Chapter II.

"I need not trouble you with the history of my childhood; it was spent alone with my dear mother, in a pleasant little village near Bristol, and was a very happy and innocent one. My father died before I was born, but he left an ample fortune to my mother. I was her sole care and treasure; next to me she loved and cared for our little church. The mission in our village was but a poor one; my mother was its chief support. To our care was given the sacristy, the chapel, the altar-linen and flowers. I used to spend hours in dressing the altar and arranging the flowers. The memory of those hours has never died; it has lived with me ever; and even amid scenes of vanity and passion, it has hung about me like the fragrance of a flower.

"My mother was the sweetest and most gentle of women; the early loss of her husband gave her a shock from which she never recovered; and she made a resolution at his death to devote her whole life to my education and to works of charity. I cannot think of her without tears; she was so patient and good, nor did I ever hear one unkind or hasty word from her.

"I grew up well skilled in all the accomplishments my mother loved and taught. One I was passionately fond of, and that was painting. I had a talent for it, and a cultivated taste.

"Imagine, sister, the course of a streamlet, with scarcely a ripple upon it, glittering in the bright sunlight, ever flowing calmly and gently, and you have a perfect image of my childhood.

"This lasted until I was sixteen. A few days after my birthday, a letter came from my mother's agent, a solicitor in London, requesting her immediate presence. Not liking to leave me behind, lest I should be dull, my mother offered to take me with her. I was overjoyed at the proposal. London was a distant fairyland to me, and I knew no rest or peace until we started. We were to stay at Mr. Clinton's, a distant relative of my father's, who kindly offered us the use of his house. He was married, but his wife was dead, and he had one only daughter, with whom I soon became intimately acquainted. Bella Clinton was an elegant girl, and foremost among the leaders of fashion. I had not been there long before I began to blush for my country dresses, and astonished my gentle, yielding mother by the extravagant demands I made upon her purse. Ah! there I learnt the fatal truth that I was gifted with beauty. I had heard strangers say at home, "What a handsome child! how like her father;" but I never realized the fact until I stood ready dressed for my first ball, where Bella had persuaded my mother to accompany us.

"Bella had chosen for me a robe of pale pink satin and a rich lace skirt; she twined pale pink flowers in my long black hair, and golden bracelets around my arms, and then led me to her mirror, and said, 'I am almost jealous, Eva!' {781} Ah! the lace pictured there was very fair, the eyes were flashing with light, the cheek was tinged like a rose, the white neck and arms shamed even the pearls that gleamed upon them. Beautiful, bright, and sparkling the picture was; but would to heaven I had died as I stood there, for I was then innocent and good.

"You, perhaps, sister, never saw or cared to see a ball-room; on me the effect was electrical. Just as we entered, the sweet, fascinating melody of a popular waltz was floating round the room; the room itself was radiant with light and beauty; jewels were shining, feathers waving, rich satins were gleaming; and the wearers, to my novice's gaze, were like beings from fairyland.

"Miss Clinton was soon surrounded with friends, and I listened with astonishment to her witty repartees and animated conversation. I was introduced to many of her friends; our group or party was, I could not fail to perceive, the most select in the room. I sat by my mother, endeavoring to give my attention to some officer who was detailing a striking adventure, when a face and form suddenly attracted my attention; it was that of a noble-looking man, with a head remarkable for the extreme beauty of its contour and the richness of its dark curls. The face, too, though not exactly handsome, was irresistibly attractive, from its aristocratic mould of feature and melancholy expression. His eyes were a singularly dark gray, shaded with long eyelashes; they had a tired, listless look. I watched this gentleman some few minutes, and then turning to my companion, said: 'Can you tell me who is that distinguished looking man standing just beneath the chandelier?'

"'Lord Montford. He is a clever man; but a very reserved, haughty character; he is known by the name of Le Grand Seigneur. I know him well, intimately; but I never can penetrate the veil of melancholy that hangs over him.'

"'Perhaps he is unhappy,' I said simply; 'is he married?'

"'No; he is one of the best _parties_ of the season. Some say an early disappointment is the cause of his want of sociability; others say he has a distaste for the society of your charming sex.' And my informant made a low bow.

"A dozen more questions trembled on my lips; but not liking to continue the conversation, I remained silent. Suddenly looking up, I saw Lord Montford's eyes fixed upon me. I blushed, feeling like a guilty culprit. In a few minutes Miss Clinton came to me, and said:

"'Eva, you have made a splendid conquest. Here is Lord Montford asking to be introduced to you. Come with me.'

"'Indeed I cannot,' I replied, shrinking, scarcely knowing why.

"'Mrs. Leason, make her come,' said Bella, smiling to my mother.

"'Go, Eva,' my mother said; and I went. My first impulse was to run away when I saw that tall, stately form bending before me; but he looked at me with so kindly an expression of interest and admiration that I accepted the invitation for the next quadrille with less of fear and restraint than I had hitherto felt. When the quadrille was over, Lord Montford took me into the refreshment-room.

"'It is no idle compliment to tell you, Miss Leason, that I enjoyed that dance more than I have done anything for years.'

"'Why?' I answered innocently, looking up with astonishment. He smiled and answered:

{782}

"'If I wished to flatter you, I should say because you are more beautiful and graceful than any lady I have seen for some time; but the real truth is, that I can perceive this is your first ball, and the freshness of your ideas is something novel to me.'

"'Are not my ideas like other people's?'

"'Far from it.'

"'I am very sorry,' I began, half hesitatingly; 'indeed, I wish to be like every one else.'

"'Never wish so again, Miss Leason; wish always to be just as you are now.'

"Just at this moment my mother and Bella joined us, and he relinquished my arm.

"'Why, Eva,' said Miss Clinton, 'Surely you have some charm. I have known Lord Montford for years, and I never saw him so animated or so happy before.'

"But I need not dwell longer on this part of my life. Day after day, evening after evening, Lord Montford was by my side; and yet so quietly were these meetings conducted, that it always seemed that chance directed them. As Bella ceased jesting, my mother did not notice his attentions. I soon began to look upon seeing him as the only thing worth living for. I had no thought save for him. As yet no _word_ of love passed his lips, though I could not but perceive that he regarded me with no common interest.

"One day, as we were all in the drawing-room, my mother suddenly announced her intention of returning home--almost directly. I looked at Lord Montford, and saw an expression of pain upon his face. I rose and went to the window to hide the tears that were starting to my eyes. In an hour after this, a servant brought me a note from Lord Montford, filled with expressions of love, and asking for an interview, and praying that I would not mention it to any one, even to my mother. I knew this was wrong, and this was the first false step in my career. I knew concealment from my mother was, in such a case, wrong; but stronger than the voice of conscience, stronger than the whispers of my angel guardian, stronger than the promptings of faith and obedience was the passion that reigned in my heart. I wrote a few words. My mother, Mr. Clinton, and Bella were going out to dine. I pleaded indisposition, and remained at home. I promised in the afternoon to grant Lord Montford the interview he desired. I went, when three o'clock came, to the library, and I left it in an hour the affianced bride of Lord Montford. One thing surprised me, and that was, that he used the most urgent entreaties that I would not mention our interview, or its result, to any one. Imprudently I promised.

"The day came when we left London, and yet no word would Lord Montford suffer to be spoken of our engagement. He stood in the hall as we passed from the house, and he hastily whispered to me:

"'You shall hear from me soon, Eva, and my letter shall explain all.'

"I could scarcely bear the quiet, tranquil beauty of home; my whole time was spent in wishing for and thinking of the promised letter.

"At length it came, and I went with it tightly held in my hand, to my own room. I cannot now remember all it said, but the concluding words I remember, and they were these: 'And now, Eva, I have told you how dear you are to me, how you have come across my dark dreary life like a bright sunbeam; without you I shall again become a dull, melancholy misanthrope; with you I may become a good and useful man. Will you refuse, Eva, to help me: One thing more. {783} A reason of the utmost importance prevents me from at present making public our engagement and marriage--a reason so potent that, if you refuse secrecy, we must part. Say, Eva, shall this be? Will you sacrifice my love, my hope, my happiness, for a scruple?'

"And so with a prayer for my consent, the letter ended; and then I laid it down and wept--ay, wept--for there was a calmer, holier feeling in my heart than I had known for a long time; and the struggle was hard. My mother, could I leave her thus? How had she nursed me, loved me! and with what pleasure and pride had she looked forward to my settling in life! Her sweet face came before me with all its goodness and purity. No; I could not leave her, I could not thus deceive and disappoint her. There was the church, too, with its altars and flowers; who would tend them? I could not go, and so I resolved--a resolution, alas! too soon to be broken.

"At this moment a hand was gently laid upon my shoulder, and looking up hastily, I saw my mother.

"'Eva, are you ill, my darling, or unhappy? Why are you here alone, and miserable?'

"I made no reply, but laid my head upon my mother's breast and cried aloud. Those were the last tears I ever shed there. I even feel now her soft hand caressing me, and drawing back the hair from my brow, while she soothed me as though I had been a little child.

"'I am ill and tired, mother,' I said, at length.

"'I see you are, Eva.' And she laid me down gently, and sat by me until I slept. Two days afterward I was out, and turning round the road that led to the wood, I met Lord Montford. I found he had arrived that day, and had been waiting many hours for a chance of seeing me; but he looked so pale and ill I scarcely knew him. Let me tell the result in few words. I promised him to leave home, mother, and all things, and to accompany him wherever he would.

"'It is but for a short time, Eva,' said he, 'and then we will return, and your mother will forgive us and bless us.'

"'Why not wait the short time?' I said, for my face burned where my mother's tears had fallen.

"'I cannot; you do not know the reasons, Eva. But do not refuse me. You are the last tie that binds me to life and hope.'

"And he arranged that early the next morning I should meet his carriage in the park; that we should go straight to London, and there be quietly married; and then go on the same day to Paris.

"That night, sister, I never slept. Many times I half knelt to pray, and perhaps had I prayed, God would have heard me; but there was that in my heart that would not let me: and so, in wearily pacing my room, in bitter weeping and grief for my mother, in passionate tears, when I remembered my promise, in hard struggle and indecision, did I pass my last night under my mother's roof. When morning dawned, I tried to go and look at my mother; twice, thrice, I half opened the door, and, shuddering, closed it; and with my heart half breaking at leaving her, and yet drawn on irresistibly, I passed from my home a guilty fugitive, a cruel, wilful child. I went out into the pure, sweet, morning air, and it fanned so softly my burning face; the birds were singing such glorious carols of praise; the flowers were lifting their fair heads, drooping with dew; peace and beauty and joy were all around me; but in my heart were darkness and sorrow, grief and remorse. Suddenly a strong arm twined around me, and a low voice, whose tones I knew and loved too well, poured into my ears a rapture of love and thanks. {784} And in a whirl of time that seems to me now a dream, I was married, and in Paris. Immediately on our arrival at Paris, my husband wrote to my mother, telling her of our marriage, conjuring her for a time not to reveal it, and begging her forgiveness and blessing. An answer came, and my mother's gentle love spoke in every line, yet her heart seemed broken as she wrote. Trusting that time would reveal the mystery of my husband's strange desire for concealment. I threw myself into the vortex of pleasure and gayety. The hours passed like golden moments. I knew no wish, no caprice, that my husband did not immediately gratify. The most devoted love and ardent affection were lavished upon me; he was ever with me: if for one hour we were separated, he flew to me the next. Smiles chased the melancholy and languor from his brow, and the light in his eyes was to me brighter than the rarest jewel he loved to adorn me with. It was short but brilliant, this dream of mine; its bliss was dearly purchased. You will think the story that I am going to tell you strange, but there are stranger in the world.