TROUBLED HEARTS.
On the afternoon of the day following, Adèle was sitting alone in the parlor. She held a book in her hand, but evidently it did not much interest her, as her eyes wandered continually from its pages and rested, abstractedly, upon any object they happened to meet.
She felt lonely, and wondered why Mr. Lansdowne did not, as usual at that hour, come to the parlor. She thought how vacant and sad her life would be, after he and Mr. Somers had departed from Miramichi. She queried whether she should ever meet them again; whether, indeed, either of them, after a short time, would ever think of the acquaintances they had formed here, except when recalled by some accident of memory, or association. She feared they might wholly forget all these scenes, fraught with so much interest and pleasure to her, and that fear took possession of her heart and made her almost miserable. She strove to turn her mind upon her favorite project of returning with her parents, to France. But, notwithstanding her efforts, her thoughts lingered around the departing gentlemen, and the close of her acquaintance with them.
Suddenly she heard Mr. Lansdowne's step approaching the room. Conscious that her heart was at this moment in her eyes, she hastily threw the book upon the table. Taking her embroidery, she bent her attention closely upon it, thus veiling the tell-tale orbs, with their long dark lashes.
She looked up a moment, as he entered, to give him a nod of recognition. A flash of lightning will reveal at once the whole paraphernalia of a room, even to its remotest corners; or disclose the scenery of an entire landscape, in its minutest details, each previously wrapt by the darkness in perfect mystery; so, one single glance of the eye may unveil and discover a profound secret, that has hitherto never been indicated, by either word or motion. By that quick glance, Adèle saw Mr. Lansdowne's face, very pale with the struggle he had just gone through, and a strange light glowing from his eyes, that caused her to withdraw her own immediately.
Her heart beat rapidly,—she was conscious that a tide of crimson was creeping up to her cheek, and felt herself tremulous in every limb, as Mr. Lansdowne approached and drew a seat near her. But pride came to her aid. One strong effort of the will, and the young creature, novice as she was in the arts of society, succeeded in partially covering the flutter and agitation of spirit caused by the sudden discovery of her lover's secret.
"When do you expect your father's return, Miss Adèle?" inquired Mr. Lansdowne.
"In a day or two", was the reply.
"Do you know that my uncle and I will be obliged to leave our newly-found friends here, soon after your father gets home?"
"I know", replied Adèle, with apparent calmness, "that Mr. Somers's health has greatly improved and I supposed you would probably go away soon".
"Pardon me, Miss Adèle", said John, in a voice that betrayed his emotion, "but shall you miss us at all? Shall you regret our absence?"
Again Adèle's heart bounded quickly. She felt irritated and ashamed of its tumult.
By another strong effort, she answered simply, "Certainly, Mr. Lansdowne, we shall all miss you. You have greatly enlivened our narrow family circle. We shall be very sorry to lose you".
How indifferent she is, thought John. She does not dream of my love.
"Miss Adèle", he exclaimed passionately, "it will be the greatest calamity of my life to leave you".
For a moment, the young girl was silent. His voice both thrilled and fascinated her. Partly proud, partly shy, like the bird who shuns the snare set for it, only fluttering its wings over the spot for an instant, and then flying to a greater distance, Adèle bestirred her powers and resolved not to suffer herself to be drawn into the meshes. She felt a new, strange influence creeping over her, to which she was half afraid, half too haughty to yield without a struggle.
"Mr. Lansdowne, I am happy yo learn you place some value on our friendship, as we do on yours. But surely, your own home, such as you have described it to me, must be the most attractive spot on earth to you".
"Is it possible", said Mr. Lansdowne vehemently, taking her hand and holding it fast in his, "that you cannot understand me,—that you do not know that I love you infinitely more than father, or mother, or any human creature?"
Surprised at the abruptness of this outburst, bewildered and distressed by her own conflicting emotions, Adèle knew not what to say, and wished only to fly away into solitude that she might collect her scattered powers.
"Mr. Lansdowne, I am not prepared for this. Let me go. I must leave you", she exclaimed.
Suddenly drawing her hand from his, she fled to her own room, locked the door and burst into a passionate flood of tears. Poor child! Her lover with his unpractised hand, had opened a new chapter in her life, too precipitately. She was not prepared for its revelations, and the shock had shaken her a little too rudely.
John remained sitting, white and dumb, as if a thunderbolt had fallen upon him.
"Gone! gone!" he exclaimed at length, "she does not love me! And, fool that I was, I have frightened her from me forever!"
He bowed his head upon the table and uttered a groan of despair.
Mr. Lansdowne returned to the solitude of his own room, sufficiently miserable. He feared he had offended Adèle past healing. Looking over the events of the week, he thought he could perceive that she had been teased by his attentions, and that she wished to indicate this by the coolness of her manner and words to him, during their recent interview. And he had recklessly, though unwittingly, put the climax to her annoyance by this abrupt disclosure of his love. He berated himself unmercifully for his folly. For a full hour, he believed that his blundering impetuosity had cost him the loss of Adèle forever.
But it is hard for hope to forsake the young. It can never wholly leave any soul, except by a slow process of bitter disappointment. John saw that he had made a mistake. The strength and tumult of his passion for Adèle had led him thoughtlessly into what probably appeared to her, an attempt to storm the citadel of her heart, and in her pride, she had repulsed him.
He bethought him that there were gentler modes of reaching that seat of life and love. He became a tactician. He resolved he would, by his future conduct, perhaps by some chance word, indicate to Adèle that he understood her repulse and did not intend to repeat his offence. He would not hereafter seek her presence unduly, but when they were thrown together, would show himself merely gentle and brotherly. And then,—he would trust to time, to circumstances, to his lucky star, to bring her to his side.
In the mean time, after her tears had subsided, Adèle found, somewhat to her surprise, that this sudden disturbance of her usual equilibrium came from the very deep interest she felt for Mr. Lansdowne. And, moreover, she was annoyed to find it so, and did not at all like to own it to herself. Naturally proud, self-relying, and in the habit of choosing her own path, she had an instinctive feeling that this new passion might lay upon her a certain thralldom, not congenial to her haughty spirit. This consciousness made her distant and reserved, when she again met Mr. Lansdowne at the tea-table.
In fact, the manner of each towards the other had wholly changed.
John was calm, respectful, gentle, but made no effort to draw Adèle's attention. After tea he asked Mrs. Dubois to play backgammon with him.
Adèle worked on her embroidery, and Mr. Somers sat beside her, sketching on paper with his pencil, various bits of ruin and scenery in Europe, mixed up with all sorts of grotesque shapes and monsters. Mr. Lansdowne appeared, all the evening, so composed, so natural, and simply brotherly, that when Adèle went to her room for the night, the interview of the afternoon seemed almost like a dream. She thought that the peculiar reception she had given to his avowal, might have quite disenchanted her lover. And the thought disturbed her. After much questioning and surmising, she went to sleep.
The next day and the next, Mr. Lansdowne's manner towards Adèle continued the same. She supposed he might renew the subject of their last conversation, but he did not, although several opportunities presented, when he might have done so. Occasionally, she strove to read his emotions by observing his countenance, but his eyes were averted to other objects. He no longer glanced towards her. "Ah! well", said Adèle to herself, "his affection for me could not be so easily repulsed, were it so very profound. I will care nothing for him". And yet, somehow, her footstep lagged wearily and her eye occasionally gathered mists on its brightness.
It was now the eve of the fifth of October. An unnatural heat prevailed, consequent on the long drought, the horizon was skirted with a smoky haze and the atmosphere was exceedingly oppressive. Mrs. Dubois, who was suffering from a severe headache, sat in the parlor, half buried in the cushions of an easy-chair. Adèle stood beside her, bathing her head with perfumed water, while Mr. Somers, prostrated by the weather, lay, apparently asleep, upon a sofa.
"That will do, Adèle", said Mrs. Dubois, making a slight motion towards her daughter. "That will do, ma chère, my head is cooler now. Go out and watch for your father. He will surely be here to-night".
Adèle stepped softly out, through the window upon the balcony.
A few minutes after, Mr. Lansdowne came to the parlor door, looked in, inquired for Mrs. Dubois's headache, gazed for a moment, at the serene face of the sleeper on the sofa, and then, perceiving Adèle sitting outside, impelled by an irresistible impulse, went out and joined her.
She was leaning her head upon her hand, with her arm supported by a low, rude balustrade, that ran round the edge of the balcony, and was looking earnestly up the road, to catch the first glimpse of her father. Her countenance had a subdued, sad expression. She was indeed very unhappy. The distance and reserve that had grown up so suddenly between herself and Mr. Lansdowne had become painful to her. She would have rejoiced to return once more to their former habits of frank and vivacious conversation. But she waited for him to renew the familiarity of the past.
She turned her head towards him as he approached, and without raising her eyes, said, "Good evening, Mr. Lansdowne". He bowed, sat down, and they remained several minutes in silence.
"I suppose", said John, at length, making a desperate effort to preserve a composure of manner, entirely at variance with the tumultuous throbbings of his heart, "you are confident of your father's return to-night?"
"O, yes. I look for him every moment. I am quite anxious to hear the result of the expedition".
"I am, also. I hope no harm will come to our good friend, Mr. Norton. Do you know whether he intends to spend the winter here, Miss Adèle?"
"I think he will return to his family. But we shall endeavor to retain him, until we go ourselves".
"You go, Miss Adèle", exclaimed John, unable to conceal his eager interest, "do you leave here?"
"We go to France next month".
"To France!" repeated the young man.
"My father and mother are going to visit their early home. I shall accompany them".
John, aroused by information containing so much of importance in regard to Adèle's future, could not restrain himself from prolonging the conversation. Adèle was willing to answer his inquiries, and in a few minutes they were talking almost as freely and frankly as in the days before Mr. Lansdowne's unfortunately rash avowal of his passion.
Suddenly a thick cloud of dust appeared in the road, and Mr. Dubois, Mr. Norton, and Micah, were soon distinguished turning the heads of their horses towards the house.
Adèle uttered an exclamation of joy, and bounded from her seat. As Mr. Lansdowne made way for her to reach the window, she glanced for a moment at his face, and there beheld again the strange light glowing in his eyes. It communicated a great hope to her heart.
She hastened past him to greet her father.