The Mysteries of the Court of London — page 34: what you’re looking at

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ht press PULSE shasEpEUNENEEpNEEnyemmeeneene» ‘. THE MYSTERIES OF THE COURT.. 21 bke zeal and obedience in the performanco of | opportunity for explanations? No—she was re- your duties. The Foreign Office is much pleased, with you; and [ shall ask that you be appointed Envoy to one of the minor Courts. It is a proud thing for you, Bertram, to reflect that when only a few months past your twenty-third year, you will be an Ambassador! Orif you like to go to Parliament, I can put you in for one of my pocket- boroughs at the next general election.” “ My lord, I would much rather leave Zogland again as soon as possible.” “Well, we shall have plenty of time to talk it over: for I mean you to stay a few weeks with us, now that you are here. Your brother, Lord Clandon, is expected in a few days; and we have a select party at Oaklands.” “T should now wish to retire to my chamber,” said Bertram. “The roads are dusty ” “To be sure!” cried the Duke: and ringing the bell, he ordered the domestic who answered the summons, to show the Hon. Mr. Vivian to his apartment. “And it is time,” said Eliza, after a pause, during which Bertram with a slight bow had quitted the room,—“it is time that I should dress for dinner.” In a few minutes the Duchess was alone in her boudoir. This meeting with the loved one—the one who was still so dear to her—had been almost more than her fortitude could bear up against. Throughout the ordeal she herself was astounded at her own courage in supporting it: but now that she was alone in her boudoir, her feelings could no longer be restrained. She threw herself upon her knees—her anguish burst forth—the tears gushed in fountains from her eyes—her bosom was convulsed with sobs. “O father, father !” the voice of ineffable agony went up from her heart, as she thus apostrophized her dead parent: “you knew not the misery you were entailing upon me at the time! But if from the mansions of the other world it be given to the spirits of the, departed to look down at what is passing in this, you can now understand it all! May God forgive you, father even as I have forgiven you!” When she grew somewhat calmer, the Duchess of Marchmont reviewed the details of the meeting which had just passed. While Bertram was an- swering his uncle’s observations, he had spoken with a cold firmness, and without even so much as giancing towards herself: but when he had said that he was anxious to leave England as soon as possible, he had spoken with an emphasis which she could full well understand. Oh, why had he come to Oaklands at all? wherefore cause them both to run this tremendous risk? Did he sup- pose that the Duke was acquainted with the cir- cumstance of their love? No—it was impos- sible: for if so, Bertram would not have paid this visit. The natural delicacy of his feelings would ‘have kept him away:—but how was it that his pride had not also kept him away? Did he sus- pect how she had been deceived and sacrificed ? or did he fancy that sho had wilfully proved faith- less to her love for him, and dazzled by the proffer of a ducal coronet, had bestowed her hand upon his uncle? In all these matters Eliza was in # state of the utmost unccrtainty. But could her doubts be cleared up? must she seck or afford an solved not to trust herself alune with Bertram Vivian. Rather—ten thousand times rather, exist even under the weight of Ais injurious suspicions, if such he entertained,—than do aught which might savour of impropriety in her position asa wife, or lead her to even an unfaithful thought or unduteous word with regard to her husband. And that he did entertain those suspicions, she was more than half afraid: for thero was a certain pride—a certain cold assertion of manly dignity, in the way in whieh he had mst her. Why then had he come to Oaklands P—was it to upbraid and reproach her? was it to demand the return of the ring which he had given her, and to restore the ong which he had received from herself? The Duchess of Marchmont saw more than ever the necessity of exerting all her fortitude. She did her best to assume her wonted outward calm- ness ; and she bathed her eyes copiously to efface the evidences of weeping ere she summoned her maids to assist at her toilet. When this toilet was completed, she repaired to the drawing-room, where she found the Duke in conversation with the assembled guests: but Bertram was not there. It was not until within a few minutes of the dinner- hour, that he made his appearance. How kand- some did he look !—but not finely and majestically handsome—it was rather a delicate and intellectual but still masculine beauty which characterized him. There was no colour upon his cheeks; and his glossy dark whiskers threw out the paleness of those cheeks al] the more vimbly. But the ex- quisite classic profile—the haughty curl of the upper lip—and the god-like nobility of the alabastcr brow, with the raven curls clustering around it,— rendered that head a model of sculptural per- fection. His movements were slow, yet not slug- gish: they were replete with ease and elegance + but they, as well as the expression of his coun- tenance, indicated to observers generally the thoughtfulness of his mind—and to Eliza alone the existence of a deep, ineffable, imperishable sorrow in his heart. His voice was, as it were, clouded from the same cause—but full of a fino masculine harmony; and when, as he glided with ease into the discourse that was progressing as he entered, a smile appeared upon his lips, it was a cold glacial smile, resembling the light which the sun flings upon ice. When ditner was announced, it became Ber- tram’s duty,—as the last male comer, and like- wise as a relative—to escort the Duchess to the banqueting-room. It was only with a cold cour- tesy that he approached her: with the same cold reserve did she bow slightly as she took his arm: but not with more airy lightness site the butterfly upon the flower, than lay the fingers of Kliza upon the arm of Bertram Vivian. As they headed the procession to the banqueting-room, Bertram spoke of the weather, of the beauty of the grounds, and of the most indifferent topics. It was the same as he sat on her right hand at the dinner-table ; and when he took wine with her, the bows that were exchanged were the merest and the slightest inclination of the head, without a smile upon either countenance. All was chilling and distant between them. Thus the dinner passed away; and every one, not even excepting the Duke bins culf, had noticed that there was a strange foriuas ee TV eee tay ety (SOL (C DOO Col