Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 14 (32 page)

 
          
           
"All Italians sing it, though few do it like
yourself
,"
he answered quietly, restoring the fan he had held while standing beside her.

 
          
           
Provoking boy!
why
won't he know me?
thought
Lillian. And her tone was almost petulant as she
refused to sing again.

 
          
           
Talbot offered his arm and led her to a seat, behind which stood a little
statuette of a child holding a fawn by a daisy chain.

 
          
           
"Pretty, isn't it?" she said, as he paused to look at it instead of
taking the chair before her. "I used to enjoy modeling tiny deer and hinds
in wax, as well as making daisy chains. Is sculpture among the many
accomplishments which rumor tells us you possess?"

 
          
           
"No. Those who, like me, have their own fortunes to mold find time for
little else," he answered gravely, still examining the marble group.

 
          
           
Lillian broke her fan with an angry flirt, for she was tired of her trial, and
wished she had openly greeted him at the beginning; feeling now how pleasant it
would have been to sit chatting of old times, while her friends dared hardly
address him at all. She was on the point of calling him by his former name,
when the remembrance of what he had been arrested the words on her lips. He was
proud; would he not dread to have it known that, in his days of adversity, he
had been a servant? For if she betrayed her knowledge of his past, she would be
forced to tell where and how that knowledge was gained. No, better wait till
they met alone, she thought; he would thank her for her delicacy, and she could
easily explain her motive. He evidently wished to seem a
stranger,
for once she caught a gleam of the old, mirthful mischief in his eye, as she
glanced up unexpectedly. He did remember her, she was sure, yet was trying her,
perhaps, as she tried him. Well, she would stand the test and enjoy the joke by-and-by.
With this fancy in her head she assumed a gracious air and chatted away in her
most charming style, feeling both gay and excited, so anxious was she to
please, and so glad to recover her early friend. A naughty whim seized her as
her eye fell on a portfolio of classical engravings which someone had left in
disorder on a table near her. Tossing them over she asked his opinion of
several, and then handed him one in which Helen of Troy was represented as
giving her hand to the irresistible
Paris
.

 
          
           
"Do you think her worth so much bloodshed, and deserving so much
praise?" she asked, vainly trying to conceal the significant smile that
would break loose on her lips and sparkle in her eyes.

 
          
           
Talbot laughed the short, boyish laugh so familiar to her ears, as he glanced
from the picture to the arch questioner, and answered in a tone that made her
heart beat with a nameless pain and pleasure, so full of suppressed ardor was
it:

 
          
           
"Yes
! '
All for love or the world well lost' is a
saying I heartily agree to. La belle Helene is my favorite heroine, and I
regard
Paris
as the most enviable of men."

 
          
           
"I should like to see her."

 
          
           
The wish broke from Lillian involuntarily, and she was too much confused to
turn it off by any general expression of interest in the classical lady.

 
          
           
"You may sometime," answered Talbot, with an air of amusement;
adding, as if to relieve her, "I have a poetical belief that all the
lovely women of history or romance will meet, and know, and love each other in
some charming hereafter."

 
          
           
"But I'm no heroine and no beauty, so I shall never enter your poetical
paradise," said Lillian, with a pretty affectation of regret.

 
          
           
"Some women are beauties without knowing it, and the heroines of romances
never given to the world. I think you and Helen will yet meet, Miss
Trevlyn."

 
          
           
As he spoke, Mrs. Langdon beckoned, and he left her pondering over his last
words, and conscious of a secret satisfaction in his implied promise that she
should see his betrothed.

 
          
           
"How do you like him?" whispered Maud, slipping into the empty chair.

 
          
           
"Very well," was the composed reply; for Lillian enjoyed her little
mystery too much to spoil it
yet.

 
          
           
"What did you say to him? I longed to hear, for you seemed to enjoy
yourselves very much, but I didn't like to be a marplot."

 
          
           
Lillian repeated a part of the conversation, and Maud professed to be consumed
with jealousy at the impression her friend had evidently made.

 
          
           
"It is folly to try to win the hero, for he is already won, you
know," answered Lillian, shutting the cover on the pictured Helen with a
sudden motion as if glad to extinguish her.

 
          
           
"Oh dear, no; Mrs. Langdon just told Mamma that she was mistaken about
their being engaged; for she asked him and he shook his head, saying Helen was
his ward."

 
          
           
"But that is absurd, for he's only a boy himself. It's very odd, isn't it?
Never mind, I shall soon know all about it."

 
          
           
"How?" cried Maud, amazed at Lillian's assured manner.

 
          
           
"Wait a day or two and, I'll tell you a romance in return for yours. Your
mother beckons to me, so I know Hester has come. Good night. I've had a
charming time."

 
          
           
And with this tantalizing adieu, Lillian slipped away. Hester was waiting in
the carriage, but as Lillian appeared, Talbot put aside the footman and handed
her in, saying very low, in the well-remembered tone:

 
          
           
"Good night, my little mistress."

 
          
           
To no one but her mother and Hester did Lillian confide the discovery she had
made. None of the former servants but old
Bedford
remained with them, and till Paul chose to
renew the old friendship it was best to remain silent. Great was the surprise
and delight of our lady and Hester at the good fortune of their protege, and
many the conjectures as to how he would explain his hasty flight.

 
          
           
"You will go and see him, won't you, Mamma, or at least inquire about
him?" said Lillian, eager to assure the wanderer of a welcome, for those
few words of his had satisfied her entirely.

 
          
           
"No, dear, it is for him to seek us, and till he does, I shall make no
sign. He knows where we are, and if he chooses he can renew the acquaintance so
strangely broken off. Be patient, and above all things
remember
,
Lillian, that you are no longer a child," replied my lady, rather
disturbed by her daughter's enthusiastic praises of Paul.

 
          
           
"I wish I was, for then I might act as I feel, and not be afraid of
shocking the proprieties." And Lillian went to bed to dream of her hero.

 
          
           
For three days she stayed at home, expecting Paul, but he did not come, and she
went out for her usual ride in the Park, hoping to meet him. An elderly groom
now rode behind her, and she surveyed him with extreme disgust, as she
remembered the handsome lad who had once filled that place. Nowhere did Paul
appear, but in the Ladies' Mile she passed an elegant brougham in which sat a
very lovely girl and a mild old lady.

 
          
           
"That is Talbot's fiancee," said Maud Churchill, who had joined her.
"Isn't she beautiful?"

 
          
           
"Not at all—yes, very," was Lillian's somewhat peculiar reply, for
jealousy and truth had a conflict just then. "He's so perfectly absorbed
and devoted that I am sure that story is true, so adieu to our hopes,"
laughed Maud.

 
          
           
"Did you have any? Good-bye, I must go." And Lillian rode home at a
pace which caused the stout groom great distress.

 
          
           
"Mamma, I've seen Paul's betrothed!" she cried, running into her
mother's boudoir.

 
          
           
"And I have seen Paul himself," replied my lady, with a warning look,
for there he stood, with half-extended hand, as if waiting to be acknowledged.

 
          
           
Lillian forgot her embarrassment in her pleasure, and made him an elaborate
curtsy, saying, with a half-merry, half-reproachful glance, "Mr. Talbot is
welcome in whatever guise he appears."

 
          
           
"I choose to appear as Paul, then, and offer you a seat, Miss
Lillian," he said, assuming as much of his boyish manner as he could.

 
          
           
Lillian took it and tried to feel at ease, but the difference between the lad
she remembered and the man she now saw was too great to be forgotten.

 
          
           
"Now tell us your adventures, and why you vanished away so mysteriously
four years ago," she said, with a touch of the childish imperiousness in
her voice, though her frank eyes fell before his.

 
          
           
"I was about to do so when you appeared with news concerning my
cousin," he began.

 
          
           
"Your cousin!" exclaimed Lillian.

 
          
           
"Yes, Helen's mother and my own were sisters. Both married Englishmen,
both died young, leaving us to care for each other. We were like a brother and
sister, and always together till I left her to serve Colonel Daventry. The
death of the old priest to whom I entrusted her recalled me to
Genoa
, for I was then her only guardian. I meant
to have taken leave of you, my lady, properly, but the consequences of that
foolish trick of mine frightened me away in the most unmannerly fashion."

 
          
           
"Ah, it was you, then, in the state chamber; I always thought
so,"
and Lady Trevlyn drew a long breath of relief.

 
          
           
"Yes, I heard it whispered among the servants that the room was haunted,
and I felt a wish to prove the truth of the story and my own courage. Hester
locked me in, for fear of my sleepwalking; but I lowered myself by a rope and
then climbed in at the closet window of the state chamber. When you came, my
lady, I thought it was Hester, and slipped into the bed, meaning to give her a
fright in return for her turning the key on me. But when your cry showed me
what I had done, I was filled with remorse, and escaped as quickly and quietly
as possible. I should have asked pardon before; I do now, most humbly, my lady,
for it was sacrilege to play pranks
there
."

 
          
           
During the first part of his story Paul's manner had been frank and composed,
but in telling the latter part, his demeanor underwent a curious change. He
fixed his eyes on the ground and spoke as if repeating a lesson, while his
color varied, and a half-proud, half-submissive expression replaced the former
candid one. Lillian observed this, and it disturbed her, but my lady took it
for shame at his boyish freak and received his confession kindly, granting a
free pardon and expressing sincere pleasure at his amended fortunes. As he
listened, Lillian saw him clench his hand hard and knit his brows, assuming the
grim look she had often seen, as if trying to steel
himself
against some importunate emotion or rebellious thought.

 
          
           
"Yes, half my work is done, and I have a home, thanks to my generous
benefactor, and I hope to enjoy it well and wisely," he said in a grave
tone, as if the fortune had not yet brought him his heart's desire.

 
          
           
"And when is the other half of the work to be accomplished, Paul? That
depends on your cousin, perhaps." And Lady Trevlyn regarded him with a
gleam of womanly curiosity in her melancholy eyes.

 
          
           
"It does, but not in the way you fancy, my lady. Whatever Helen may be, she
is not my fiancee yet, Miss Lillian." And the shadow lifted as he laughed,
looking at the young lady, who was decidedly abashed, in spite of a sense of
relief caused by his words.

 
          
           
"I merely accepted the world's report," she said, affecting a
nonchalant air.

 
          
           
"The world is a liar, as you will find in time" was his abrupt reply.

 
          
           
"I hope to see this beautiful cousin, Paul. Will she receive us as old
friends of yours?"

 
          
           
"Thanks, not yet, my lady. She is still too much a stranger here to enjoy
new faces, even kind ones. I have promised perfect rest and freedom for a time,
but you shall be the first whom she receives."

 
          
           
Again Lillian detected the secret disquiet which possessed him, and her curiosity
was roused. It piqued her that this Helen felt no desire to meet her and chose
to seclude herself, as if regardless of the interest and admiration she
excited. "I
will
see her in
spite of her refusal, for I only caught a glimpse in the Park. Something is
wrong, and I'll discover it, for it evidently worries Paul, and perhaps I can
help him."

 
          
           
As this purpose sprang up in the warm but willful heart of the girl, she
regained her spirits and was her most charming self while the young man stayed.
They talked of many things in a pleasant, confidential manner, though when
Lillian recalled that hour, she was surprised to find how little Paul had
really told them of his past life or future plans. It was agreed among them to
say nothing of their former relations, except to old Bedford, who was
discretion itself, but to appear to the world as new-made friends—thus avoiding
unpleasant and unnecessary explanations which would only excite gossip. My lady
asked him to dine, but he had business out of town and declined, taking his
leave with a lingering look, which made Lillian steal away to study her face in
the mirror and wonder if she looked her best, for in Paul's eyes she had read
undisguised admiration.

 
          
           
Lady Trevlyn went to her room to rest, leaving the girl free to ride, drive, or
amuse herself as she liked. As if fearing her courage would fail if she
delayed, Lillian ordered the carriage, and, bidding Hester mount guard over
her, she drove away to
St. John's
Wood.

 
          
           
"Now, Hester, don't lecture or be prim when I tell you that we are going
on a frolic," she began, after getting the old woman into an amiable mood
by every winning wile she could devise. "I think you'll like it, and if
it's found out I'll take the blame. There is some mystery about Paul's cousin,
and I'm going to find it out."

 
          
           
"Bless you, child, how?"

 
          
           
"She lives alone here, is seldom seen, and won't go anywhere or receive
anyone. That's not natural in a pretty girl. Paul won't talk about her, and,
though he's fond of her, he always looks grave and grim when I ask questions.
That's provoking, and I won't hear it. Maud is engaged to Raleigh, you know;
well, he confided to her that he and a friend had found out where Helen was,
had gone to the next villa, which is empty, and under pretense of looking at it
got a peep at the girl in her garden. I'm going to do the same."

 
          
           
"And what am
I
to do?"
asked Hester, secretly relishing the prank, for she was dying with curiosity to
behold Paul's cousin.

 
          
           
"You are to do the talking with the old woman, and give me a chance to
look. Now say you will, and I'll behave myself like an angel in return."

 
          
           
Hester yielded, after a few discreet scruples, and when they reached Laburnum
Lodge played her part so well that Lillian soon managed to stray away into one
of the upper rooms which overlooked the neighboring garden. Helen was there,
and with eager eyes the girl scrutinized her. She was very beautiful, in the
classical style; as fair and finely molded as a statue, with magnificent dark
hair and eyes, and possessed of that perfect grace which is as effective as
beauty. She was
alone,
and when first seen was bending
over a flower which she caressed and seemed to examine with great interest as
she stood a long time motionless before it. Then she began to pace slowly
around and around the little grass plot, her hands hanging loosely clasped
before her, and her eyes fixed on vacancy as if absorbed in thought. But as the
first effect of her beauty passed away, Lillian found something peculiar about
her. It was not the somewhat foreign dress and ornaments she wore; it was in
her face, her movements, and the tone of her voice, for as she walked she sang
a low, monotonous song, as if unconsciously. Lillian watched her keenly,
marking the aimless motions of the little hands, the apathy of the lovely face,
and the mirthless accent of the voice; but most of all the vacant fixture of
the great dark eyes. Around and around she went, with an elastic step and a
mechanical regularity wearisome to witness.

 
          
           
What is the matter with her?
thought
Lillian
anxiously, as this painful impression increased with every scrutiny of the
unconscious girl. So abashed was she that Hester's call was unheard, and Hester
was unseen as she came and stood beside her. Both looked a moment, and as they
looked an old lady came from the house and led Helen in, still murmuring her
monotonous song and moving her hands as if to catch and hold the sunshine.