CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.
A LABYRINTH OF JEALOUSIES.
No more on that night came the cousins together. If by chance they met,it was to pass one another as strangers unacquainted, exchanging neitherspeech nor look. Further attempt at reconciliation Eustace meant not tomake now; he rather regretted having gone so far already.
As for Reginald, he would not have listened to it. A sentiment inspiredhostility to his cousin, far stronger than any vexation at his havingforsaken the King's cause--altogether different. For it was jealousy;the same he had first felt during that exciting scene at Hollymead, andsince brooded over till it had become an all-pervading passion. Eustacehad replaced him in the affections of Vaga Powell--or he at leastsuspected it--that was provocation enough for antipathy, even hatred.And almost this he now entertained for him.
Whatever the political disagreement among the others assembled atMontserrat House, there was no open exhibition of it Royalists andRoundheads stood in groups, or moved about, chatting in a familiar, manyof them friendly, way. Officers who had been face to face on thebattlefield, and done their best to take one another a lives, here metin mutual good humour, with laughing allusion to the changedcircumstances. And when the dancing commenced, gentlemen might be seen,noted adherents of the Parliament, some wearing its uniform, with ladiesas their partners strongly affected to the King's cause; while, in thecouples _vis-a-vis_ to them, the political sentiments would be reversed.
But the majority of those who danced, being the gay _jeunesse_, had nothought of politics, nor care for them one way or the other. They left,that to their elders, and those more seriously disposed; to themselvesthe delights of the dance being the controlling influence of the hour.
Still there were some, even of the youthful, with whom this was but asecondary consideration. Sabrina Powell preferred strolling about thegrounds with Sir Richard Walwyn, for they had much to say to oneanother. Of late their opportunities of meeting had been few and farbetween, and they were _fiancee_.
Different with Vaga. She was an ardent worshipper of Terpsichore, andfew equalled her in the accomplishment of dancing--scarce any excelling.She was up in every set; and, could she have multiplied herself tocount a score, would have found a partner for every unit. A very hostsought, with eagerness, to engage her.
There was one who observed this with a secret vexation--Clarisse. Notthat she was without her share of aspiring partners; she had them innumbers equalling those of her "country cousin." But even that did notsatisfy her; craving universal incense she wanted all.
Possibly, she would have cared less had the rival belle been any otherthan Vaga Powell. But already between the two had sprung up rivalry ofa nature different from any competition as to who should shine brightestat a ball. In a word, they were both in love with Eustace Trevor, andeach knew, or suspected it, of the other.
On this night Clarisse had the advantage. Though her mother ostensiblygave the entertainment, she herself was the promoter of it--in a mannermistress of the ceremonies. As such, commanding the music, thearrangement of the dances, and, to a certain extent, who should dancewith whom. Not much cared she, however, to exercise this control overother than Eustace Trevor, which she did so effectually, that the twodanced together oftener than seemed consistent with ballroom etiquette,and far too frequently to escape observation.
Remarks were made about it, and by the partisans of both sides. "Thatexplains Madame Lalande's defection from our cause," said the Cavaliers."We now know why this entertainment is being given," remarked theParliamentarians; "clearly for Captain Eustace Trevor."
And Vaga Powell! What thought she? How did she feel about it? As oneat first perplexed, then sorely pained. She who, on the summit ofRuardean Hill, had talked so lightly of love--almost boasted of neverhaving experienced the sentiment--was now within its toils and sufferingits torments.
And but little of its delights had she yet known--nothing beyond hopesand vague anticipations. For from the hour when Eustace Trevor pluckedthe ostrich feathers from his hat, replacing them by those of the egret,she and he had never another opportunity of taking up the thread of thedialogue her sister had so inopportunely interrupted. Severalinterviews between them since, but all under surveillance or constraint.This, however, had failed to change or weaken the sentiment with whichhe had inspired her; perhaps strengthened it. True to her profession ofconstancy, when she said--"If I ever had loved a man, I think I shouldlove him still," she did love him still; on that night with a passionburning as it was bitter.
And the very thing that was filling her heart with gloom gave joy toanother. Glad was Reginald Trevor to see his cousin Eustace payingattentions in the quarter where he seemed paying them--to ClarisseLalande. During all the intervening time since he himself had sufferedrebuff, or fancied it, despair had never quite mastered him. As mostyoung Cavaliers, he believed himself a lady--slaughterer irresistible;and to the belief of his having made a conquest of Vaga Powell he wouldstill have confidently clung; but his cousin, of late having betteropportunity, had destroyed his chances. And now, seeing Eustaceapparently neglectful of her, while all attention to Clarisse Lalande,the old confidence returned to him: he had been labouring under amisconception, and Vaga Powell loved him after all!
Indeed, but for a lingering belief in this, he would not have beenthere. No thought of ball or supper had brought him to MontserratHouse, but the hope of holding speech with her. For, notwithstandingall that had occurred, he entertained such hope. True, he had offendedher father; but that was in the exercise of his duties, and under someprovocation. Perhaps it was forgotten, or might be forgiven; perhapsshe had more than forgiven it already. This night he would know.
An opportunity of speaking with her soon offered. There was littledifficulty in his obtaining that. Madame Lalande kept no guard over hernieces, having enough to do in looking after her _chere Clarisse_. Andtheir father was not with them. If within the house he was not apartaker in its gaieties. With no relish for such, he had declinedtaking part in them. But liberal in this, as in everything else, heplaced no constraint on the inclinations of his girls. They were freeto dance, as to walk, ride, or go hawking.
The two were standing together as Reginald Trevor approached them. Hehad but bowed as he was received on entering, and felt gratified athaving his salutation returned. Still more now when permitted to enterinto conversation with them; finding, if not affability, anything butthe distant coldness he had half anticipated. The truth was they hadheard many things about him in the interval; that, though fighting for acause they detested, he had fought gallantly, and gained renown. It iswoman's nature to look leniently on the faults of a man who comportshimself with courage; and these girls were both of generous disposition.Besides, he was now a defeated man; if not humiliated, a prisoner.Enough that to claim their compassion, and he had it.
Only a few words were exchanged between him and Sabrina--commonplace,and relating to things of a past time. There was one she more desiredconversing with; and, turning away, left Reginald Trevor alone with hersister. Long ere then she had learnt where Vaga's predilection lay, andcould trust this young lady to take care of herself.
"I suppose you've quite forgotten me, Mistress Vaga?" he said, whenSabrina was out of hearing.
"You give me credit for a very short memory, Captain Trevor," shepromptly returned, but in no unkindly tone. "Why should you think I'veforgotten you?"
"Oh! so many matters and events since I last had the pleasure of seeingyou. And you've met so many other people, more interesting than myself,I could hardly hope for your bearing me in mind."
He spoke in a subdued, humble way, unlike his old swagger; which had theeffect of still farther inclining her to kindness. As yet, however, itwas but sympathy for his misfortunes.
"But, Captain Trevor, all that would not justify me in forgetting afriend; as I think you were, and would have continued, but for thesetroubles that have turned so many friends to foes."
/> "No one regrets them more than I; and for the best of reasons."
He had a reason for regretting them in the fact of his being a prisoner.No light matter just then; for, though not kept confined in a prison,he might at any moment be cast into one, only to be led forth from it toexecution. The King had not yet ceased fulminating his threats ofretaliation; and, should these be carried out, he, in all likelihood,would be among the foremost of its victims.
He was not speaking the truth, however, in saying he regretted thetroubles. As a soldier of fortune they were bread to him, promisingfame with promotion. He might look to regaining his liberty byexchange, or otherwise, and once more get upon the ladder of ascent.
Nor had the reasons he spoke of aught to do with his being a prisoner;though she seemed, or affected, so to understand them.
"Indeed, yes," she rejoined, "you have been very unfortunate, CaptainTrevor. I'm sorry you should have been taken; still more, fighting onthe side you were."
"Oh, thank you!" he returned, encouraged by her kind words, and withoutheeding the last clause. "But 'tis not for that I care. What makes meregret the war is the loss of friendships. And," he added, speaking ina lower tone, but more impressively, "the fear of having lost yours."
"But you have not, sir--so much as it is worth. My father was angry inthose days; so were we all. But, then, you were not to blame--we couldnot think that, did not--knowing you acted under orders."
"Ah! never had I an order to execute so much against my wish, never onewith such disagreeable consequences, separating me so long from--"
He hesitated to say whom or what. But, mistaking her look of simpleinquiry for one of a more interested nature, he completed the speechwith one other word--"yourself."
She started, looking a little confused, but remained silent; which he,again misinterpreting, took as a permission to go on, which he did, withincreased fervour.
"Yes, Mistress Vaga! that was my chief regret, never out of my mind fora moment since. Many the night on watch and guard have I thought ofyou. Sleepless they would have been, even without duty to keep meawake."
"But why all this, sir? Why should I be a cause to keep you awake?"
She spoke in a tone that suddenly checked and chilled him. For thequestion recalled a fact he seemed to overlook, or had forgotten--thatVaga Powell had never acknowledged him in the light of a lover; neverbefore given him permission to address words to her such as he was nowspeaking.
"Ah!" he answered, with a disappointed air, "if you do not know why,'tis not much use my telling you." Then adding, with a sigh, "I hadhopes you would have understood me."
She did understand him perfectly; knew his aspirations and theirhopelessness. And never was she less inclined to give heed to them thanat that moment. For close by she saw her cousin Clarisse by the side ofhis cousin Eustace, the two standing up as partners for a dance about tobegin.
If Reginald Trevor suffered the pangs of an unrequited love, Vaga Powellwas in a very torment of jealousy. For the air and attitude of theother two seemed to speak of something more than the mere indifferenceof dancing partners. The Creole had hold of his arm, was hanging uponit, her eyes upturned to his face with a languishing, loving smile,which he appeared to reciprocate.
Rather a pleasing sight to Reginald, for reasons that just thenpresented themselves. But a painful one to her with whom he wasconversing--torture itself.
All at once a thought occurred to her, which promised something, if notrelief. Anyhow, it gave this and more to Reginald Trevor. For of themany seeking her hand for the dance, he was the one preferred, and withan alacrity that somewhat surprised, while delighting him.
His delight would have been less could he have fathomed her motive anddesign. Little dreamt he of either, or that he was about to be utilisedsolely as a pawn for playing the game of _piques_.