“No, no, dear child,” cried Mary, in alarm. “You misunderstand me. Do not think for a moment that you are keeping Roger from his home. He—he—oh, how can I tell you, my sweet girl, for fear you may think my words designing ones, and still you should know me better. I would sooner die than cause you sorrow, or make you afraid of me.”
Victoria kissed Mary, and said gently: “Dear Mrs. Willing, I could never suspect you to be anything but good, true, and full of zealous care for my well-being. Next to dear mamma I love and adore you. Then what is this that agitates you so? Will you not tell me?”
“Yes, I will tell you, Victoria. Roger has gone away because—because he loves you.”
“Loves me!” cried the girl, rising and confusedly placing her hands to her head. “Ah, no, dear madam. You are mistaken. He has never seen me.”
“Ah, my dear, he does not need to see you. Love is not born with the sight. It is of the spirit. We have talked of you so much. He has dwelt upon your image, until he is already acquainted with you, and he has flown from you, abashed at his own boldness in daring to love one so far above him.”
Victoria buried her blushing face in her hands, and Mary gently drew the beautiful head to her bosom. “Do not be alarmed, dear one. He is not coming back to disturb your peace. He will never tell you of his love, so now forget that I have spoken, or that such a being as Roger Willing lives. I cannot part with you; your mother has not a warmer affection for you than I. Then why not remain here in America, making short trips to different points of interest, but always making this your abiding place.”
Artful Mary. If she had studied the rules of diplomacy all her life, she could not have taken a surer way of arousing Victoria’s interest in the absent Roger, than by talking as she had done.
Many times for weeks after, Victoria caught herself blushing at what Mary had told her. There is no young girl if told that a man whom she has never seen, and who has never seen her, is madly in love with her, but what will often allow her thoughts to wander to the absent one. “Poor fellow,” she thinks, “I am heartily sorry for him, but of course he did the best thing for himself by going away. I should never have fancied him, and it would have been dreadful to have had him in the same house with me.” Some such thoughts as these often ran through Victoria’s mind, and she would have been thoroughly surprised at herself if anybody had taken her to task as to how many times a day Roger’s name was on her tongue, or in her mind. She would have blushed to answer. Yes, indeed. Artful Mary.
At first Andrew met Victoria only at meal times, and in the drawing-room after dinner, and to his mother’s queries as to how he liked her, he answered that he “never did fancy red heads and owls’ eyes,” much to Mary’s secret satisfaction, but it was not long ere Andrew sought Victoria in her favorite haunts about the grounds, and if he saw her start out for a ramble or canter he was not slow in following her. Victoria did not dislike his attentions. His dark melancholy beauty was extremely fascinating, and Andrew had a manner if he chose to exercise it, that few women could resist. And in a very few weeks he threw all the fascinations of which he was master around the unconscious Victoria. Mesmerism was a subject just being agitated at that time, and Andrew was deeply interested in it. He believed Victoria to be of a yielding, pliant nature, and one easily influenced by magnetism. If they were sitting at the table he would fix his eyes upon her, and presently her eyelids would gently tremble, and then she would raise her eyes like a frightened fawn to his, and he would turn away with a satisfied smile. Again, he would be sitting upon the veranda as she passed out. He would follow her with his eyes, willing her to go so far and no further. She would stop, hesitate, turn back, and again ascend the steps, and seat herself beside him. All this pleased him, and he felt sure of being able to will her to do his bidding at any time when he saw fit. At first he was only interested in her, and had no thought of love or marriage, but as the weeks went by, he felt a longing for her presence when she was absent, and the mere sound of her voice in greeting, sent a thrill through him, which told him that if he did not already love, he was near to the brink.
As for Victoria, she was totally ignorant of any feeling, except friendship, for Andrew Willing, unless it might be a vague uneasiness when in his presence, for which she was unable to account. She knew that she breathed easier when away from him, and that very often she accompanied him on drives and boating, when she did not care to go, but felt some unseen power almost compelling her to do that which was against her will. She often raised her eyes to find his fixed upon her with a strange light in their depths, which made a chill go through her, and at times when she felt this unaccountable feeling, she would steal into the picture-gallery, and gaze long and earnestly at Roger’s quiet, peaceful face. It rested her, she knew not why, and she always went out feeling calmer, and more like her old self ere any disturbing element had come into her life.