon to do either. I no longer bear your name – ”

“Oh that you had never borne it!” cried he, in agony.

“There is at least one sentiment we agree in, sir, – would that I never had!” said she; and a slight – very slight – tremor shook the words as she spoke them.

“Tell me at once, madam, what do you mean by this surprise? I know all your skill in accidents, – what does this one portend?”

“You are too flattering, sir, believe me,” said she, with an easy smile. “I have plotted nothing, – I have nothing to plot, – at least, in which you are concerned. The unhappy bond that once united us is loosed forever; but I do not see that even harsh memories are to suggest bad manners.”

“I am no stranger to your flippancy, madam. You have made me acquainted with all your merits.”

“You were going to say virtues, George, – confess you were?” said she, coquettishly.

“Gracious mercy, woman! can you dare – ”

“My dear Mr. Ogden,” broke she in, gently, “I can dare to be that which you have just told me was impossible for you, – forgetful and forgiving.”

“Oh, madam, this is, indeed, generous!” said be, with a bitter mockery.

“Well, sir, it were no bad thing if there were a little generosity between us. Don’t fancy that all the forgiveness should come from you; don’t imagine that I am not plaintiff as well as defendant.” Then, suddenly changing her tone to one of easy indifference, she said, “And so your impression is, sir, that the Cabinet will undergo no change?”

She looked hurriedly round as she spoke, and saw Sir William Heathcote coming rapidly towards them.

“Sir William, let me present to you Mr. Ogden, a name you must be familiar with in the debates,” said she, introducing them.

“I hope Lord Agincourt has not been correct in telling me that you are pressed for time, Mr. Ogden. I trust you will give us at least a day.”

“Not an hour, not a minute, sir. I mean,” added he, ashamed of his violence, “I have not an instant to spare.”