A glance of triumph shot across her face as she indulged in this emotion of revenge; the most deceitful and reprehensible of human feelings—revenge against a child—how sad at best—how sure to bring with it its recompense of bitterness of spirit and remorse! But Cornelia's heart had been rudely crushed, and in the ruin of her best affections, her mother had substituted noxious passions of many kinds—pride chief of all.
While thus excited and indignant, she saw Edward Villiers. He came into her box; the lady with her was totally unaware of what had been passing in her thoughts, nor reverted to the name mentioned as having any connexion with her. She asked Villiers if it were true that he was going to be married? Lady heard the question; she turned on him her eyes full of significant meaning, and with a smile of scorn answered for him, "O yes, Mr. Villiers is going to be married. His bride is young, beautiful, and portionless; but he has the tastes of a hermit—he means to emigrate to America—his simple and inexpensive habits are admirably suited to the wilderness."
This was said as if in jest, and answered in the same tone. The third in the trio joined in, quite unaware of the secret meaning of the conversation. Several bitter allusions were made by Lady Lodore, and the truth of all she said sent her words home to Edward's heart. She drew, as if playfully, a representation of highbred indigence, that made his blood curdle. As if she could read his thoughts, she echoed their worst suggestions, and unrolled the page of futurity, such as he had often depicted it to himself, presenting in sketchy, yet forcible colours, a picture from which his soul recoiled. He would have escaped, but there was a fascination in the topic, and in the very bitterness of spirit which she awakened. He rather encouraged her to proceed, while he abhorred her for so doing, acknowledging the while the justice of all she said. Lady Lodore was angry, and she felt pleasure in the pain she inflicted; her wit became keener, her sarcasm more pointed, yet stopping short with care of any thing that should betray her to their companion, and avoiding, with inimitable tact, any expression that should convey to one not in the secret, that she meant any thing more than raillery or good-humoured quizzing, as it is called.
At length Villiers took his leave. "Were I," he said, "the unfortunate man you represent me to be, you would have to answer for my life this night. But re-assure yourself—it is all a dream. I have no thoughts of marrying; and the fair girl, whose fate as my wife Lady Lodore so kindly compassionates, is safe from every danger of becoming the victim of my selfishness and poverty."
This was said laughing, yet an expressive intonation of voice conveyed his full meaning to Cornelia. "I have done a good deed if I have prevented this marriage," she thought; "yet a thankless one. After all, he is a gentleman, and under sister Bessy's guardianship, poor Ethel might fall into worse hands."
While Lady Lodore thus dismissed her anger and all thought of its cause, Villiers felt more resentment than had ever before entered his kind heart. The truths which the lady had spoken were unpalatable, and the mode in which they were uttered was still more disagreeable. He hated her for having discovered them, and for presenting them so vividly to his sight. At one moment he resolved never to see Ethel more; while he felt that he loved her with tenfold tenderness, and would have given worlds to become the source of all happiness to her—wishing this the more ardently, because her mother had pictured him as being the cause to her of every ill.
Edward's nature was very impetuous, but perfectly generous. The tempest of anger allayed, he considered all that Lady Lodore had said impartially; and while he felt that she had only repeated what he had told himself a thousand times, he resolved not to permit resentment to controul him, and to turn him from the right path. He felt also, that he ought no longer to delay acting on his good resolutions. His intercourse with Miss Fitzhenry had begun to attract attention, and must therefore cease. Once again he would ride over to Richmond—once again see her—say farewell, and then stoically banish every pleasant dream—every heart-enthralling hope—willingly sacrificing his dearest wishes at the shrine of her welfare.
[CHAPTER VIII]
She to a window came, that opened west,
Towards which coast her love his way addrest,
There looking forth, she in her heart did find
Many vain fancies working her unrest,
And sent her winged thoughts more swift than wind
To bear unto her love the message of her mind.
THE FAERIE QUEEN.