Miles Tremenhere Volume I Part 19

"I don't know, I'm sure," answered Gillett, "here's mine," and she turned the lock with it. Suddenly it flashed across her mind, the confusion of keys in her room the night Juvenal came down, and Minnie and Miles were concealed. She said nothing; but felt perfectly convinced that one of them had taken a key away. At last, some one suggested that she was perhaps in the gardens. _No one_ save Dorcas guessed the whole truth. Juvenal and Sylvia felt certain she would be found. Dalby thought so, too. Where could she go? Gillett was too much puzzled to think. Only Dorcas _knew_ in her heart, that Miles was the instigator and partner of her flight. All her thoughts now were, not to find her; she felt that with a man so determined to organize, she was off and gone, but to secure her happiness, and, if possible, bring all to a happy termination and reconciliation. Gardens were searched--the house--grounds--all; but not a trace remained--then the village. At last a lad was found who had stood gaping at the chaise and posters in the lane, till the gentleman and lady stepped in and "driv away;" so there was no longer room to doubt. Dalby, hot with rage and disappointment, traced them to the railroad, three miles distant, whence he and Juvenal started off in pursuit.

The chaise which was to have carried off their victim, helped them on their errand--a rather galling reflection; for both Tremenhere and his bride were away, and away, miles before them; they had neither of them time to reflect on plans, on the future, which lay before them coiled like a serpent, and perhaps as much to be dreaded. On they flew, and, as the train stopped at each station, Minnie's heart sunk within her, dreading somehow to see her uncle there, awaiting her; and in agony, she clung to Miles, whose gentlest tones soothed the fair thing beside him, with her already sorrowing, but not repenting head, hidden in his bosom.

At length the term of their journey drew to a close, they pa.s.sed the Border--with every moment now, her terror, and his anxiety, grew apace.

She could scarcely articulate; and, when a sudden whistle or stoppage occurred, a scream involuntarily burst from her very soul; for the lip was but the channel of utterance. But the Border was pa.s.sed--the train and its many alarms was left behind their flying steps, and they stood side by side in a small room, awaiting the professional officiator in such cases--clergyman, he cannot be called. Minnie looked round, and felt how little idea of so sacred a tie as marriage, that little, low room gave you. She turned timidly to Miles, who was gazing impatiently at the door--she drew near him.

"Miles--dearest," she whispered, laying a hand on his arm, "shall we not be married again? This place carries no hallowing thoughts to the heart."

"My Minnie, you have echoed my intention--the moment we arrive in town, we will doubly cement the sweet bonds of this day's forging!"

Here the officiator entered. He was a serious, matter-of-fact-looking man; he put on his spectacles, and scanned them closely; then, giving a sort of grunt, intimating some sort of feeling best understood by himself, he commenced--

"Stop!" cried Tremenhere; "I have forgotten a ring!"

Minnie was trembling violently--every thing startled her. He saw this, and, hastily glancing at his finger, said, "In such a cause, this will but sanctify it!" and he drew off the circle of gold. "Minnie," he whispered, "this was my mother's."

"Oh, not that!" she cried, shrinking back. "It has been so ill-fated!"

"You'd better not delay," suggested the man; "folks travel quickly now-a-days, and I have _buzness_, too."

"It will unite us the closer in our triumph over her enemies and ours, my Minnie."

She said no more, but a cold thrill pa.s.sed over her as the ring made her Tremenhere's wife.

"Now ye're right," said the man, with a grim smile, which he intended to be jocular; "an' tak' care on her, for she's a sonsy leddy--puir young thing!"

"Minnie--my wife--my child--my all!" whispered Miles, drawing her on his heart. "Now we may defy them all, and fate--my own wife!" Even as he spoke, the heart at that moment chilled: another might have felt glad in the romance of their love and flight, Tremenhere choked down a sigh. He would have given all he ever hoped to gain, to be standing with Minnie in church, his licensed wife by friends, relatives, and, above all, the rules of prudence and right. It was not his fault, these stern ideas; circ.u.mstances had made him what he was.

They are once more in the train, and speeding away from the Border, towards town. Some twenty miles on their way, they stopped at a station where a down train was waiting. Minnie drew hastily back, and turned very pale: "My uncle," she whispered, "there--and Mr. Dalby!" She had many a dark storm to encounter before they met again.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Tremenhere had in nothing deceived Minnie. He told her that in marrying him she wedded herself to an artist's struggles for fame, wealth, and position: this home was all he had to offer her, cheered by his devoted love. He was considered as one rising rapidly in the profession, but he had much still to achieve before prosperity would crown his efforts.

Hitherto, he had saved every possible farthing for the great object of his thoughts; now, he would have to toil with double energy, not to lose sight of that, and support his wife also. But Minnie was so simple in her tastes, so generous, thoughtful, and loving, that it seemed to her another Paradise, their quiet little cottage in the out-skirts of town, which Miles had succeeded in discovering, with a studio attached--or rather, a large room, which he converted into one. True, the gardens were not large and beautiful, like those at Gatestone; but then their very smallness made every flower as a friend. Each morning there was the matinal visit to be paid, the fresh buds on some favourite tree to be counted; and as she bent over their stem, a loving eye looked down upon her, a gentle hand clasped her small, snowy neck, and then she looked up smiling, and the two went in to work. Her's was not very laborious, yet she fancied it absolutely necessary to the performance of his task: she mixed his colours, sorted his pencils, but, more frequently, leaned over his shoulder, with one tiny hand buried among his raven curls, which cl.u.s.tered, thick and glossy, in the nape of his neck. Thus she would watch the progress of his "Aurora chasing the Shades of Night;"

which Aurora was a figure of angel lightness, with outstretched arms and hands, skimming through the air, her long, wavy hair flying, in the freshness of the morning breeze, like a cloud behind her; whilst before her fled Shades, clad in dark robes spangled with fading stars, and supported upon the clouds. It was a beautiful group, which Miles was painting to order. We have said Minnie had most lovely hair, like floss silk; when she unwove the plaits, it fell almost to her heel, not heavily, but like a vapour; you pa.s.sed your hand through it, and it separated and floated in the air like a gossamer web. It was this magnificent ma.s.s which Miles had copied for his Aurora. He loved to look upon it; to a painter's eye it had an appearance of something spiritual.

In vain he endeavoured to do it justice; for more than once, in despair, he had set all aside, and clasping his little wife in his arms, exclaimed, as he embraced it and her, "My child, I never shall accomplish this! Surely some sprite wove this veil, and will not allow me to represent it with my poor pencil! Not the best _artiste en cheveux_ ever known, shall ever distort these fair locks with his vile grasp. I am almost jealous when the air plays with them! Minnie, 'tis dreadful to suffer from jealousy! I hope you never may be a mother, darling; I should almost hate my own child, lying on your breast!"

"Hush, Miles!" she whispered, laying her hand on his mouth. "Do not speak even of jealousy; 'tis so false a pa.s.sion, ever leading astray, ever leading us down some crooked path."

"Why, my pretty reasoner, what do you know of jealousy?" and he drew her close to his side, and smiled up in her face.

"Oh! I guess it, dear, from all I have read of its influence, it leads to so much error and bitterness; and----and----I will confess, dear Miles," she added, looking down, "I felt a pang of it myself, when you were absent the other day, in Suss.e.x. I was wondering all day with whom you were walking, talking, amusing yourself; and whether you once, even, saw my spirit flit before your path!"

Miles looked down thoughtfully, doubtingly, a moment, then, raising his eyes, said carelessly--"You know, darling, why I went to Uplands Park.

Lord Randolph Gray wished me to come, whilst he was down there, to choose a good light for my 'Aurora' when I have completed it, and also to make some other artistic arrangements, which cannot but prove of great service to me. My Minnie knows I am only an artist, obliged to follow as a profession what was once only pleasure."

"Well, are we not happy, Miles?--_I_ am--oh! very--very happy--perfectly so, since my dear aunt Dorcas has been to see her naughty niece; and, now, tell me all the persons you met at Uplands, for I knew there were several there, and you have always found something else to talk of, when I asked you."

"Oh! I paid little attention, I was so much engaged; there were his aunt, and several ladies, and----"

"I wonder where Dora is?" cried Minnie, hastily, like a child flying from one subject to another. "She has not answered my letter, and I wrote as soon as we were married in town, and that is two months since--'tis very unkind!"

"What an old wife you are, Minnie!" he said fondly, not paying attention to the other portion of her speech.

"Never mind that, Miles; let us talk of Dora. Do you know, I was half jealous of her; I thought you admired her; I thought two such could not meet without loving."

Despite his self-control, he coloured slightly, and merely e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "Pshaw!"

"I do declare, Miles, you are colouring! Well, I fancied my aunt Lady Ripley, and Dora, were perhaps at Uplands."

"What could make you think so?" he asked, slightly embarra.s.sed.

"Because I know my aunt wishes Dora to marry Lord Randolph Gray; and, as so many ladies were there, I thought it probable she might be one."

"Silly child!--silly little girl!" he said, evasively. "There--get such foolish thoughts out of your head, and give me one more sitting, darling, for this Aurorean veil of hair."

All else was cast aside when Miles had to be pleased. She forgot Dora, and every thing, and stood before him with her hair streaming back from her fair, innocent face--that face was Miles's greatest torment in his task. It was the very one he could have desired for his picture; but for worlds he would not have laid it upon canva.s.s for indifferent eyes to look upon; in vain model after model sat to him--some were very lovely; and when he thought his wish accomplished, and but a few finis.h.i.+ng touches were required to complete the face--nothing but the working up, when no model was of further use, involuntarily--his pencil, faithful to the memory of his heart, moulded the unfinished face with an imperfect likeness of his beloved wife; and though he sighed whilst obliterating it, yet nothing would have tempted him to expose that to a stranger's gaze; perhaps, a questioning one, which would seek the original of so perfect a creation. No, she was his--only his. Could he have insisted upon such a thing without appearing absurd, she should never have quitted the house, unless closely veiled--his was true, all-absorbing affection. There was no selfish vain-glory in it; that feeling which makes a man parade the object of his idolatry before the mult.i.tude, to delight his ears with the hum of praise her beauty might elicit, and from the pedestal of his exclusive right, look down in pitying compa.s.sion on the mult.i.tude doing homage to her charms--nothing of this could move Tremenhere, except to feel contempt. His was too n.o.ble a nature to be gratified by the injury of others--he only asked to be left in peace and seclusion with this fair being he had so hardly won. _He_, for the cold heartless world, to toil for her, and with it--_she_, to solace his hours of peace and most unworldly love. We will leave them awhile, and step back to Gatestone. At the moment her successful flight was no longer a mystery--the only one was, how she had escaped--there were not wanting those to instil into Juvenal's mind an idea, that he had an enemy on his hearth; and poor Dorcas was the suspected person.

She had favoured Minnie's escape, and not all her a.s.surances to the contrary, could remove the impression; and, when she expressed her determination to visit Minnie, not the slightest shadow of doubt remained. Little-minded persons must have an imaginary trouble, if they do not possess a real one--they could not exist without something to worry them to death. Dorcas was the living source of sorrow to Juvenal and Sylvia; and, had she not been patience itself, _they_ would a.s.suredly have driven her into her grave by their unceasing fire of innuendoes, when they actually abstained from open accusations. However, she bore all placidly, and finally started, to the deep indignation of both, for town, accompanied by Mr. Skaife. This latter had become perfectly reconciled to Minnie's marriage. His love had not been that of a Tremenhere, but a quiet, placid affection, much more like a _hothouse_ friends.h.i.+p, than actual love, riper than an ordinary out-of-door feeling of that genus. The moment he heard that she was positively a wife, he choked down a little sigh, and from that instant she became the wife of one he called friend--only a being to be much respected, and served in every way in his power; and it was strange that Tremenhere, with all his jealousy, so thoroughly read and appreciated the other's character, that not the slightest feeling of that kind crossed his mind, on his and Minnie's account. They met as brother and sister might have done; and Tremenhere looked on and smiled, as Skaife clasped her hands--an action he could not have borne from any other; for he had the purest, warmest, Spanish blood in his veins, not one drop of his father's calm English--he was all his mother's child.

It would be impossible to give an adequate idea of the fury of Juvenal, when he discovered that he and Dalby had arrived just an hour too late to prevent Minnie's marriage. Dalby was bitterness itself, and in every way fostered the feeling against the delinquents. Thus he made himself agreeable to Juvenal, and _secured_ a footing at Gatestone; as he felt rather uncertain how Marmaduke Burton might receive him, on his being made acquainted with the discomfiture of himself and partisans, and the good generals.h.i.+p of Tremenhere. But Burton could not afford to lose such a man as Dalby; though he blamed him in no measured terms, still, in his heart, he knew how difficult it was to daunt or overthrow his cousin. He accused himself more than any one else, for leaving the spot, and thus losing so great a battery against the enemy as his own cunning would have proved. Now this battle was lost, there only remained one thing to him--revenge; and this pale-faced spectre haunted his every thought.

Great was Minnie's joy when she flung herself into her dear aunt's arms; all former annoyance was forgotten; she only saw one she loved as a mother, one whose face was wanting to cheer her home and hearth. As soon as Tremenhere could so arrange it after their return, they had been again, and more sacredly, married than in their Border marriage. Nothing was wanting, then, to Minnie's happiness, but forgiveness; and this Dorcas promised to lose no opportunity of obtaining. How happy the young wife was, in showing all the mysteries of her home, her excellence as a housekeeper, her garden, her fruits, all, to her aunt! Poor child! she was so inexperienced in all, yet withal so very anxious to save every possible expense, that the aim of Miles's life might not be lost sight of. "Only look, dear aunty!" she cried, raising in her pretty fingers the leaves which partially concealed some mellowing peach on the sunny wall,--"did you ever see such beauties? We had none so fine at Gatestone!" Poor child, once more! there was nothing good or fair but where Miles existed--nothing could prosper unless beneath his eye. Alas, for the days of sorrow! when the woman shall look back, after her weary pilgrimage through life, and remember the one sunny spot of childhood, where winter never came--all the year one summer in her memory, the fruits and flowers in the gardens of which, were riper, and blossomed fairer, than any elsewhere! It is the heart--the heart--the heart beneath which they grow!--the heart all lightness and purity!

Skaife, we have seen, accompanied Dorcas to town; and after the first lecture on her imprudence had, as a matter of course, been duly delivered by the latter, all settled down in perfect happiness; for even Skaife almost ceased to remember that, in the man before him, he saw a successful rival. Poor Dorcas would fain have remained longer than the fortnight she had awarded herself; but she received such fulminating letters from home, that the thing was impracticable; and so she left the abode of love and peace, perfectly a.s.sured of the continuance of Minnie's happiness, and promising to do all in her power to effect a reconciliation. This would have been easily accomplished, if she had only had Juvenal and Sylvia to deal with; but, unhappily, Dalby and the latter were friends again, and the former had Marmaduke Burton to back him up in all wickedness; though now, had the uncle and aunt reasoned--"How could the affair be improved by anger?" they might have acted differently. But there are some persons who never reason; decidedly, these were of that cla.s.s.

We will now take our readers to Uplands Park, the day of Miles's expected visit there by Lord Randolph Gray. Business in town had detained this gentleman from that rendezvous of fas.h.i.+onable men, in the month of August--Scotland. It was near the end of the following month, and a select few were a.s.sembled for shooting, and its accompaniment of flirtation, in a country-house, where there exists so much more _laissez aller_ than in town. Lord Randolph's aunt, the Countess of Lysson, took the head of the lady department at her bachelor nephew's. A word about this nephew: He was one whose mould had a.s.suredly not been broken when he was born--there were hundreds like him; he was one in a _cornet_ of comfits, very nice, but very insipid--the filling up of the world between the good and bad. A good-natured man, in short, with plenty of money. Some one persuaded him that he was, or ought to be, pa.s.sionately fond of pictures, because he was of yachting and other fas.h.i.+onable amus.e.m.e.nts. Now, what possible connection could exist between these two, except as far as mere fas.h.i.+on went, it would be difficult to define.

However, he was very fond of handsome women, and these are more or less the subject of the pencil; consequently, on his return to town from Italy, where he had seen much of Miles in society, as a rising artist, he sought him out, and engaged his pencil on "The Aurora," before alluded to. Besides, he had liked the man, and discovering that even at home, men of talent were warmly received into society, he followed the reading of others (for he possessed not one single original idea,) and invited him cordially to his house. But the visit to Uplands was one more of business than pleasure, else Miles would never have quitted Minnie. No one was aware, of his mere acquaintances, that Tremenhere was a man who had lost the position he had lost; he was known as a man of good family and cultivated understanding--no one inquired beyond: married or single--who cared to inquire? He was an agreeable companion, and therefore many sought his society. When he arrived at Uplands, the first person almost he met was Lady Dora, who was there with her mother.

Not all her self-possession checked the deep glow which over-spread her cheek. It was half the suddenness of the meeting, and half indignant pride, that he should have degraded her cousin, as she deemed it, to the level of a mere artist's wife. They met in the drawing-room before dinner. There were only two or three persons yet a.s.sembled, and these were dowagers, sitting cosily beside a cheering wood-blaze, before the lamps were lighted. It was a large comfortable room, and already the rich crimson curtains fell before the windows. It had been a chilly, rainy day; and Lady Dora, having pa.s.sed some hours of it in the billiard-room, now sat before one of Erard's most brilliant pianos, playing desultory strains, as they occurred to her memory. Lady Lysson had not yet appeared, nor Lady Dora's mother. Tremenhere stood an instant in the doorway; he had been sitting in Lord Randolph's room with him, ever since quitting the one a.s.signed to him, after changing his dress for dinner. His arrival had occurred, as those things do in country houses--a matter of no moment, or object of inquiry to any one.

He came--sat in his host's room--dressed for dinner--descended to the drawing-room--and, until Lady Dora looked up from her own thoughts, and saw him at the door, no one knew an addition had taken place to the circle a.s.sembled at Uplands. As he entered, the two dowagers raised their eyes carelessly, and glanced over him. He was some gentleman, or he wouldn't be there,--one of the common mould, doubtless. People always take this for granted, till the lion slips out of the a.s.s's skin in which their imaginations clothe him, and shows his fangs and claws; then folks either put themselves into a position of defence, or try to cut his claws; but this latter is rather a dangerous game, unless, like the picture of a celebrated artist, Monsieur Camille Roqueplan, the lion become "_amoureux_," and then any thing may be done with him by the one loved hand.

We digress--Miles was an a.s.s in the dowagers' eyes--one of their host's mould; so they glanced him over, and, _sotto voce_, continued their perforations in somebody's character.

Lady Dora started, and coloured--then her fingers still strolled over the keys like a breeze among flowers, calling forth sweet odours--or a child in a garden, culling a single leaf of different buds, and scattering them carelessly about; for she only played a strain here and there, nothing through.

"I hope Lady Dora is well?" asked Miles, gently, as he stood beside her.

"Quite so, I thank you," she coldly replied, bowing over her hands, which did not cease.

Though Miles had keenly felt, without expressing it to Minnie, her cousin's neglect, still he forbore speaking of it to her, lest it might aggravate her pain, he was so watchful over this darling wife of his; still he fancied some engagement, fas.h.i.+onable indolence, or absence from home, occasioned it; any thing but the truth--wilful slight. He was therefore not prepared for her reception of him; he stood a moment silent, looking down on the flying fingers, and many thoughts creeping over his mind, scarcely leaving a trace, but faintly shadowing an idea, that this girl had loved him, her change of manner was so extraordinary since their parting in Italy. "I was not aware," he said at last, in commonplace phraseology, "that I should have the pleasure of meeting with your ladys.h.i.+p here." He was working with homely tools to get at a great truth--this girl's sentiments--they puzzled him; had she replied in a natural manner, he would have sought no farther, convinced that his impression had been erroneous. As it was, she answered with stern pride--

"It must be a matter of perfect indifference to Mr. Tremenhere;" and, ceasing her playing, she took her gloves, fan, and handkerchief from the piano, and without condescending to award him one look, walked majestically to the other end of the large room, and, seating herself on an ottoman by the fire, commenced conversing with the dowagers. Miles leaned an instant against the piano. A smile, half of contempt, and half triumph, played over his proud lip. Servants entered at that instant with lights. Quietly seating himself on the music-stool, he took up a book from a side table, and turned its leaves; but his thoughts flew off from pride and vexation to Minnie, his own quiet little cottage fireside, and that fairy wife, singing like a joyous bird, to soothe his weary spirit, when worn by a day's hara.s.sing. "Minnie--my own Minnie!"

he whispered to his heart, and the dark flas.h.i.+ng eyes of the previous moment, melted with the loving thoughts of her presence, and he forgot Lady Dora, all, save herself.