Miles Tremenhere Volume I Part 23

Lady Dora's better genius triumphed when she quitted Uplands. Something remained painfully on her mind after her conversation with Miles. His indignant pride debased her to her true littleness of conduct, and the really good-nature, had it not been biased by a worldly mother, triumphed; and one day her quiet, well-appointed brougham, which she chose in preference to their britscha, as being less ostentatious, and in better taste for her expedition, drove up to Tremenhere's pretty cottage at Chiswick. Minnie was alone; he had gone to town on business.

She, all affection and forgiveness, had a singular memory in these times of heartlessness and calculation; she always forgot the bad, and held a bright sunny spot for the good deeds of all. In an instant she was in Dora's arms, her own round the other's neck, and her bright face, dimpling like a child's, and as innocent, held upwards for the kiss of peace.

"Dear, dear, Dora!" she cried, while on the setting of fringe which we have spoken of round her soft eyes, hung gems of tears, like May morning dew on hawthorn, "I knew you would come some day and see me." Here the joyous tears burst forth. "And Miles thinks so too, I know; for, whenever he returns, he always asks has any one called? well knowing no one would so, unless it were you; and when I say, 'No one, dear,' he takes me to his arms, and says, embracing me, 'Never mind, Minnie, I always come back to you--never mind the world, dear child!' Oh! he is _so_ kind, dearest Dora!" exclaimed the loving wife, "and I am so _very_ happy!"

"Long may it last, dear Minnie," said her cousin, as she returned the caress; "I have been very cruel not to come sooner, but--but----"

"Don't speak of it, dear Dora," cried Minnie, ever anxious to save another any pain; "I know it was not your fault--my aunt wouldn't let you; but, now you are here, _do_ stay all day, Miles will return at five, 'tis scarcely two yet," and she drew her beside her on an ottoman, and encircled her with her arms.

"I cannot Minnie, mamma does not know I have come; I shall have to tell her cautiously, for----"

"Oh! I know, I know, I've been a very naughty girl, but why did they lock me up? and why was my uncle going to take me to that odious Miss Burton's? If he had confided in my honour, I _never_ should have ran away."

"Are you sure, Minnie--quite sure? Mr. Tremenhere is very persuasive, I make no doubt, and handsome too; I think him much improved since his marriage," she spoke constrainedly.

"How do you know?" asked her cousin, amazed; "when did you see him--and where?"

"Did he not tell you," inquired the other, much confused, "I met him at Uplands. Oh! I have perhaps done wrong in telling you." A strange sensation, half triumph, half pleasure, shot through her heart; it was one of those involuntary promptings of the evil one, which we cannot always master. "Why," prompted this fiend, "did Tremenhere deceive his wife? Dares he not trust himself to name me?"

"Oh! I see it all!" cried that pure-hearted wife; "it is just like my own dear Miles--he feared to pain me." She was sincere in this thought _then_.

"Come, Minnie," cried Lady Dora, hastily rising, "put on your bonnet, we will have a quiet drive, we can then speak of all; I love a nice chat in a cosy, half-sleepy, jog-trot pace--my country pace, I call it. Come, we will go out for half an hour." She wished to break the thread of the conversation, and have a little time to recover herself.

"And then you will return with me, and remain?"

"I don't promise; we shall see."

The delighted Minnie was soon shawled and bonneted. It was a fine, clear day, almost frosty; they drove on till they arrived at Kensington Gardens; Minnie had told all, her flight, how accomplished--of her happiness she needed not to speak; it breathed in every glance, every tone, when his name fell from her lips. Dora more than once checked a sigh--this might have been hers but for her pride; the soul whispered this, the woman disavowed the thought; yet she had never loved him, or she would have sacrificed all, and even then have sighed over the poverty of the all she had to give. To check these thoughts, she drew the check-string at Kensington Gardens.

"Let us have a walk, Minnie," she cried suddenly; "the air is refres.h.i.+ng."

In an instant they were side by side, walking at a brisk pace through the walks. Lady Dora turned off towards the Palace, to avoid any rencontres. We often turn to avoid meeting something which is following us.

By chance, it so happened that Lord Randolph was riding down the road; he recognized Lady Dora's brougham, inquired, and in less than five minutes overtook her and her companion. What was to be done? Lady Dora was scarlet; nothing could more have annoyed her than this. Introduce her cousin she could not, as Mrs. Tremenhere; it would betray all. Had she had time to think, it would have been infinitely better to have said nothing than what she said. Pressing Minnie's arm, who, poor child, thought all Dora did must be right, she said, "Miss Dalzell, Lord Randolph Gray." Nevertheless, Minnie did start, and visibly; then a deep flush rose, and added still more to her extreme beauty. He was perfectly paralyzed. In overtaking Lady Dora, he expected in her companion to see some familiar face. Here he met a person whose name even was unknown to him; her confusion did not escape him either. Had they met before? Was she an humble companion? But, no: he a.s.suredly must have then seen her before. And, to confirm him in the certainty of this not being the case, this fair girl called the proud daughter of Lady Ripley "Dora," and "dear Dora." She stood far below this latter in stature, though above middle height; but there was a fairy grace, lightness, and exquisite beauty about her, even his far-travelled eye had never before seen equalled; and when she smiled, or laughed with her light, joyous, modulated laugh, the face lit up so strangely bright, that she looked like some inspired spirit.

When a man or woman tries to be pleasant, he or she generally, not _always_, is constrained, and seen to disadvantage. What with her beauty, the surprise of the meeting, and curiosity about her, Lord Randolph, never too brilliant, became downright enigmatical in speech, which, together with her embarra.s.sment, so annoyed Lady Dora, that, hastily turning, she said--

"It is later than I imagined; let us return."

"Return!" thought he; "but whither? I would give worlds to know. Oh! I shall find out; doubtless she will often accompany Lady Dora; 'tis some young friend, not 'out' yet. Shall I escort you?" he asked, after handing them to the brougham.

"'Tis useless--I thank you," answered Lady Dora, coldly; "we have a call to make." He bowed, and they drove off. He sat round on his horse, watching them out of sight; politeness forbade his following. It was an immense relief to his half-affianced wife when they drove off; every instant she had dreaded to hear Minnie talk of Miles: he was ever on her lip. But though much pained and astonished at first at the untruth Dora had told; afterwards, though still reprehending it, she felt a.s.sured her cousin had done it for some good motive, so she held her tongue about her husband. Miss Dalzell could not acknowledge one.

"I thought it better to say you were a Miss Dalzell," said Lady Dora; "men are so inquisitive. Who would have dreamed of meeting Lord Randolph in Kensington Gardens? It was a fatality; I thought him still at Uplands."

"He said he was only in town for a day," suggested her cousin.

"So much the better; he will forget all about you, and no one will know you by that name, unless indeed----" She paused, looking greatly annoyed, as Dalby and Marmaduke Burton crossed her mind. Minnie questioned her; but turning the subject, they conversed about something else until they reached home. Lady Dora had taken the precaution of ascertaining whether they were followed. Minnie could not prevail upon her to remain; she left her compliments for Tremenhere, and promised her delighted cousin to return again soon. Lord Randolph had been found on that road not without motive; he was going to Tremenhere's cottage on an excuse, intending to see the reputed beauty, if possible. After the meeting with Minnie, he changed his mind: "I will not go to-day," he thought; "I shall be disgusted with any woman I could possibly see, after this beautiful girl. I must find out who she is; she realized all one's ideas of a fairy." Thus thinking, he turned his horse-homewards.

When Tremenhere returned to his cottage, he was a.s.sailed by a variety of feelings on hearing the events which had occurred during his absence. Of Lady Dora's coming, he was pleased; it gratified Minnie, but he would rather it had been done with her mother's cognizance, and in her company. There was something galling in this secret visit, but he forbore to say so to his little wife, she looked so joyous and happy; not one word of annoyance that her cousin had so long deferred it, not a harsh thought for even her aunt. All was forgiveness and suns.h.i.+ne in her sweet face.

"Verily, Minnie," said her enraptured husband, bending his fine eyes in fondest love upon her, "you are not fit for this cold world; you must live on a sunbeam, dearest, and be enwrapped at eve in the gorgeous clouds fringed with gold, in which the day-G.o.d sinks to rest."

"No, Miles," she answered laughing, her whole bright soul in his face, robed in smiles and dimples; "_you_ shall be the day-G.o.d, rising at peep of day, higher and higher until you arrive at meridian splendour, and _then_ I will be the dial to mark your course, and live in your rays."

"I will accept that position, darling, for then I shall know you only live by my light. Minnie, Minnie, it would kill me to think any one even approached your heart, where I must reign alone!"

"How could that ever be possible?" she said, fondling his hand in both her own, and then kissing it almost with reverence.

"Now, tell me all about your drive," he inquired after a pause. Minnie had reserved this for the last; somehow her woman's unerring wit told even her unsophisticated nature, that it would pain Miles, and it grieved her so much to see a cloud on his brow. Even with this foresight, she was ill prepared for the annoyance which a.s.sailed him; he was most indignant at Lady Dora's introducing Minnie as Miss Dalzell.

"In your position," he cried, "she should have been doubly guarded; better not have named you at all, and to Lord Randolph Gray, of all persons, I am sorely perplexed how to act."

She tried as much as possible to soothe him, but there was a sting in his heart--a sting of antic.i.p.ated trouble arising out of this. He knew Lord Randolph so well, that he felt convinced he would seek every possible means of discovering who Minnie was: she was not a creature to be pa.s.sed in a crowd--her beauty was too rare and remarkable. He thought at first of seeking him, and confiding the truth to him and his honour for secresy. Well would it have been had he done so; this would have shown the affair, when well explained, in a different light to the one in which the other now viewed it. Had he known Marmaduke Burton and Dalby were guests at Uplands, he would not have hesitated; but in ignorance of much, he at last grew calmer under the erroneous idea that perhaps Lord Randolph would think no more about her; besides, how could he trace her--how hear any thing of her? And, to crown all, he knew the other was leaving England on a tour in a month; so he resolved to let matters take their natural course, and, comforted by Minnie's a.s.surance that his Lords.h.i.+p had not followed them, he dropped the subject, on her promising to go out no more with Lady Dora, at present.

Poor Tremenhere little imagined how much Lord Randolph really thought of Minnie; that evening he called at Lady Ripley's, and to his surprise was requested to enter a boudoir solely belonging to Lady Dora, where even he had seldom been admitted. He found her sitting alone, evidently awaiting his arrival.

"Lord Randolph," she said with more cordiality than was usual on her part, "I have a favour to solicit at your hands."

"At mine?" he said, gallantly kissing the fair one she extended towards him. "Thus let me thank the lovely messenger pleading to its companions.

I shall indeed esteem myself happy in obliging you in any way."

"Thank you. Will you then do so by not naming to my mother, or indeed any one, our rencounter to-day? I mean so far as regards Miss----"

"Miss Dalzell?" he interrupted her in increased surprise.

"I see you have a retentive memory," she answered, with slight annoyance. She had hesitated at the name, hoping he might have forgotten it. "The fact is, for the present, I do not wish even my mother to know that I have seen Miss Dalzell."

"Is the fair lady some fairy, destined to take the whole world by surprise, in an unexpected, unannounced _debut_ shortly?" he asked.

"Decidedly not," she replied, vexed at the evident interest he displayed; not from jealousy of the man, but fear, lest this interest might lead to research. "Miss Dalzell," she continued, "will be shortly leaving town for the Continent with her--friends."

"Indeed! 'tis a pity; she would have been a constellation of the highest order in our spherical circle, where so few beauties are seen, next season."

"She seems to have captivated you, Lord Randolph."

"Captivated! no, my heart is not free," and he bowed conventionally to the fair speaker; "but I thought her of rare beauty. By Heavens!" he exclaimed, as a sudden idea struck him, "that dilatory fellow, Tremenhere, complains that he cannot meet with a model for his 'Aurora'--I wish he could see Miss Dalzell! I wonder whether she would sit to him? Pray, ask her, dear Lady Dora: does she live in town? I'll speak to Tremenhere about it." He was forgetting every thing she had been asking him. Lady Dora felt dreadfully embarra.s.sed--her colour rose.

"Pray," she cried, "my lord, do not do a thing which would pain and annoy me excessively. I have requested you to forget all about Miss Dalzell, and you talk of her sitting for some foolish picture, and of all men on earth to Mr. Tremenhere."

Her last words awoke other thoughts in his mind. "I am very forgetful,"

he answered. "Rest a.s.sured, Lady Dora, no one shall hear her name or the meeting from me; but may I in return ask, why less to Mr. Tremenhere than any other person?"

"Oh!" she answered, evasively, "artists will dare any thing for a face which exactly meets their wants and wishes. I _particularly_ desire all which pa.s.sed to-day, forgotten by you."

"You shall be obeyed."

"Some day possibly, you may know all; 'tis now a most painful mystery."

"You may rely upon me," he replied. "And now, may I ask, as one _much_ interested in you, Lady Dora, have you not recently met Mr. Tremenhere in the country? I do not mean at Uplands--in Yorks.h.i.+re?"