In Silk Attire: A Novel. William Black

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ at home from the beginning. My father has only done what any well-thinking man would have done in his place – and you mustn't fret yourself about such a trifle – "

      "I knew you would never acknowledge I was robbing you, Will; but I am. And all the time you were in Russia, and in Canada, whenever there was a heavy storm blowing, I used to lie awake at night and cry; because I knew it was I who had sent you away out there, and I thought you might be in a ship and in danger – all through me. And this morning, when you – when you said you were going to Honduras, I made up my mind then to go to papa to-morrow morning, and I'll tell him I won't have the money – I'll go away from you altogether rather, and be a governess – "

      "Now, now, Dove, don't vex me and yourself about nothing," he said to her kindly. "I won't go to Honduras."

      "You won't?"

      "I won't."

      She raised her head a little bit – in an entreating way – and the compact was sealed.

      "I'll tell you what I shall do," he said, taking the hand that lay on his arm into his own. "I will stay at home, get myself into some regular work, take a small house somewhere near here, and then you'll come and be my wife, won't you, Dove?"

      There was a slight pressure on his hand: that was her only answer. They walked on for some little time in silence; and then, catching a glimpse of her face, he stopped to dry the tears from her cheeks. While engaged in that interesting occupation, she said to him, with a little smile:

      "It looks as if I had asked you, Will – doesn't it?"

      "I don't think so," he said.

      "It wouldn't matter, if I did – would it?" she asked, simply. "For you know how fond I am of you, Will."

      They talked of that and a good many other relevant matters until they had reached St. Mary-Kirby. They paused for a moment on the bridge – to look at the dark shadows about the mill and the white sheen of the moonlight on the water; and then she whispered timidly:

      "When shall we be married, Will?"

      "We shall be maghied whenever you like, Dove," he said, lightly and cheerfully.

      CHAPTER VIII.

      JULIET

      By the time the "playing-in" farce was over, the house was quite full. That morning's papers had written in such a fashion about the new triumph of Miss Brunel on Saturday night, that long before the box-office was closed there was not a registered place in the building which had not been seized upon. Will foresaw what was likely to happen, and had asked Mr. Melton to secure him a box.

      When the little party drove from the Langham – Will's rooms in town scarcely offering them the accommodation they required – Dove was in high spirits. It was the first time she had gone anywhere with the young gentleman opposite her since their "engagement;" and she already felt that comfortable sense of extended possession which married people enjoy. She took her seat in the brougham, which Count Schönstein had kindly placed at their disposal, with a new and fluttering pleasure; she already imagined herself to have the importance and the claims to attention of a wife; and she accepted Will's little courtesies in this light, and made herself very happy over the altered aspect of their relations.

      When her opera-cloak had been hung up, and her tiny bouquet, opera-glass, and bill placed daintily before her, the graceful little woman ensconced herself in the corner, and timidly peeped round the curtain. She was dressed in a very faint blue silk, with sharp broad lines of white about it; and over and through her rippling brown hair ran the strings of blue pearls which Count Schönstein had given her. Not even Mrs. Anerley, who saw her often enough, could forbear to look with a tender pride upon the girl; and as for Mr. Anerley, whose tall, upright figure was hid in the shadow of the box, he would fain have sat down beside his adopted daughter, with his arm round her waist, and forgotten all about what they had come to see.

      The orchestra finished its overture, chiefly composed of the delicate "Sonnambula" music, and the curtain rose. Dove was disappointed at not seeing Miss Brunel; and paid but little attention to the preliminary scenes.

      Suddenly there was an extraordinary commotion throughout the house, and a burst of that fine, strong, thunderous music which artists love to hear – and then Dove saw advance a girlish-looking creature with a calm, somewhat pale, and interesting face, and beautiful black hair. She was only girlish in the slightness of her figure: there was an artistic completeness in her motions and a self-possession in her bearing which gave her something of a queenly look. She wore a magnificent white satin dress, the train of which lay in splendid masses behind her; and down over this white and gold fell a black lace veil, partly hiding the rich hair, and enclosing the clear, beautiful dark face. Dove was spell-bound by that face. It somehow suggested Italy to her, and blue skies, and music, and the passionate artistic warmth of the South. Nor was the illusion destroyed by the low chest-voice with which the girl replied to the questions of Lady Capulet. And from that moment, Dove thought no more of Miss Brunel and Will's friend. She was only Juliet, and Dove followed her sad story with an aching heart and a trembling lip.

      During the matchless balcony scene, Will saw this intense sympathetic emotion growing upon the girl. I believe it is considered to be the proper thing for young ladies to be able to turn round and smile compassionately to each other, when the tragic sadness on the stage is making the women in the pit sob bitterly, and raising great lumps in the throats of the men. It is a pretty accomplishment, in its way; and may be indicative of other qualities which these young persons are accused of possessing. Dove's emotional tendencies had never been educated, however; and in this balcony-scene, as I say, she watched the lovers with a painful interest, which wrote its varying story every moment on her face. The theatre was still as death. The scarcely-uttered tendernesses of Juliet were heard as distinctly as if they had been breathed into one's ear; and the eyes of the audience drank in the trembling lights and shadows of her girlish passion with an unconscious delight and admiration. The abandonment of her affection, the reluctant declarations, the coy shrinkings, and piteous, playful, tender apologies were so blended as to make the scene an artistic marvel; and Dove sat "laughin' maist like to greet," as the old Scotch song says. Indeed she scarcely knew whether to laugh or cry with the delight – the absolute delight – which this piece of true art gave her; and when at last Juliet had forced herself to the parting —

      "'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:

      And yet no farther than a wanton's bird;

      Who lets it hop a little from her hand,

      Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,

      And with a silk thread plucks it back again,

      So loving-jealous of his liberty" —

      when, lingeringly and sadly, she had withdrawn from the balcony, Dove rose suddenly, and with a half-choked sob in her voice, said:

      "Oh, Will, I should like so much to see her – and – and – "

      "Kiss her," she had nearly said; but thinking it might be ridiculous, she stopped.

      "It's against the rules, Dove," said Will, with a smile. "Besides, that isn't Miss Brunel you've been looking at; that is Juliet. Both are very nice ladies; but they are quite unlike each other."

      Dove was terribly disappointed. She would like to have declared her conviction that Miss Brunel was Juliet, that she had every bit the same tenderness, and sweetness, and loveliness; but she was afraid her enthusiasm might make Mrs. Anerley laugh at her, and so she bore the rebuff patiently.

      Presently, however, some one tapped at the box-door; and the next moment Will was introducing the СКАЧАТЬ