On the morrow, Lord Albert arrived at the palace, but late; and was obliged to hurry through the apartments, in order to be in time for his presentation. This formality gone through, he was leisurely retracing his way to rejoin the Glenmores, who stood in a distant part of the circle, when his eyes were attracted to a form which he thought he recognised, but so changed, so pale, so much taller than he had been used to recollect as the image of the person whom the features represented, that he stopped for a moment in doubt. But that moment was sufficient to make him remember all. It was Lady Adeline Seymour who stood before him. For a moment he paused, and was irresolute how to act. His head swam round, and every object in the room became one confused mass. He looked for a way to escape; but escape there was none, without causing much observation, the circle was so closely drawn; and he found he must inevitably proceed in the direction where this magic phantom stood. He endeavoured to arm himself for the dreaded trial; but with every nerve trembling, and every pulse beating, he was forced to move on. He endeavoured to fix his eyes on the ground, but, in despite of himself, they were constantly raised to the object that so irresistibly attracted them. As he drew nearer, he observed Lady Dunmelraise leaning on the arm of her daughter. Again he started, and gasped with uncontrollable emotion. The Court was breaking up. The current of the throng set in one way, and pressed upon him till he found himself absolutely borne close to the very beings whom, of all others, it caused him the most violent agitation of mingled feelings to meet. "Lord Albert D'Esterre" exclaimed Lady Dunmelraise, and, courtesying, she half smiled as she recognised him. He bowed in silence, unable to speak. Lady Dunmelraise continued to address him:—"Have you been long at Munich, Lord Albert?" "Yes—no—yes—no. I have been"——and he murmured a few incoherent words that admitted of any interpretation, but which she did not misunderstand.
"Adeline, dear!" she said, turning to her daughter, whose head had drooped, and whose eyes sought the ground, "Adeline! do you not recognise Lord Albert D'Esterre?" Lady Adeline bowed without speaking, or raising her head. She was powerless. Lord Albert's eyes were fixed in stupified amazement on her. The crowd had now congregated around them, and it was impossible for either party to move. Painful as this situation was, Lord Albert thought he read, in the tremor of Lady Adeline's frame, a something indefinable indeed, but which, nevertheless, breathed of tender reminiscence. In another minute, the glove and fan which she held in her hand dropped from her trembling hold.
Lord Albert hastened to recover them; and, in presenting them to her, the whole recollection of the scene at the Court of London flashed vividly on his mind: the myrtle sprig, the look that had accompanied the bequest of it to him, all returned to his remembrance; and had it faded entirely from hers? He ventured not to speak; but in this act of common courtesy, while holding the fan by one end as she touched it at the other, there was a mutually tremulous vibration that passed through it, which told him of all that was thrilling in her heart at the moment, and which instinctively conveyed to him a renovated gleam of hope. Under these feelings, Lord Albert, in his turn, stooped his head to hide the tear that started to his eye, as he acknowledged—for how could he do otherwise than acknowledge?—that this was not the feeling of one indifferent to him.
It needed, however, only a moment's reflection to repress the presumptuous joy which for an instant filled his breast; and, with wounds fresh opened, he sought the opportunity which a movement in the crowd afforded him to rush from the palace to his carriage. Thence he drove impetuously to his hotel, called his servants, gave orders for instant preparations for departure, and hastily changing his dress, and desiring his carriage to attend him at Lord Glenmore's hotel, proceeded thither.
He entered with excited feelings, and a spirit irritated by the most contradictory emotions, and half-inclined to reproach Lord Glenmore for having exposed him to the painful scene which he had just passed through. Lord Albert met him on the staircase, that moment returned from Court. Lord Glenmore looked at him at first with astonishment, and then at his change of dress.
"Glenmore," said Lord Albert in a hurried tone, "I must speak to you;"—and as they entered his apartment, he continued, in agitation:
"Why have you exposed me to this scene? Why did you not tell me that she was here? I have met Adeline;"—and he sunk into a chair, unable to utter more.
"My dear D'Esterre," Lord Glenmore replied, "forgive me. You must know how far it is from any wish of my heart to pain or agitate yours. That you should have met Lady Adeline under circumstances distressing to your feelings, you may believe I deeply lament: that I knew she was resident here, it could never be my intention to conceal from you: but that your meeting will be ultimately productive of mutual happiness to you both (however agonizing at the moment), I cannot for an instant doubt." Lord Albert paced the room in agitation.
"Hear me; only hear me, D'Esterre, for a few moments." Lord Albert again cast himself into a seat.
"Let me tell you, then, quietly, that since we parted, and particularly since our residence in this place, Lady Adeline has become the intimate friend of my wife. Her secret thoughts have been revealed to Georgina. Need I tell what these thoughts are? They reveal an attachment the truest and most refined that ever warmed a heart, and that heart is wholly and unchangeably your own. Was it possible, D'Esterre, that, knowing you as I do, I should allow what I believe to be the truth to remain secret, and not inform my wife that your affections were in reality centred in Lady Adeline? And again, as your friend, knowing, or, at least, surmising, all those unfortunate circumstances which had arisen to separate you, that I should not endeavour to clear up the misapprehension, and remedy the evil? Was it, too, possible, would it have been the part of a real friend, had I deferred for an instant seeking to place every thing in its true light to Lady Dunmelraise? I should, indeed, have been unworthy of the character, if, from a momentary fear of your displeasure, I had forborne to do so. This I have done, D'Esterre;"—and Lord Glenmore added, half smiling, and extending his hand to him as he spoke, "and for this, as well as for the meeting that has just taken place, I feel you cannot blame me."