CHAPTER LXIV.

A TERRIBLE TRIAL.

"Earle," said Lady Doris, "it seems so long since you left me."

She was standing in the ball-room with the countess. Her late partner, Lord Vivianne, had gone to fulfill his engagement elsewhere.

"It seems so long," she repeated.

And Earle, who knew every tone of her voice, detected something unusually sad in it. His face grew bright with happiness that she had missed him.

"I saw you dancing with the gentleman who admired you so greatly the other evening," he replied. "You seemed so interested in his conversation that I never dreamed you would miss me."

"He has tried me so, Earle," she said, gently. "Before I can enjoy myself again, I must go somewhere and rest for a few minutes. Where shall we go?"

Earle silently placed the little white hand on his arm, and led the way to a brilliantly-lighted conservatory, where the rippling of the fountain mingled with the songs of tamed birds. There was no one else in that spacious fragrant place. He drew a chair to one of the fountains and placed her in it. She drew a deep breath of unutterable relief, as one who had passed through mortal peril and escaped it. Looking at her, Earle saw that her beautiful face was ghastly white; the eyes she raised to him were dim and shadowed with horror.

"Earle," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "I do not look much like the belle of the ball now, do I?"

He was full of concern.

"Not much," he replied. "What is the matter, darling?--what has made you ill? I have thought so often lately that you looked ill and unlike yourself."

She tried to smile, but the expression on her face belied the smile.

"I never did faint in my life," she said--"it is an achievement quite beyond me--but I feel much inclined to do the deed now. Earle, fetch some brandy for me."

"Brandy!" he repeated. "Wine would be better, my darling; brandy is very strong."

"Wine tastes like water," she said. "I want something that is all fire--all fire! to make me strong. Be quick, Earle--be quick! I have to dance with Prince Poermal before supper. I would not be seen looking like this for all the wide world!"

"I do not like leaving you alone," said Earle.

"No one will come here," she said impatiently. "That is the 'Elisir d'Amor' waltz--no one will miss us. Go quickly, Earle."

He bent down and kissed the pale face, then he went quickly to the buffet, poured some brandy in a small glass and carried it to her. She sat just as he had left her--the white arms had fallen listlessly by her side, the white blossoms with the golden bells lay at her feet. Earle thought she looked like some one whose whole strength had been expended in a dire struggle.

"Doris," he said, gently, "drink this dear."

She raised her head and drank the brandy as though it had been so much water. He looked at her in wonder. Then the color slowly returned to her face.

"I understand, Earle," she said, "now, for the first time, why people take to drinking."

There was something so strange in her manner that Earle felt almost frightened.

"Do not talk in that fashion, my darling," he said. "I cannot endure to hear you. Sweet lips like yours should not utter such words."

She laughed; her lips were quite red now, and there was color in her face.

"I can understand it," she repeated, laughingly. "When you brought that to me I was almost dead--it seemed to me that all strength had left me, all the life in me was freezing; now I am warm, living, and well. The next time I feel ill I shall take brandy."

He did not know whether she were laughing or not, whether she meant the words seriously or not, but they impressed him most disagreeably.

"Doris," he said, gravely, "never do that. You are only jesting, I know, dear, and this unhealthy style of life will soon be over for you. You exhaust your strength by over-doses of gayety and excitement. Do not fly to stimulants to restore it; you could not do anything more fatal."

She laughed.

"Of course I am jesting. This is a rest to sit here with you. Lord Vivianne tired me so dreadfully." She shuddered as with cold, and laid her head back on the chair. "How is it, Earle, that some people are so disagreeable and others so nice?"

Earle laughed, so happy to think that she called him nice.

"Which is Lord Vivianne?" he asked.

"Oh, disagreeable, you may be sure of that. See how he has tired me."

"But the world in general considers him a very agreeable man," said Earle.

"I do not. We will not talk of him. Say something very loving and very pleasant to me, Earle, that will send all tiresome thoughts out of my mind."

"You have no right with tiresome thoughts. What are they? Tell me them," he said.

She laughed, but the laugh was a sigh.

"What tiresome thoughts can I have, Earle, except that I regret youth and pleasure are not immortal? I can have no other. Say something loving to me, Earle."

He bent over her and whispered words that brought a sweet, bright blush to her face; then she stood up.

"Now give me my flowers, Earle."

He did so, shaking the little golden bells.

"Do I look bright and brilliant again?" she asked--"like the belle of the ball?"

"Yes, bright as the morning star."

"Now for Prince Poermal and some sugared German compliments," she said.

And they returned to the ball-room.

The prince, all smiles, all gallantry, all devotion, came up to claim her hand. Earle watched her as she danced with him; she was all smiles, all brightness, all light. She talked gayly, she laughed, and the prince appeared to be charmed with her.

Earle wondered more and more. Was it possible this brilliant, beautiful girl was the one he had seen so short a time before, white, cold, and silent, as though some terrible trouble lay over her. He saw what universal admiration she excited; how many admiring glances followed her; he saw that in that brilliant assembly there was no one to compare with her, and he wondered at his own good fortune in winning so peerless a creature. Yet he felt that there was something strange about her, something that he could not understand. Her spirits were strangely unequal; one minute she was all fire, animation, and excitement, the next dull and absent. He tried to account for it all by saying to himself the life was new to her--new and very strange--and it was only natural that she should feel strange in it.

Later on in the evening, when the brilliant ball was almost over, Lord Vivianne sought Lady Studleigh again.

"I am going to ask a great favor," he said; "it is that I may be permitted to call. I have had the pleasure of an introduction to the Earl of Linleigh."

"I shall be much pleased," she replied, indifferently--so indifferently that he could not possibly tell whether she were pleased or otherwise.

"Shall you remain much longer in town?" he asked, determined to keep up a conversation with her.

"I hope so," she replied. "I think London is incomparable; I cannot imagine any other life half so delightful."

"You should see Paris," he said, looking earnestly at her.

"Yes, I should like to see court life in Paris. I was there as a child, but, as a matter of course, I have no knowledge of French society. I was too young to know much about it."

"You must try to spend some time there; there is a brilliancy about French society that we do not find in England."

She looked as politely indifferent as possible, not sufficiently so to offend him, but enough to show him that she felt no great interest in the conversation. He could not find any excuse for delaying any longer, but he left her with the determination to see her again as soon as possible.

"The ball has been a brilliant success," said the earl. "Have you enjoyed it, Doris?"

"Yes," she replied, "I liked Prince Poermal, and I liked the Duke of Eastham, but I did not like all my partners."

Lord Linleigh laughed.

"That is hardly to be supposed," he said. "If it be not a rude question, which of them did your ladyship dislike?"

"Dislike is too strong a word, papa. I did not care about Lord Vivianne; he tired me very much. How can people admire him?"

"You do not like him?" said the earl. "I suppose it does not much matter, but I am rather sorry. He seemed to take a great fancy to me, and pressed me to try shooting with him. If you do not like him, I shall not."

She laughed.

"There is no need for that, papa: it does not quite follow that because he is not to my taste, he is not to yours, does it?"

"No; but he spoke of calling on us, and did his best to make me understand that he wished to be on visiting terms with us."

"Why not?" she asked, indolently.

"If you do not like him, Doris, I should never care to see him inside our doors."

"I do not like him as a partner, papa; perhaps as a visitor to the house I might like him very well indeed. He tired me with his incessant questions and compliments."

"Perhaps he was very much charmed with you," said the earl, laughingly. "I must say, no one ever showed a greater desire to be on intimate terms with me than he did. I asked him to dine on Thursday--the Bishop of Lingham is coming--and we shall see if he improves upon acquaintance."

"He seemed to me very polite and pleasing," said the countess, quietly.

And then they spoke no more of Lord Vivianne, but Lady Studleigh thought of him incessantly. She had made the greatest effort, which was talking to him, parrying his questions, assuming a part, and carrying it on for some time. She had said to herself that the danger was averted, that she had no more to fear, but she found that she was wrong. In his eyes she read a fixed determination to know her--a doubt that all her skill had not been able to solve, all her talent had not prevented. She felt this; she understood that although he had seemed to acquiesce in all she said, in his own mind suspicion still lingered.