The Duchess of Rosemary Lane. A Novel. Farjeon Benjamin Leopold

Чтение книги онлайн.

      "Lady Temple!" cries Nelly indignantly.

      "You must not agitate me, Miss Marston. Oblige me by holding this glass while I speak. If you wish to leave the house, you may do so."

      "It is so generous and good of you to threaten me!" says the girl scornfully; "knowing my position. If I had any shelter but this, I would not stop with you another day."

      "You are only showing your ingratitude, Miss Marston, I do not threaten you, and I will not be contradicted. I promised your mother before she died that you should have a home here while I live, and I will not turn you away. If you go, you go of your own accord. I tell you again I know perfectly well what is stirring within that busy head of yours. You are like your mother, no better, and no worse, and I knew her well enough; never content, never content unless every man she saw was at her feet."

      "And yet," says Nelly more quietly, "you have spoken slightingly of her more than once because she sacrificed herself, as you term it, for love."

      "Yes, she was caught at last, and was punished."

      "It was a happy punishment, then. She would not have changed her lot with yours, Lady Temple."

      "She was punished, I tell you. As you will be, if you do not take care. You will live to prove it, if you are not mindful of yourself. You have a pretty face-psha! we are women and no one but ourselves hears what I say. I had a pretty face once, and I knew its power, and used it as you wish to do. But not with my nephew, Miss Marston, mark that! You have all the world to choose from, with the exception of my nephew. And you fancy you know him, I have no doubt-simpleton! You know as much as a baby of the world and of men of the world. Take an old woman's counsel-marry in your own station-"

      "My mother was a lady," interrupts Nelly, with a curl of her lip, "and I am one."

      "Pooh! Nonsense! You have no money. You are a poor girl, and no lady-as ladies go," she adds unconsciously uttering a truism in her attempt to soften the effect of her words. "There's the gardener's son. You can't do better than marry him. His father has been all his life at Springfield, and has saved money I hear. He is continually making you presents of flowers, and the housekeeper tells me-"

      With a burning consciousness that these words are reaching other ears than her own, Nelly again interrupts her mistress:

      "When you have finished insulting me, Lady Temple, I shall be glad to leave the room."

      "You shall not leave the room till I am asleep. Marry whom you like except my nephew. If he marries you he is a beggar by it. I am tired of talking. I will take my medicine."

      She empties the glass, and sinks back on her pillow. The medicine is an opiate, but even while she yields to its influence, she continues to murmur, in a tone so low that only Nelly now can hear her.

      "Marriage, indeed! As if he means it, and as if, meaning it even, he dared to thwart me! A pair of fools! They will rue the day!"

      Thus she mutters until sleep overpowers her, and she takes her theme with her into the land of dreams.

      Mr. Temple steals from his hiding-place.

      "She is in a sweet temper," he says in a whisper, placing his hands on Nelly's shoulders, and drawing her to him. "I was very nearly coming forward and spoiling everything; but I couldn't afford to do it. Nelly, I want to know about that gardener's son."

      She yields to his embrace for a moment, then draws away.

      "I can tell you nothing now. Go, for my sake, lest she should awake."

      "For your sake, then. Do not forget. In an hour, by the brook."

      "I ought not to come."

      "You have promised," he says, in a louder tone.

      "Hush-hush!" she entreats. "Yes, I will come."

      Before the hour has passed, he has appeased his hunger, and is standing by the brook, waiting for Nelly. The night is most peaceful and lovely, and Mr. Temple, as he smokes his cigar, pays homage to it in an idle way, and derives a patronising pleasure from the shadows in the starlit waters. His thoughts are not upon the graceful shapes, although his eyes behold them. What, then, does he see in their place? Do the floating reflections bear a deeper meaning to his senses than they would convey under ordinary conditions? Does he see any foreshadowing of the future there? No. His thoughts are all upon the present, and what he beholds is merely tinged with such poetry as springs from animal sentiment. He may trick himself into a finer belief, but he cannot alter its complexion. He is in an ineffably pleasant mood, and his pulses are stirred by just that feeling of pleasurable excitement which sheds a brighter gloss on all surrounding things. At the sound of a step behind him he smiles and his heart beats faster. "It is Nelly," he whispers. But when he turns, and confronts the gardener's son, the smile leaves his face.

      "I ask your pardon, sir," says the young man, "can I have a word with you?"

      "Ah!" says Mr. Temple, with a look of curiosity at the young fellow, "you are the gardener's son."

      "Yes, sir."

      Mr. Temple regards the intruder attentively, and says, rather haughtily:

      "You have selected a singular time for a conference."

      "I must speak to you now, sir."

      "Must?"

      "If you please, sir."

      "By-and-by will not do?"

      "By-and-by may be too late, sir."

      Mr. Temple looks at the gardener's son still more earnestly.

      "Attend to what I am about to say, young man. You have lived all your life at Springfield, I believe?"

      "I was born here, sir."

      "Have you an idea as to who will be the next master of this estate?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Do you wish to continue on it?"

      "That's as it may be, sir."

      These questions have been asked with a perfect consciousness of the subject which the gardener's son wishes to approach, and have been so worded as to have an indirect bearing upon it. The answer to the last, spoken with manly independence, conveys to Mr. Temple the knowledge that the gardener's son is not ignorant of their bearing, and the tone in which it is given, although perfectly respectful, does not please him.

      "I must request you," he says, with a masterful wave of his hand, "to choose some other time for your confidence."

      "You expect some one, perhaps, sir."

      Mr. Temple smiles complacently. In the few words that have passed, the battle has been fairly opened. He determines that it shall be short.

      "As you seem resolved," he says, taking out his watch and consulting it, "to force yourself upon me, I will give you just five minutes. Now, what have you to say?"

      He is aware that he is taking the young fellow at a disadvantage by his abrupt method; but, being a lawyer, he is not nice as to the means of gaining an advantage.

      "It is about Miss Marston," says the gardener's son, after a slight pause.

      "What СКАЧАТЬ