The World's Greatest Books - Volume 8 Part 13

"I shall not," he replied; "I swear never to wed another till you send back that ring."

"Perhaps when you have read my history, the dreadful word adieu--"

"Never," cried Oswald, "until my deathbed--fear not that word till then."

"Alas!" said Corinne, "as I looked at the heavens a minute ago, the moon was covered by a cloud of fatal aspect. A childish superst.i.tion came back to my mind. To-night the sky condemns our love."

That evening Corinne's maid brought him the papers in which she had written her story.

_III.--Corinne's Story_

"Oswald, I begin with the avowal that must determine my fate. Lord Edgarmond was my father. I was born in Italy; his first wife was a Roman lady; and Lucy, whom they intended for your bride, is my sister by my father's second marriage.

"I lost my mother ere I was ten years old, and remained in the care of an aunt at Florence until I was fifteen, when my father brought me to his home in Northumberland. My stepmother was a cold, dignified, silent woman, whose eyes could turn affectionately on her child Lucy, then three years old; but she usually wore so positive an air that it seemed impossible to make her understand a new idea.

"My tastes and talents had already been formed, and they were but ill-suited to the dismal monotony of my life in Northumberland. I was bidden to forget Italy; I was not allowed to converse on poetry or art; I had no congenial friends. Even the sun, that might have reminded me of Italy, was often hidden by fog. My only occupation was the education of my half-sister; my only solace, the company of my father.

"'My dear child, he said to me once, it is not here as in Italy; our women have no occupation save their domestic uses. Your talents may beguile your solitude; but in a country town like this all that attracts attention excites envy. One must not combat the habits of a place in which one is established. It is better to bear a little ennui than to be beset by wondering faces that every instant demand reasons for what you do.'

"Lord Nevil was my father's intimate friend, and it was yourself of whom he thought for my husband. Had we then met and loved, our fate would have been cloudless. But when I was presented to Lord Nevil I desired, perhaps too ardently, to please him; I displayed all my talents, dancing, singing, and extemporising before him--I believe, though I am not certain--that I appeared to Lord Nevil somewhat too wild; for although he treated me very kindly, yet, when he left my father he said that he thought his son too young for the marriage in question. Oswald, what importance do you attach to this confession? I might suppress it, but I will not. Is it possible that it will prove my condemnation?

"When my father died, my despair was uncontrollable. I found myself without support. My only adult relation was my stepmother, who was as frigid as ever towards me. I was attacked by that homesick yearning which makes exile more terrible than death. All the country around me was dull and sullen. I longed for the suns.h.i.+ne, the vine, the music, the sweet language of Italy. At twenty-one I had a right to my mother's fortune, and whatever my father had left me. Then did I first dream of returning to Italy, and devoting my life to the arts.

"When I suggested the possibility of my doing so to Lady Edgarmond, she replied, with dry indifference, 'You are of age, and the mistress of your conduct; but if you take any step which would dishonour you in the eyes of the world, you owe it to your family to change your name and be reported dead.' This heartless scorn helped me to come to a decision. In less than a week I had embarked on a vessel for Leghorn. I set forth without warning my stepmother, but left a letter apprising her of my plans.

"For a time I lived in Florence, whither Lady Edgarmond wrote me word of her having spread the report that I had travelled southwards for my health and had died on the voyage. During the following five years, as you know, I won fame as Corinne the poetess.

"And now you know my history--I have concealed nothing. My happiness depends entirely upon you. When you have read this, I would see you; my impatience will bring me to your side, and I shall read my fate at a glance; for grief is a rapid poison--and the heart, though weak, never mistakes the signal of irrevocable destiny."

_IV.--Parting and Pursuit_

"Well," said Corinne, struggling to appear calm, when she went to Oswald to learn her fate, "you have had time enough--speak! tell me what you have resolved!"

"Corinne," answered Oswald, "my heart is unchanged. We will both live for love. I will return."

"Return!" interrupted Corinne; "ah, you leave me then! How all is changed since yesterday!"

"Dearest love," he replied, "be composed. It is necessary that I should ascertain my father's reasons for opposing our union seven years ago. I will hope for the best, Corinne; but if my father decides against you, I will never be the husband of another, though I cannot be yours."

One night in Venice a few weeks later, when Corinne was leaving a scene of festivity of which she had been the most brilliant ornament, Oswald led her aside. She marked his paleness and agitation.

"What has happened?" she cried.

"I must start for England to-night. My regiment is about to embark for the West Indies, and I am recalled to rejoin it."

"Ah!" moaned Corinne, "when I tell myself to-morrow 'I shall see him no more,' the thought may kill me; happy am I if it does."

"Why do you fear? Is my solemn promise nothing?"

"Oh, I believe it; but listen--when you are in London, you will discover that love promises bind not your honour. Will you find excuses in these sophisms for inflicting a mortal wound on me? Cannot you at least pity me for loving you thus?"

"Stay!" cried Oswald, seizing her in his arms, "this is too much.

Dearest, I cannot leave you!"

"Nay, you must," replied Corinne, recalled to herself by his words.

"My love," answered Oswald, trying to calm himself, "I shall strive during my absence to restore to you your due rank in your father's country. If I fail, I will return to Italy, and live or die at your feet."

A light gleamed through the window, and the gondola that was to take Oswald away stopped at the door.

"They are here--adieu--all is ended!" sobbed Corinne.

"Oh G.o.d! O my father!" he exclaimed, "what do ye exact of me?"

He flung himself once more into her arms and then, trembling and pale, like one prepared for the torture, he pa.s.sed from her sight.

On reaching England, he found that his regiment's departure had been postponed, and, while waiting, he visited Northumberland, told Lady Edgarmond of his affection for her stepdaughter, and demanded Corinne's restoration to her rank. Lady Edgarmond unbendingly refused.

"I owe to your father's memory," she added, "my exertion to prevent your union with her if I can. Your father's letter on the subject is in the hands of his old friend, Mr. d.i.c.kson."

Oswald speedily set out for his ancestral estate in Scotland, anxious to see Mr. d.i.c.kson and read the letter. In Northumberland he had seen Lucy--a beautiful and sweetly innocent girl, one whom he could plainly see to be a maiden after his father's own heart.

His father's letter confirmed his worst fears. He had wholly disapproved of Oswald's union with the girl who afterwards became Corinne. He had thought her wholly unfitted for domestic English life, and had feared that she would destroy his son's English character and transform him into an Italian. Oswald was to be acquainted with his wishes if necessary; he knew he would respect them.

The irresolution and unhappiness into which Oswald was plunged was increased by the fact that his letters to Corinne received no replies.

Had her love ceased when his presence was removed? His friends told him of the fickleness of Italian women, and he began to believe that she had deserted him. The truth was that Corinne was not in Italy to receive his letters. She had come to England.

Desolated by his absence, and alarmed by the tone of the letters from him that had reached her, she had resolved to follow him. On arriving in London, she had been seized by an illness which prevented her from seeing him. On her recovery the people with whom she was staying took her to the theatre where Mrs. Siddons was playing. Oswald was at the theatre with Lady Edgarmond and Lucy. Corinne observed with a sinking heart the delicate attention which Oswald paid to her half-sister.

She saw him next at a review, where he appeared at the head of his regiment. After the march past, he escorted Lucy in a ride on horseback.

Corinne noted his kind solicitude, his prompt.i.tude when Lucy was in danger, the tenderness with which he supported her. What more did Corinne need to convince her of his love for Lucy?

That evening she went to his door, and learnt that he had left for Scotland an hour earlier. She felt that she must see him again; so she, also, departed for Scotland.

Lady Edgarmond gave a ball on her Scottish estate, and among the guests was Oswald, whose home was near at hand. In the grounds lurked Corinne, seeking an opportunity of meeting her lover. In the midst of the festivities, a white-clad figure hurried out alone; Corinne knew it to be her half-sister. Lucy, believing that no eye was upon her, knelt down in the grove where stood her father's tomb. "Pray for me, O my father!"

she said; "inspire him to choose me as the partner of his life! Oh G.o.d, render me worthy of the love of Oswald!"

"Grant her prayer," whispered Corinne, "and give her sister a peaceful grave."

She drew out the ring that Oswald had given her, and wrapped it in a piece of paper on which she wrote the words, "You are free." She thrust this into the hand of a man near the house with a request that he should hand it to a servant to be delivered to Lord Nevil. She saw the man give it to a servant. Then she fled.

_V.--The Clouded Moon_