VICTORINE.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVIII, Issue 8670, 12 September 1891, Page 3 (Supplement)

VICTORINE.

IJY.M 110 Alt IST BLOUNT, Author of "Tim Linden Kami Bride," "iluir of * Ualfour Hall," &c.

CHAPTER X.—(Continued.)

MISTRESS CKAXWKLL " SL'EAKS HKII MIND." Victoiunk looked at the woman in silence for a few moments.

" Why do you come here in this strange way, and volunteer information about him ?"' she asked at last.

" In what other way could I come, Mis 3 Pelwyn? The cab that brought mo here waits at the corner of the street. . I did nob ride on a broomstick through tho air. These houses have but one entrance, as you know, and that is in the lane. I came to your garden gate, as anyone might do. If ib had been locked I should have rung, and asked to see you. As I found ib open I took tho liberty of entering. There is nothing strange, that I can see, in all this." " Nor about your speaking of Mr. Strongway in that peculiar manner?" said the actress, haughtily.

"No. As you will see, when you learn the real purport of this call." " Pray let me hoar it."

■"Are you awmo who and what your friend, Mr. Strong waty is ?" asked the woman, with a meaning smilo. " Lie is a lawyer's clerk," paid Vietorine, struggling bravely against the terrible sinking at her heart. " Indeed ! May I ask in whoso office 2" "I do nob know tho name of his employer." "Nor the street and number of his office ?" naked the woman, quietly. "Mo."

" He is often hero ?" " Yes." " For hours at a time." Victorine was silent.

"He hires cabs, or broughams, to como to you. Have you ever glanced at the panels of those carriages ?'' " Never," said Victorine, with a wondering glance. " They might hive told you tales if you know anything of heraldry. But tell me one thing. Did it never seem strange to you that a mere lawyer's; clerk could leave the ollicc and his work there so often and for so many hours at a time as Mr. Strongway does ?" Victorine would not answer, but her telltale face spoke for her. '•' He has been constant, too, in his visits to the theatre since your debut," the woman went; on. " And that, as we all know, is one of tho most expensive amusements in which anyone can indulge." "I gave him an order of admission," said Victorine, faintly. \ " Gave him what?"

"An order. Ho can go in with it every night if he likes, and it costs him nothing." The woman gave a little hard, dry laugh. " And he took it?" "Of course lie did."

"It is hotter than any comedy I ever saw," muttered the stranger to herself, with a grim smile. " Your offer and his acceptance of it!.. I wonder what he did with it?''

" With what, madam ?" " That order." " He uses it eacli night." " Very likely. By the way, will he use it this evening ?" "No, madam. Hois obliged to stay at the olfico night, nob that it is any possible business of yours that I can see," said Victorine, ungraciously. "Oil, yos. And so they work him like that at the office, do they ?" said the woman, mockinglv. "Poor fellow ! it is really too bad !"

Victorine could bear no more.

"I will not remain a moment longer to hear Mr. Strongway insulted," she sard, angrily. " Good-morning, madam." " Good-morning,, if you will have it 50.," was the composed reply. " But I warn you that you will regret ib all your life if you go away without hearing what 1 have come out here purposely to tell you."

" Why do you not tell it then ?" "And go about my business directly after ? You might, to be sure, ask the question a libtlo more politely. But that is neither here nor there, and one ought always make all allowances in a case like this"

Victorine looked desperately toward the house, with somo vague idea in her mind as to the propriety of calling out for her grandmother.

"Oh, do say what you have to say, and make an end of this," she exclaimed, impatiently, at last. "I will. Every question I have asked you has been gradually leading up to what I am now going to tell you. Your Mr. Strongway is not what he pretends to be, my dear. He is no more a poor lawyer's clerk than I am, or you are." Victorine's heart sank heivily within her breast.

"Is this true?"

" True as gospel, my dear." " Who, then, is he?" "The Marquis of Powerscourt." Victorine turned pale.

" Surely you must be mistaken. I have often head Mr. Moore speak of him, the marquis, I mean. I have even asked Ellis Mr. Strong wayabout him more than once."

"And did lie answer your questions when you asked them ?" "Yes."

"Frankly?" Victorine was silent, remembering more than one moment of hesitation and evasion on her lover's .part, which she had not understood at the time, but which began to have a strange and terrible significance now.

"I see," said the woman. "Ho has not been very communicative on that particular subject. "It was scarcely to be expected. "

" Bub if this is all true I am at a loss to know what he—what Mr. Strong way could gain by any such deception," said Victorine, looking wistfully at her tormentor. "If you knew him as well as I it would bo plain enough. All his life he has had a whim in his head, which he seems to have gratified to some purpose now. Did you ever read the poem called ' The Lord of Burleigh ?' " Victorine bent her head.

" You know the Lord of Burleigh had a sort of craze for being loved for himself alone. And so he went to some quiet little country village, and wooed and won a 3imple country maid, who, thought she was marrying a handsome young working-man instead of a nobleman in disguise. Since you have read the poem I need not remind you that the romantic lord made a great mess of it in the end. That, is unless he had a taste for being left a widower in early youth. To bo sure tho girl was a fool, and need not have been so overcome by her good luck. Women Jon't generally die of grief when they find that their husbands are rich or greater than they thought thoy were at first. You, I doubt not, would have more good sense, and upon my word, you are quite beautiful and graceful enough to be a Marchioness of Powerscourt, if that were all. They have all been dark, with dark eyes and hair, till now. The portrait of a golden-haired, blue-eyed marchioness would make an agreeable break in tho monotony of the portraits in the family gallery at Powerscourt Hall." Sho paused a moment as if to take breath, and then went on again. " And if that was what he meant by you, my dear, and if he was determined to have his way in the matter, neither I, nor anyone else, would have the right or power to stop him, however much we might wish to do it. But ho does not mean it, Miss Pelwyn, and I come as a friend to tell you so, and to warn you against putting too much faith in what he says." "He has asked me to bo his wife," said Victorine, proudly. For a moment tho woman seemed confounded. Then her black eyes gleamed more brightly than over. " Whoso wife?" she asked, quietly. " Whose? His? Have I not. just said it?" " Ay. But you don't understand. To be Mr. Strongway's wife, or tho Marchioness of Powerscourt."

"Does nob the one mean the other?" said Victorine.

" You may think so. Ido not." "You mean to insinuate, then, that he intends to deceive me by a mock marriage ?'' "I do."

" Then you wrong him, and I can listen to you no longer." Victorine's decision for a moment bewildered the woman, bub after a brief pause she again resumed the discussion.

" You cannot listen to me? Take care I do nob say to you, as Dcsdemona's father said to Othello, 'She has deceived her father, and may thee !' But I say to you that Lord l'owerscourb has already deceived you shamefully by passing himself off here as a poor lawyer's clerk. Why on earth should he sail under false colours if his intentions were honourable?"

"And yet Lord Burleigh did tho same," replied Victorine.

"There are not many Lord Burleighs in the world, my dear, and I am very sure that you will find none in London at. the present day. If Lord Powerscourt should go through any ceremony by way of satisfying your scruples lis must still marry you as Mr. Strongway in order to keep up this farce to the end. I leave you to guess what the marriage would be worth from a legal point of view. And you must look at these things from such a point, when you have to deal with tho peers and peeresses of England."

"Let us say no more," exclaimed Victorine. " I shall see him tomorrow, and can then answer your arguments better than I can now."

"Of course. For if you arc foolish enough to tell him of all this he will be sure to find some way of convincing you that all I have said is false. It is true. And if you are wise you will nob wait till to-morrow, but convince yourself to-night by the evidence of your own senses. Go with me. See what I have to show yon, hear what I wish you to hear, and then call me a liar if you can."

"Go with yon ? Where?" asked Victorine, looking bewildered. " I will tell you hy-and-by. 1 shall take you to a place where you can see and hear Lord Powerscourt for yourself. It will not be to a lawyer's office, nor will you find him busy in copying musty deeds on mustier parchment." "And who are you cried Vietorine, wildly. " Who are you that know so much of this man, whoever or whatever ho may he?"

" My name is Sarah Ghamvell, and I am lady's maid to the Countess of Montpelier," was the reply. "What has the countess to do with me, or I with her ?"

"Not much personally. And yet for a month past you have been making her a great deal of trouble." "I? 1 '

" You."

" How ?" " She has a daughter, and to that daughter Lord Powerscourt has been virtually betrothed for years. Since his boyhood, in Fact, for he and Lady Mary were little lovers almost front the cradle, brought up in the same house as they were The last time he came to Montpelier the countess and Lady Mary believed that all was going on well. Nay, for the matter of that, every servant in the chatcau began to look forward to white favours and a grand wedding. And then we como over to iingland and find my Lord Powerscourt so taken up with you' that he has neither eyes nor cars, nor even thoughts, for anyone else, and so bewildered and bewitched that ho docs not even' glance at the daily papers and find out that Lady Mary and the countess are in town." Again she paused. And Vietorine, overwhelmed by what she had just heard, looked helplessly and almost hopelessly at her.

"I do nob understand," she said at last. " I have heard him speak of a cousin whom his relatives wished him to marry. But I never heard of any Lady Mary before." " Lady Mary is the cousin," said the woman, triumphantly. "And but for you they might have been married by this, lie knows what is expected of him, and he dares not draw bai'k from his almost plighted word, and break his cousin's heart."

" Does Lady Mary lovo him?" asked Victorine, in a low voice. "Love him ! She worships the very ground he walks on. Bub sho comes of a proud race, and she tries hard not to show how all this is paining her. She cannot, however, deceive her mother, she cannot deceive me, for I have been her attendant ever since she was a child. And I love her too well to sib by idly, and see her life ruined. So I found out all about you before 1 had been a week in England, and here I am, to tell you the truth of the matter, and save i.ady Mary from a" broken heart, and you, perhaps, from sin, and misery, and shame."

There wo*j real feeling in the hard face and sharp eyes of the woman as she spoke. She told the truth when she said that she loved her mistress, and Victorine felt it as sho listened.

She lifted her head with as proud a glance as Lady Mary could have given. "Lord Powerscourb has gone from here to-day as my plighted husband," she said, " He wears the rose I cave him at parting, and he is to give it back to me as a pledge of his constancy and truth. If whab you say is true lie cannot do this."

"He cannot."

" Bub I must have proof. I must see and hear for myself before I can believe that he is so false and perjured as this." on shall. Only go with me to-night after your duties at tho theatre are over, and you shall have ample proof of all that I have told you." " I will go 1"

"Then I will be at the theatre waiting for you. How and where shall I find you ?" Victorine took her note-book from her pocket, wrote a few lines, tore out the leaf, and placed it in the woman's hand. " Take that to the stage door and they will show you to my dressing-room. Wait there for me. And now— !" Tho woman obeyed her without a word. Victorine closed and locked the gate behind her, and was once more alone.

CHAPTER XI. THE HEART'S MISGIVINGS. Victorine wont back to the house like one in a dream. It was long past lunch time, and her grandmother was just on the point of sending a servant to summon her. But when she saw the girl come in and place herself at table as usual, she supposed, of course, that all was well.

"And so Mr. Strongvvay lias gone, dearie," she said, as she filled her grandchild's plate with a portion of the savoury dish before her.

"Yes, grandmamma," said Victorine, listlessly. " And you have the blues in consequence, and cannot eat yor luncheon. Ah, my dear, when you have been married bo him a year and a day yon will know better. He stayed longer than usual to-day." " Yes."

" You must keep him closer to business, dearie, when you are his wife. It won't do for him to be lounging about all the morning like this when he has a wife and two or three Grandmamma !" " Weil, dear, 1 didn't say ib, though people may have their thoughts, I suppose," chuckled the old lady, helping herself a second time. " All I mean is that he must work harder after marriage than he does now if he wants to make a pleasant home for you." " Ho had a half-holiday this morning," said Victorine, hating herself as she repeated what she now knew to be a falsehood.

" And came at once to spend it with you. Good boy ! -I think, my dear, that you are going to be very happy." " Bo you?" " How can you help being, my dear, if you have a kind husband that you love better than anyone else on earth, if he loves you back again just as well. You do love him, don't you, Victorine?" " Yes—"

She had well-nigh added, " Heaven help me!" bub checked the words-before they left her lips. "And there is no need, luckily, to ask that question about him, for anyone can see with half an eye that he worships the very ground you walk on." Did he? Could lie? Were love, and ownership, and devotion best shown by trickery, and falsehood, and deceit? And what was it that the woman had said of that Lady Mary to whom this man by right belonged ? " She worships the /ery ground lie walks on." It was strange that, her grandmother should have made use of the very same words in relation to her. Was it as true of Lord Powerscourt as of Lady Mary? How could it be, and he so perjured, and so false ? 'i.yes, you will be as happy as the day is loiSg—as happy as two birds in one nest," said the old woman, eating her own delicate luncheon enjoyingly, and never noticing that her granddaughter touched nothing. "For, after all, my dear, leve and marriage are the beginning and the end of life, as the Lord evidently meant them to be when he made Eve for Adam, and gave them the garden ot Eden for a home. You may have all the luxury of a palace and all the money in the world, and what good is it if there is no one to love you and share the good fortune with you ? I tell you, my dear, the happiest woman on earth is not the woman who grows famous on the stage, as you have done, or in any other way. It is the woman who can look at her husband and say,' I love him, and he cares for 110 one as he cares for me the woman who can place her baby in its father's arm, and at the same time know how much dearer she is to him because she is the mother of his child. That is the only kind of happir.css worth talking about in this world, after all. And lam proud and pleased to think that it may so soon be you is." Victorino did not answer. She was looking down upon her plate as if studying the exquisitely painted landscape there. " When you went on the stage, dear," the old woman continued. "I won't deny that I felt a bit worried and frightened. " I thought if any of those young noblemen that go about London like raging lions, seeking whom they may devour, should happen to take a fancy to you, and offer marriage, that you would be persuaded to accept it, and think you had done a wonderful thing for yourself. I am glad and thankful that it has turned out in this way. For your husband will be a gentleman, and gentlemen are certainly pleasanter to live with than common men. But he will nob bo rich and noble, and so led away from you by every wind that blows before you have been his wife six months." "Do you think it, quite impossible for a nobleman to make a good and faithful husband ?" asked Victorine.

The old woman gave a kind of groan. " Oh, child, don't speak of it. I remember you took me a few weeks ago to see a great gallery of paintings, and there were all the brides of the year—the noblemen's brides, 1 moan—" " I know."

My heart ached, dearie, to see the pretty young creatures in their white satin and their laces, and their diamonds. Some of them were beautiful enough to be queens. And, oh, me, what a weary life lies; before each one of them, and how many tears those bright eyes will have to weep." "But surely a nobleman may be as good as a common working-man, and love his wife as well if he will but try?" said Victorine, with a wistful look.

The old woman shook her head.

" Child, you know nothing of the lives they lead. See how rich they are, and often how handsome, and then think of the many snares that are laid for them on every side tho minute they aro their own masters. My poor husband was valet to the Marquis of Ware, and lived with him in London for many years. 1 have heard him tell so often of the wild and wicked things my lord used to do as a young man. And then ho married a lovely girl, and she just worshipped him. But after the birth of the heir he seemed to caro no more for her, and thought every woman he saw, whether high or low, was more beautiful than she. The poor lady lived on all alone at their castle in Ireland, and the marquis stayed in London, and at last he ran away to France with another nobleman's wife, and his own wife's heart broke, and she died !"

" But ho was only one man, and there are so many peers," said Victorine. " Ah, dear, they are all alike. Young or old, they are all alike. No good in anyone of them, and how should there be when they have all that hearb can wish for in this world, and above all, no work to do. That makes the most of the mischief, I fear. They are idle, and so Satan finds work for them, and they do it with a will. I am glad, indeed, that no one among them has ever cared for you. I would rather see you the happy wife of an honest working- any day than the brokenhearted mistress of a home where love could never come."

She rose from the table as she spoke, and Victorine, nob caring to pursue the argument further, escaped to her own room.

The long, weary day wore hopelessly and silontly away. Face to face with the saddened hours the girl sat, and mused over the events of her brief love dream. Vaguely and desolately she began to feel that the end was very near. And so blindly wretched was she in this wild suspense that sho hailed the hour of her departure for tho theatre with positive relief.

Now at least she should know the worst!

CHAPTER XII. THE PROOF.

Victorine went alone to the theatre that evening. In order to carry out her plan ib was necessary that she should do so. SB'e knew well that her grandmother would never allow her to accompany a strange woman to some unknown locality at that hour of the night. And so she took the advantage of a slight headache to which the old lady alluded after dinner, and persuaded her to stay at home. " I shall get on well enough with Ellis to take care of me," she said, and the peasant woman yielded, and saw her darling drive away unattended, without a

single scruple or misgiving. As to the tete-a-tete which the lovers would enjoy on the way home, it did not trouble her in the least. While Mr. Strongway was merely an acquaintance, untried and unproved, the good soul had watched him with the vigilance of a dragon. But now all was changed. He was the plighted husband of her darling child, and to his care she confided the girl as freely as if he had been her own brother. She was incapable of doubting his honour and his truth, and did nob think it necessary to debar the pair from solitary meetings as most prudent matrons would have done.

So she answered, cheerily, " Yes, dear. As long as you are with Ellis I need nob worry about you." "And, grandmamma, if I am a little late than usual'do not be alarmed."

"Why, child? What should make you late?"

"I want to see Mr. Moore. And now that the new piece is coming on he is very busy, and 1 may have to '"•ait some time for him."

"Very well, dear. I shall not fret. I may go to bed before you come if my head is no better. If 1 do 1 will have supper laid in the dining-room. Shall it be for two ?"

She asked tho question with a roguish smile, knowing well that Victorine would not bring her lover in at that hour of the night unless she was up to keep them company. The girl smiled back again, but made no answer. Then she kissed her and left the room, and -Mrs. Pelwyn watched the carriage as it rolled away. Never had Victorine danced better than on this evening, when the heart within her breast was sick and heavy with the dread of her lover's falsehood and desertion. The house rang with thunders of applause, and the stage was covered with beautiful bouquets when the shepherd led her before the curtain to bow her acknowledgments and farewell.

She glanced up at the box which Mr. Strongway usually occupied. It was empty, its lace curtains thrown carelessly apart, and revealing its little row of untenanted velvet chairs.

She bowed low again with an enchanting smile to t'n& audience, .and laden with flowers, was lei away. Once bchincL the friendly curtains she dashed the 'lowers impatiently to the ground, and left them to be gathered up by the other dancers, while she hurried to her dressing-room. As she entered in her glittering stage dress of white and silver, with the diamonds flashing brightly upon her neck and arms, she formed a strange contrast to the tall, sad-looking woman dressed in mourning, who rose to meet her. " You are here in time. That is well," said Victorine.

And she cast aside her magnificent dress with feverish haste. Her grandmother was usually her fond and admiring tire-woman. Now the stranger offered to assist her, and removed the glittering garments with the experienced touch of a regular lady's maid. "Have you been here long?" asked Victorine.

" Some twenty minutes. I was in the front of the hofise till you came before the curtain. Then I came round here." "You saw me dance ?" " 1 did." " What did you think of it?" " Oh, if was beautiful! Far beyond what I expected, although I have heard so much of your grace and elegance. I saw Cerito once, and you are much like her." Victorine's face flushed, and 131 lifted her head proudly. All was not lost, after all. If Hyp failed her, as it seemed about to do, her profession still remained, and it was open to her to win a reputation in it which should outshine the fame of all who had preceded her. They called her the " Star of the Ballet" as well as the Arcadian Shepherd's Star. She might deserve the name in future even better than in the past, and even he should acknowledge that she was without a rival in the career which she had begun. Poor Victorine. ! And all the while that career had been one of the greatest stumbling blocks h) her way. It was the one chief thing over which her lover felt his allegiance waver. An humble sewing girl he could have taken to his bosom in content. But in spite of all his love for Victorine he shrank from the remark which he knew would surely follow his union with her, and wished, with passionate fervour, that she had. dawned upon bis path in any other shape than this.

And when a young and ardent lover can frame such a wish about the idol of his heart, when lie can pay to himself that he would have this, that, or the other thing about her different from what it really is, at that moment, reader, you may be very sure that lie is not so thoroughly in love as he believes himself to be. For love is blind and deaf where the imperfections of its object are concerned. Once wake to them and whatever affection and devotion you may continue to bestow you may be very sure that you are in lovo no more. " Yes, you are like Cerito—like Taglioni—like Ellsler," said Chanwell, more enthusiastic than was her wont, "I do not wonder that Lord Powerscourt became bewildered when ho saw you on the stage. There you are more like a , beautiful spirit than a woman."

" Thanks for the compliment," said Victorine, with a sigh. And now remember that i am a woman off the stage, and quite as serious as all women are said to be; and tell me where we are going." "To the opera house," said Chanwell, quietly. "All the fine people who have been applauding your dancing are on their way there now, and we will follow in their train. Grisi sings to-night, Ginglini will sing also. Have you over heard him ?" "Never." Then you have something before you which can never happen to you but once. They, say he is not strictly a moral man, and it may be true. But no angel ever had a voice more sweet than his, and his face is almost equal to the voice."

Victorine scarcely listened to this rhapsody concerning the handsome Italian, who drew the whole world of London captive at his chariot -wheels of song for a few brief years, and then sank into a maniac's grave beneath the sunny skies of his own beloved land. She was too intent on her own personal griefs and. sorrows to pay much heed, if even the " sweet singer of Israel" had stood suddenly before her, and bade her listen to his lay. " But why are we going to the opera?" she asked, impatiently. " There is no singer in the' world whom I care to hear just now." ; "I know. Bub there are people in the world whom you wish to see, and in order to see them to due advantage you must put yourself into my hands for this one night, and do exactly as I bid you." "Very well," said Victorine, taking up her cloak and gloves. " Are you ready?" " Perfectly." " Is your carriage here ?" " It waits at the stage door." "Come, then."

They left the dressing-room, and gained the stage door almost unperceived, for the after piece was just beginning, and many of the actresses were upon the stage.

[To be continued.]