It was about this time that Derval's last letter from Clara, written before his illness at the Cape, came to the hands of Rookleigh, and conceiving, from the animus of that in which it was enclosed, it might seem to widen the breach between the lovers, he, by the assistance of little hot water to moisten the envelope, made himself master of the contents, and adding a bitter postscript in imitation of Derval's writing, he reclosed it, and, aware that Lord Oakhampton was absent in London, resolved to deliver it in person, and thus achieve, perhaps, an introduction to Clara.
Inspired by a new and very remarkable scheme, he repaired to Bayview Villa, and sending up his card, was ushered into the drawing-room.
The apartment was a double one, divided by an archway, in which hung curtains of blue silk, edged with silver lace, and festooned partly with white silk cord and tassels. There was a sound, the rustling of a dress in the inner room; but at first Rookleigh saw only a white hand and arm—an arm so taper round and marvellously beautiful that he had never before seen anything like it. A diamond bracelet clasped the wrist. The hand slightly parted the curtains—for Clara was there, with his card in her hand, striving to still the painful beating of her heart.
Then her whole figure appeared: a girl tall, slender, perfect in grace and symmetry, her dark violet eyes full of earnest inquiry, the sweet lips and mignonne face, all expressive of it too. Lovely, dainty, and refined, Clara Hampton stood before him.
Would she offer him that lovely hand, permit him to touch it? was his first thought; but in a second more it was placed confidingly within his own; while Clara, who blushed deeply at first, now grew pale as the new-fallen snow.
Never before had he stood in the presence of a girl so quietly patrician in bearing and appearance.
"Mr. Rookleigh Hampton?" said she, glancing at the card, and with enforced calmness of tone and manner.
"Derval's brother," replied the traitor, and no other introduction was necessary, though at the mention of Derval's name, he could see how anxiety mingled with hauteur in her sensitive lips and eyes.
"You are, of course, aware of the arrangement my brother made about—about your letters?" said Rookleigh.
"You sent him all mine?" asked Clara in a breathless voice.