CHAPTER VI.

Will Fortune never come with both hands full, But write her fair words still im foulest letters?” Henry IV., Part II.
I PASS over those explanations, that record of Alice’s event- ful history, which Maltravers learnt from her own lips, to confirm
and add to the narrative of the curate, the purport of which is already known to the reader. a
It was many hours before Alice was sufficiently composed to remember the object for which she had sought the curate. But she had laid the letter which she had brought, and which explained all, on the table at the vicarage ; and when Maltravers, having “at last induced Alice, who seemed afraid to lose sight of him for an instant, to retire to her room, and seek some short
repose, returned towards the vicarage, he met Aubrey in the
garden. The old man had taken the friend's acknowledged
licence to read the letter evidently meant for his eye; and, -
alarmed and anxious, he now eagerly sought a consultation with Maltravers. The letter, written in English, as familiar to the
writer as her own tongue, was from Madame de Ventadour. It —
had been evidently dictated by the kindest feelings. After apologising briefly for her interference, she stated that Lord
Vargrave’s marriage with Miss Cameron was now a matter of —
public notoriety ; that it would take place in a few days ; that
it was observed with suspicion that Miss Cameron appeared
nowhere; that she seemed almost a prisoner in her room; that certain expressions which had dropped from Lady Doltimore
iad alarmed her greatly. a proaching event; that, considering Miss Cameron’s recent engage- ment to Mr. Maltauers! suddenly (and, as Valerie thought, ~ unaccountably) broken off, on the arrival of Lord Vargrave; considering her extreme youth, her brilliant fortune; and, Madame _ de Ventadour delicately hinted, considering also Lord Vargrave’s character for unscrupulous determination in the furtherance of any object on which he was bent—considering all this, Ma- dame de Ventadour had ventured to address Miss Cameron’s mother, and to guard her against the possibility of design or deceit. Her best apology for her intrusion must be her deep in- _terest in Miss Cameron, and her long friendship for one to whom -Miss Cameron had been so lately betrothed. If Lady Vargrave were aware of the new engagement, and had sanctioned it, of
ascribed to its real motive, would not be the less forgiven.
___ It was easy for Maltravers to see in this letter how generous _ and zealous had been that friendship for himself which could have induced the woman of the world to undertake so officious a task. But of this he thought not, as he hurried over the lines, and shuddered at Evelyn’s urgent danger.
_ «This intelligence,” said Aubrey, “must be, indeed, a surprise to Lady Vargrave. For we have not heard a word from Evelyn or Lord Vargrave to announce such a marriage; and she (and myself till this day) believed that the engagement between Evelyn and Mr.—, I mean,” said Aubrey with confusion,—* I mean yourself, was still in force: Lord Vargrave’s villany is apparent; we must act immediately. What is to be done?” J will return to Paris to-morrow; I will defeat his machi- ~- nation—expose his falsehood !”
“You may need a proxy for Lady. Vargrave, an authority for Evelyn; one whom Lord Vargrave knows to possess the secret of her birth, her rights: I will go with you. We must speak to Lady Vargrave.”
Maltravers turned sharply round. “And Alice knows not who I am; that I—I an, or was, a few weeks ago, the suitor of another ; and that other the child she has reared as her own |
According to these expressions, it _ would seem that Lady Vargrave was not apprised of the ap- |
course her intrusion was unseasonable and superfluous; but, if —
aes
“ Shall I break it to her?” said Aubrey, pityingly.
“No, no; these lips must inflict the last wrong!”
Maltravers walked away, and the curate saw him no more till night.
In the interval, and late in the evening, Maltravers rejoined Alice,
Unhappy Alice! in the very hour of her joy at my return, is she — to writhe beneath this new affliction ?” ve
The fire burned clear on the hearth—the curtains were drawn —the pleasant but simple drawing-room of the cottage smiled _
its welcome as Maltravers entered, and Alice sprang up to greet — him! It was as if the old days of the music-lesson and the —
meerschaum had come back.
“This is yours,” said Alice, tenderly, as he looked round the _
apartment. “Now—now I know what a blessed thing riches are! Ah, you are looking on that picture—it is of her who supplied your daughter’s place—she is so beautiful, so good, you
will love her as a daughter. Oh, that letter—that—that letter—
I forgot it till now—it is at the vicarage—I must go there immediately, and you will come too—you will advise us.”
“ Alice, I have read the letter—I know all. Alice, sit down _
and hear me—it is you who have to learn from me. In our young days I was accustomed to tell you stories in winter nights like these—stories of love like our own—of sorrows which, at
that time, we only knew by hearsay. I have one now for your ear, |
truer and sadder than they were. Two children, for they were
then little more—children in ignorance of the world—children :
in freshness of heart—children almost in years—were thrown together by strange vicissitudes, more than eighteen years ago, They were of different sexes—they loved and they erred. But the error was solely with the boy; for what was-innocence in
her was but passion in him. He loved her dearly ; but at that
age her qualities were half developed. _He knew her beautiful,
simple, tender ; but he knew not all the virtue, the faith, and the —
nobleness that Heaven had planted in her soul. They parted— they knew not each other’s fate. He sought her anxiously, but
in vain; and sorrow and remorse long consumed him, and her memory threw a shadow over his existence. But again—for his.
love had not the exalted holiness of hers (she was true )—he~ a
at
ht to renew in others the charm he had lost with her. - vain—long—long in vain. Alice, you know to whom the tale "refers. Nay, listen yet. I have heard from the old man yonder hat you were witness to a scene many years ago which deceived you into the belief that you beheld a rival. It was not so: that ady yet lives;—then, as now, a friend to me; nothing more. I grant that, at one time, my fancy allured me to her, but my eart was still true to thee.” re “Bless you for those words!” murmured Alice ; and she crept _ more closely to him. He went on. “Circumstances, which at some calmer occasion you shall hear, again nearly connected my fate by marriage to another. I had then seen you at a distance, unseen by you— een you apparently surrounded by respectability and opulence; and I blessed Heaven that your lot, at least, was not that of 2 _ penury and want.” [Here Maltravers related where he had caught that brief glimpse of Alice '—how he had sought for her again and again in vain.] “From that hour,” he continued, “seeing you in circumstances of which I could not have dared o dream, I felt more reconciled to the past; yet, when on the verge of marriage with another—beautiful, gifted, generous as she was—a thought—a memory half acknowledged—dimly _traced—chained back my sentiments; and admiration, esteem, and gratitude, were not love! Death—a death, melancholy and tragic, forbade this union; and I went forth in the world, a pilgrim and a wanderer. Years rolled away, and I thought I had conquered the desire for love—a desire that had haunted me since I lost thee. But, suddenly and recently, a being, beautiful as yourself—sweet, guileless, and young as you were when we ~ met—woke in me a new and a strange sentiment. I will not - onceal it from you: Alice, at last I loved another! Yet, 2 singular as it may seem to you, it was a certain resemblance to yourself, not in feature, but in the tones of the voice—the name- _ less grace of gesture and manner—the very music of your once happy laugh—those traits of resemblance which I can now ~ account for, and which children catch not from their parents only, - but from: those they most seé, and, loving most, most imitate in
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their tender years ;—all these, I say, made perhaps a chief
attraction, that drew me towards—Alice, are you prepared for —
it ?—drew me towards Evelyn Cameron. Know me in my real character, by my true name: I am that Maltravers to whom the hand of Evelyn was a few weeks ago betrothed!”
He paused and ventured to look up at Alice—she was ex- ceedingly pale, and her hands were tightly clasped together—
but she neither wept nor spoke. The worst was over—he_
continued more rapidly, and with less constrained an effort. “By the art, the duplicity, the falsehood of Lord Vargrave, I was taught in a sudden hour to believe that Evelyn was our daughter—that you recoiled from the prospect of ‘beholding once more the author of so many miseries. I need not tell you, Alice, of the horror that succeeded to love. I pass over the
tortures I endured. By a train of incidents to be related to you
hereafter, I was led to suspect the truth of Vargrave’s tale. I came hither—I have learned all from Aubrey—I regret no more the falsehood that so racked me for the time. I regret no more the rupture of my bond with Evelyn. I regret nothing that brings me at last free and unshackled to thy feet, and acquaints me with thy sublime faith and ineffable love. Here then—here beneath your own roof—here he, at once your earliest friend and foe, kneels to you for pardon and for hope !—he woos you as his wife—his companion to the grave!—forget all his etrors, and be to him, under a holier name, all that you were to him of old!” :
“And you are then Evelyn’s suitor? you are he whom she
loves? I see it all—all!” Alice rose, and, before he was even —
aware of her purpose, or conscious of what she felt, she had vanished from the room.
Long, and with the bitterest feelings, he awaited her return; she came not. At last he wrote a hurried note, imploring her to join him again, to relieve his suspense; to believe his sincerity ; to accept his vows. He sent it to her own room, to which she
had hastened to bury her emotions. In a few minutes there
came to him this answer, written in pencil, blotted with tears,
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“I thank you—I understand your heart—but forgive me—I
annot see you yet—she is so beautiful and good—she is worthy — T shall soon be reconciled—God bless you—bless you
_ The door of the vicarage was opened abruptly, and Maltravers entered with a hasty but heavy tread. .
ag “Go to her—go to that angel—go, I beseech you! Tell her _ that she wrongs me—if she thinks, I can ever wed another—ever
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_ have an object in life, but to atone to,—to merit her, Go— — 3 plead for me.” i | = _Aubrey, who soon gathered from Maltravers what had passed, — _ departed to the cottage—it was near midnight before he returned. _ ~ Maltravers met him in the churchyard, beside the yew-tree. Well, well—what message do you bring ?” “She wishes that we should both set off for Paris to-morrow. _ Not a day is to be lost—we must save Evelyn from this snare.” “Evelyn! Yes, Evelyn shall be saved: but the rest—the _ rest—why do you turn away?” : You are not the poor artist—the wandering adventurer— _ you are the high-born, the wealthy, the renowned Maltravers: Alice has nothing to confer on you: you have won the love of _ Evelyn—Alice cannot doom the child confided to her care to hopeless affection: you love Evelyn— Alice cannot compare herself to the young, and educated, and beautiful creature, whose love is a priceless treasure: Alice prays you not to grieve for A her: she will soon be content and happy in your happiness.’ _ This is the message.” - “ And what said you ?—did you not tell her such words would _ break my heart?” _ “No matter what I said—I mistrust myself when I advise her. Her feelings are truer than all our wisdom!” - Maltravers made no answer, and the curate saw him gliding
rapidly away by the starlit graves towards the village.
7 LA Pe AY Ss £46 PA we Se oes s > 1