Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

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

“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. Maritaña 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 duchess,” 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 XXXVI. 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-glass.

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 passing 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 duchess,” said he, as he gazed at her. “A duchess! 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.”

He bent down over her, till he almost touched the silken masses of her long dark hair, and, in a low, soft voice, said, —

“Maritaña! Maritaña!”

“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 passed 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, Maritaña, 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 grass. Oh, not here! not here!” cried she, plaintively.

“Then in Italy, Maritaña 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 surpassing 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, Maritaña. 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, Maritaña, who bade me speak to you.”

“I will not believe it, sir,” said she, proudly, as she arose and walked the room with stately step. “I know but too well the influence you wield over him, although I cannot tell how it is acquired. I have seen your counsels sway and your wishes guide him, when my entreaties were unheard and unheeded. Tell me nothing, then, of his permission.”

“Let me speak of that better reason, where my heart may plead, Maritaña. It was to offer you a share in my fortunes that I have come here, – to place at your feet whatever I possess in rank, in station, and in future hope; to place you where your beauty and your fascinations entitle you to shine, – a peeress of the Court of France; a duchess, of a name only second to royalty itself.”

The girl’s dark eyes grew darker, and her flushed cheek grew crimson, as with heaving bosom she listened. “A duchess!” murmured she, between her lips.

“La Duchesse de Marlier,” repeated Linton, slowly, while his keen eyes were riveted on her.

“And this real – not a pageant – not as that thing you made of me before?”

“La Duchesse de Marlier,” said Linton again, “knows of no rank above her own, save in the blood royal. Her château was the present of a king, – her grounds are worthy of such a donor.”

“And the Duke de Marlier,” said she, with a look of ineffable irony, “who is to play him? Is that part reserved for Mr. Linton?”

“Could he not look the character?” said Linton, putting on a smile of seeming good-humor, while his lip trembled with passion.

“Look it, – ay, that could he; and if looks would suffice, he could be all that his ambition aims at.”

“You doubt my sincerity, Maritafia,” said he, sorrowfully; “have I ever given you cause to do so?”

“Never,” cried she, impetuously: “I read you from the first hour I saw you. You never deceived me. My training has not been like that of others of my sex and age, amidst the good, the virtuous, and the pure. It was the corrupt, the base-born, and the abandoned offered their examples to my eyes; the ruined gambler, the beggared adventurer, —their lives were my daily study. How, then, should I not recognize one so worthy of them all?”

“This is less than fair, Maritafia; you bear me a grudge for having counselled that career wherein your triumphs were unbounded; and now you speak to me harshly for offering a station a princess might accept without a derogation.”

“Tell me not of my triumphs,” said she, passionately: “they were my shame! You corrupted me, by trifling with my ignorance of the world. I did not know then, as now I know, what were the prizes of that ambition I cherished! But you knew them; you speculated on them, as now you speculate upon others. Ay, blush for it; let your cheek glow, and sear your cold heart for the infamy! The coroneted duchess would have been a costlier merchandise than the wreathed dancer! Oh, shame upon you! shame upon you! Could you not be satisfied with your gambler’s cruelty, and ruin those who have manhood’s courage to sustain defeat, but that you should make your victim a poor, weak, motherless girl, whose unprotected life might have evoked even your pity?”

“I will supplicate no longer; upon you be it if the alternative be heavy. Hear me, young lady; it is by your father’s consent – nay, more, at his desire – that I make you the proffer of my name and rank. He is in my power, – not his fortune nor his future prospects, but his very life is in my hands. You shudder at having been a dancer; think of what you may be, – the daughter of a forçat, a galley-slave! If these be idle threats, ask himself; he will tell you if I speak truly. It is my ambition that you should share my title and my fortune. I mean to make your position one that the proudest would envy; reject my offer if you will, but never reproach me with what your own blind folly has accomplished.”

Maritaña stood with clasped hands, and eyes wildly staring on vacancy, as Linton, in a voice broken with passion, uttered these words, —

“I will not press you now, Maritaña; you shall have to-night to think over all I have said; to-morrow you will give me your answer.”

“To-morrow?” muttered she, after him.

“Who is there?” said Linton, as a low, faint knock was heard at the door. It was repeated, and Linton approached and opened the door. A slight gesture of the hand was all that he could perceive in the half-light; but he understood it, and passed out, closing the door noiselessly behind him.

“Well?” said Rica, as he grasped the other’s arm; “well?”