St. Martin's Eve: A Novel

by Mrs. Henry Wood

[CHAPTER XX.]

LOVE'S FIRST DREAM

Hours, days, weeks, rolled on, after the departure of Miss Carr from the Château de Beaufoy, and no outward change had taken place in its occupants. But in the inward heart of one, how much!

The portrait progressed towards its completion, though not rapidly. It was a good likeness of Adeline, and admirably executed. St. John had exactly caught that sad expression which sometimes sat on her features, forming their chief interest: earth's sorrow mingling with the heavenly beauty of an angel. Had the portrait been preserved, people might have said afterwards they could read her history there.

St. John was also teaching Adeline drawing: or, rather, trying to improve her in it. One day Madame de Castella desired her to produce her school-drawings--and she had done none since she left. Accordingly, some chalk-heads and a few landscapes came forth. There was not much taste displayed in the heads, St. John observed; more in the landscapes, in two of them especially--a glimpse of the Nile and some lotus lilies, its fountains surrounded by their date-trees; and a charming scene in her own fair land. That there was great room for improvement, every one could but acknowledge, and Mr. St. John offered to give her some lessons. All of them--Madame de Castella, Aunt Agnes, and the old grandmother--were pleased at his offer. How could they be so blind? How could they be so thoughtless? St. John had acquired an extraordinary influence over them all. Madame de Castella was much attached to him; she seemed to feel a sort of pride in him, as a fond mother will feel in the perfections of an only son. He frequently dined with them; all his evenings were spent there as a matter of course. He had become necessary to their everyday life. When he was away, nothing went right; when he was present, it was sunshine to all. And yet they forgot that there was another who might be equally awake to the charms his presence brought; the only one to whom it could bring real danger. Perhaps the thought of danger to Adeline's heart never entered the head of Madame de Castella: perhaps, if it ever did momentarily cross her, she deemed that Adeline, from her engagement, was safe.

Many an hour, when Madame de Castella innocently deemed that Adeline was sitting mumchance in the painting-room, Louise embroidering her own caps, at which she was a famous hand, by her side, and Mr. St. John working hard at the portrait, without a thought beside it, would two out of those three be idling their morning underneath the lime-trees, St. John reading to her, chiefly books of poetry, its theme often love. Then he would lay down the book, and talk to her, in that tender, persuasive voice so soothing to the ear but dangerous to the heart. Thus they would sit on for hours, her hand sometimes clasped in his, he the reader, she the listener, devouring together this sweet and subtle poetry, which has in it so much of fascination. Oh, the hazardous life for the heart's peace!--when both were in the heyday of youth, singularly attractive, and one, at least, had never loved. And yet it was neither stopped nor interfered with, nor was its danger suspected.

One day they were standing at the open doors of the painting-room. Mr. St. John was speaking of Castle Wafer. He had before described its attractions, natural and imparted, to Adeline, had made sketches for her of some of its points, from memory. He was saying that when Castle Wafer was his own--and it would be some time--he should build a room similar to the one they were now in, for himself and his work, and lay out a plot of ground as the plot before them was laid out: it would serve as a momento of this period of their early acquaintance. "And in that room, Adeline," he continued, "we will spend a great portion of our time."

"We!" exclaimed Adeline.

The interruption awoke him to reality; for he had been as one buried in a dream, and was unconscious at the moment that he spoke aloud. Laughing as he made his apology, he bent his head towards her; but even then his voice took a dangerously sweet and persuasive tone.

He had spoken inadvertently. But, the truth was, he had latterly been so accustomed, in his inmost self, to associate Adeline with hereafter--his future plans, his future home, his future happiness--that he had unguardedly given utterance to his presumptuous thoughts: he would not so offend again.