No sooner was he alone, than he paced the room in all directions, uttering broken sentences of, "Gone—gone—not to return!—without one word of farewell!"—Then he cast himself first into one chair, then into another; then arose abruptly, and striking his forehead, cried, "It is so. The die is cast, and all is over. But I will write to Lady Dunmelraise.—No; rather I will go myself to her. I will upbraid her duplicity, and shame Adeline for this unworthy conduct." Then again, sinking into a calmer mood, but one of deeper anguish, he said, "It is too plain, it is too evident. Why should I seek that which I know already? No, no," he added, with a bitter smile, "Adeline shall not have it in her power to say that I was the first to break our engagement. Lady Dunmelraise shall not avail herself of any precipitation on my part, to dissolve a tie which she wishes broken, but knows not how to break. Adeline shall herself give me my dismissal; for it is Adeline who has coldly, cruelly, and shamelessly cast me off." Here he felt a check. There was a sort of echo that gave back the sentence in mockery to his ear. "Adeline has cast me off," seemed repeated in bitter derision. There are words and circumstances which occur in the life of every one, when something more than the usual meaning of the one, or the common import of the other, appears to attach a consequence to them beyond their own individual value. So strongly did this feeling come over Lord Albert at the present moment, as he referred all blame to Lady Adeline, that a sudden revulsion of sensation rendered his mind a chaos. Still his unwillingness to acknowledge himself in fault made him recall every trivial occurrence which could confirm his jealous doubts, and dwell on these till he again persuaded himself that he was the innocent and aggrieved person.
Mastered by this false impression, he determined to remain silent, and await his expected dismissal. "Then," he said, "then will be the time for me to speak of my wrongs." His mind was turbulent and gloomy all that day; but when the evening came, he habitually sought the circle in which he had been too much accustomed of late to pass his time, and which had become necessary to him. As Lady Tilney had a soirée, he drove to her house; and in this routine of what is termed pleasure he courted and found that torpor of reflection which it is its peculiar and baneful property to produce.
Lady Hamlet Vernon, who had heard from Mr. Foley of Lady Dunmelraise's sudden departure, and who felt like one snatched from the perilous brink of an abyss on receiving the intelligence, was now once more enabled to put forth all her fascinations; and on that evening devoted herself, with successful ardour, to the task of engaging Lord Albert's attention, and diverting his mind from painful retrospection. With all a woman's wiles, she suited her discourse to his taste; and, without too much or too little display, brought her varied talents into view, not as though they were her own, but merely the reflection caught from Lord Albert's; existing but through him and for him; by him to be fostered and improved, or by him to be crushed and dissolved, at pleasure.
Who but a woman can enter into this refinement of enchantment? Who but a woman can glory in being a slave? The effect Lady Hamlet Vernon produced on Lord Albert this evening was that of a lulling spell; an influence which she always possessed in greater degree, in proportion to the racking doubts and anxieties under which he laboured, and which rendered him the easier prey to her seducing arts. When he parted from her, accordingly, on that evening, he felt grateful for the solace which her friendship and devotion seemed invariably to afford. False and unstable as was its basis, he leant on it with mistaken confidence; for he had plunged into the deceptive sea of error, and was doomed to be the sport of every incidental circumstance that floated on the surface of his affections.
On the following morning, his cruel, unjust opinions of Lady Dunmelraise and her daughter were confirmed, upon reading in the newspapers an announcement of Lady Dunmelraise's having left town, accompanied by a remark, in the usual language of similar information, that it was understood the lovely Lady Adeline was soon to be led to the hymeneal altar by Mr. George Foley. He cast down the paper with a feeling of sickness at his heart, which again gave way to a sense of deep injury; and then once more was renewed the determination to clear up the question by a direct application to Lady Dunmelraise: but the false pride of wounded feelings, offended honour, indignation at being deceived, and all the minor concomitants of self-love, brought back the tide of error which swept his thoughts into another channel, and with the sullen gloom of despair he finally said, "No; the issue of this strife must soon come of itself: let it come: it shall neither be retarded nor hastened by me."
While Lord Albert was thus suffering the penalty of his own mistaken, erring conduct, Lady Adeline's sufferings had not been less painfully acute; with this only difference, that self-reproach had never torn her breast; and agonizing as were her feelings on the morning when she returned from Avington Priory, they were enviable in comparison with those which racked his heart. Lady Dunmelraise had given orders, the previous evening, that her daughter should not be disturbed on the following day; concluding that the fatigue of the fête would be to her doubly trying, and that she would require a long and complete rest. She was much surprised, therefore, when she came to breakfast, to find Lady Adeline awaiting her. Her countenance and air at once told a melancholy truth to Lady Dunmelraise; and she felt not only that rest had been a stranger to her, but that some more decided event, and more painful than any which had yet befallen her, must have occurred, to have, in so brief a space, effected such ravages on her youth and bloom. Nor did she remain long in ignorance of this so sudden change; for Lady Adeline, meeting her mother's embrace, with many convulsive sobs breathed out her entreaty to be taken immediately from London, and to be spared her being called upon to witness any more of those agonizing scenes, such as she had been exposed to at Avington Priory.
"I have done enough, I have done enough, dearest mamma," she exclaimed, "to show Albert an indifference which I never can really feel towards him; and you will not, I am sure, condemn your poor child to any more similar trials." She then detailed to Lady Dunmelraise the particulars of the last night's occurrences, who saw too plainly, and shuddered as she saw, that this strife of suppressed feeling had shaken the frame of her child, and not only blighted her happiness, but endangered her very existence.
"My sweet Adeline," said Lady Dunmelraise with the tenderest earnestness, "would that I could as easily take all sorrow from you as I can now comply with this your request! You shall no longer endure a protracted stay here: we will leave town directly."
Lady Adeline knew her mother's heart, and doubted not of her acquiescence in her wishes; but there was a manner of feeling with her at the moment, which was grateful to her wounded heart beyond the mere act of compliance; and as she wept on her mother's shoulder, she said,
"I am an unthankful being to feel unhappy when I have such a parent." Lady Dunmelraise kissed away her tears; and having done all in her power to soothe, left her with the secret intention to arrange their immediate departure. Scarcely was Lady Adeline alone, than she looked fearfully around, as though the very precincts of the room upbraided her for going away, and as though she had voluntarily sought to take a step which was for ever to part her from Lord Albert.