CHAPTER III.
He glowed with a spirit pure and high, They called the feeling madness, And he wept for woe with a melting eye, 'Twas weak and moody sadness.
PERCIVAL.
It was Epsom week. London was all astir with the influx of company returning from the races.
A pale girl sat alone in one of the apartments of an hotel in Brook Street, listening long and anxiously to the coming sounds of the carriage-wheels, as they whirled along in that direction.
At length a carriage stopped before the door, and in a few moments a lady entered the room, whose showy costume and flushed excited countenance, (forming so strong a contrast to the appearance of the other, whom she warmly greeted,) plainly evinced her to have but just returned from that gay resort, the Stand at Epsom.
"You are come then, dear Mary. I hope you have not been very long waiting."
"No, not so very long," and the eyes of the speaker wandered anxiously towards the door, as if she seemed to expect the appearance of a second person.
Mrs. de Burgh understood that glance too well--she shook her head compassionately.
"Alas!--no, dear Mary; you must not expect to see him just now; he has been unfortunately prevented--that was the reason which made me so late; but I will tell you all about it presently, only let me have a glass of wine first, for I am nearly exhausted."
And during the interval of suspense, whilst Mrs. de Burgh refreshed herself after the fatiguing pleasures of the day, let us remind our readers, that the momentous year had some little time ago drawn to a close. Its expiration had not, however, brought with it, any immediate results.
Nothing had been seen or heard of Eugene Trevor by any of the family for the first month or two. He had been in London only at intervals, and he had not opened any communication with his _fiancee_, till she--on coming to London at the urgent solicitation of her sister Lady Morgan, who was not well--had a few days after her arrival, been surprised by a note from Mrs. de Burgh, whom she was not aware was even in town, begging her to come to her--naming a particular day--at the hotel where she was staying--as Eugene Trevor wished particularly to see her. She added that he would be obliged by her not mentioning the object of this visit to her relations, lest by any chance they might interfere with the interview, and it was very necessary that it should occur, before any more general communication took place.
"Still mystery and concealment!" was poor Mary's disappointed soliloquy.
"Why not come here openly and see and speak to me? But I will go this once, as Eugene wishes it, and I cannot refuse perhaps without occasioning trouble and confusion."
And so she went; for still alas! the attractive chain too powerfully bound her, and her heart could not but spring forward with yearning hope to this meeting once again, with her intended. It may be imagined, therefore, how her heart had sunk within her, at Mrs. de Burgh's disappointing communication.
"Prevented coming," after having had her hopes and expectations strained to such a pitch--and she awaited with painful solicitude the promised explanation.
She had not seen her cousin since her last unhappy time in London, and though, even then, to a certain degree, a kind of estrangement had risen up between them; and all that she had since heard by report of the gay wife's conduct and proceedings, had not greatly raised the beautiful Olivia in her esteem, yet Mary could not but retain a grateful remembrance of the warm-hearted kindness she had received whilst under her roof--and a still more pleasing and vivid impression of the too tenderly cherished associations, with which she was so intimately connected.
But at this moment, the dearest friend on earth would have only been appreciated by Mary, as the being on whose lips she hung for information on the subject, and which she alone at this moment had the power to communicate; and "why had not Eugene come?" was all that spoke in her anxious countenance, or in the faltering tone in which she attempted, with some show of cousinly interest, to make a few inquiries after Louis and the children.
Mrs. de Burgh came at last to her relief--if relief it could be called--for the first thing she heard was, that Eugene instead of coming to see her, intended setting off for Montrevor that very evening.
"And why?" Mary with quivering lips interrupted.
"Having lost a large sum of money on the Derby, he was obliged to have immediate recourse to his father for the necessary cash to cover this unfortunate transaction. He has therefore commissioned me to break to you this intelligence. I cannot tell you, my dear Mary, the state of mind poor Eugene was in when we parted--not only on account of the immediate disappointment this occasioned him; but because this enormous loss must again retard the possibility of his marriage taking place at present. My dear Mary, you are doomed to the trial of hope deferred--the strength and constancy of your attachment has indeed been sorely taxed."
Mary did not immediately reply. She sat very pale, her eyes fixed upon the ground, something more than common disappointment expressed in her thoughtful countenance.
At length she looked up, and said in a grave and anxious tone:
"Does Eugene always lose like this at races?"
"Oh no, dear! fortunately," laughed Mrs. de Burgh, "not often; he is very lucky in general," but checking herself, as she saw Mary's shocked countenance, "I mean," and she hesitated, "that after all he has not so very decided a taste for this sort of thing," and Mrs. de Burgh laughed again, saying: "but, my dear girl, do not look so very serious upon the subject, what is there so very shocking in it after all."
Mary thought it was a subject, to her at least, of most serious importance and concern. A new and uncomfortable misgiving began to arise in her mind.
Was it in any way relating to this propensity in Eugene Trevor, against which Louis de Burgh originally warned her--and did it in reality--more than the reason which Eugene had brought forth to her brother, tend to interfere in any way with her happiness? So strongly did this idea suddenly possess her, that she could not refrain from asking Mrs. de Burgh whether she thought this was the case. Her cousin's evasive answer did not tend much to the removal of her suspicions.
Eugene certainly did play--did bet a little on the turf. She thought Mary had always been aware of that--men must have some pursuit, some excitement. If it were not one thing it was another--equally--perhaps one might call it--"not quite right;" however, all the best men in London were on the turf. Eugene was only like the rest, but with married men, it was quite different.
"Indeed, Mary," the fair lady continued, "Eugene always assures me, he means to give up everything of the sort when he marries, and I am quite sure he will do so. I only wish you were married, dear."
Mary only sighed.
"You are not getting weary of your engagement, Mary?" Mrs. de Burgh inquired.
"Weary!--oh, no, Olivia. I was sighing for Eugene's sake."
"You may well do so, for he is, I assure you, very unhappy at all this delay."
Mary shook her head, and her lip curled a little disdainfully. The gesture seemed to say, "Whose fault is it now?"
Mrs. de Burgh seemed to understand it as such, for she said--
"It is all that miserly old father's fault. He could set everything right at once, if he chose."
"But," said Mary, in a low tone, "I see no end of all this."
"No," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh, "not I suppose till the brother turns up; unless, indeed--" she murmured.
"What?" inquired Mary, anxiously.
"You had better come and stay with me at Silverton," was Mrs. de Burgh's indirect reply.
Mary smiled dejectedly.
"That would never do," she replied, "they would not consent to my doing so, under present circumstances."
"They--who are they? I am sure, Mary, I should not allow any brother or sister to interfere with my proceedings. You are of age, and quite at liberty, I should imagine, to act as you please on any subject."
Mary shook her head. She did not feel quite so independent-spirited as all that--and besides, she did not herself see that such a step would be quite expedient at present.
She did not, however, say this aloud, and Mrs. de Burgh attributed her silence to yielding consent.
"Eugene wishes it very much I can assure you."
Mary looked up as if the tempter himself had murmured the insinuating observation in her ear, for there was something significant in the way Mrs. de Burgh had spoken, which she could not but understand, and still more in the words which followed.
"If you were only married to Eugene, Mary, you might rely on his giving up all objectionable and hurtful things."
"But as that cannot be," sighed Mary, despondingly.
"It could," hesitated Mrs. de Burgh; "it is only your friends'