CHAPTER CXXXII.

THE DANGEROUS SOPHISTRY OF A LOVELY WOMAN.

“You are now about to discover a new phasis in my character, dear Charles; and perhaps you will look upon my notions and opinions as unmaidenly and bold--if not positively immoral. But remember that I am not like the generality of my sex; and that my sentiments, though audacious as innovations, are nevertheless as sincerely believed in as they are tenaciously clung to by me.”

“It is because you are so different from other women, not only in the loveliness of your person, but also in the tone and strength of your mind,” said Charles, “that I am thus enamoured of you--yes, and proud too of possessing your affection in return.”

“But I am about to preach a doctrine which you may think repugnant to the befitting delicacy of my sex,” returned Perdita: “for it is of the uselessness of the marriage rites that I have now to discourse.”

“Proceed, dearest,” said Charles; “and I will frankly give you my opinion on your views in this respect.”

“Ah! now you encourage me to open my heart to you, my dear friend,” exclaimed Perdita; “and you do not affect the sanctimonious hypocrite, who frowns even before he has heard the argument broached. Thus stands our present position in my estimation:--We love each other----”

“Devotedly--earnestly,” added Charles, with strong emphasis, the image of Lady Frances being as completely banished from his mind as if such a person as that charming creature did not exist in the world.

“Yes--we love each other devotedly and earnestly,” continued Perdita; “and the extent as well as the ardour of our passion is a something which should remain a solemn and sacred mystery to the vulgar and curious observer. ’Tis a secret which we should cherish between ourselves,--a secret whose charm is spoilt, or at all events marred, by being revealed to others who are indifferent to us. This is one reason wherefore I consider the pompous ceremony of marriage to be actually detrimental to the fervid, ardent, and warm attachment which seeks to hide itself in the bosoms of the fond couple who entertain it. Then, again, I should not be happy were I to have the conviction that I was so enchained to you by legal trammels that you could not cast me off did I become displeasing to you;--for I should never know whether you still clung to me through the endurance of real affection, or because an indissoluble bond forged by human legislation united us. No:--I would rather that our love rested upon its own basis alone--existing by its own vitality, and through no borrowed and artificial auxiliary,--that it should be a mutual confidence--a mutual reliance,--free and independent in one sense, and compulsory in none. If on these terms you will take thy Perdita to thine arms, Charles--then indeed shall I gladly become thine:--but if our union must be characterised by solemn ceremonies and cold, inanimate rites--then, heartbreaking as the alternative will be, I can never--never be more to thee than a sincere and faithful friend.”

“Dearest Perdita,” exclaimed Charles, “I receive all these confessions of your peculiar sentiments as new proofs of your love for me! For by the very nature of the conditions which you stipulate, you convince me of the trust which you repose in my fidelity and honour.”

“Yes--because in defiance of the opinion of the world, I surrender myself up to you, to be a wife in every thing save in respect to that ceremony which is the first object of a virtuous woman’s thoughts,” murmured Perdita. “And now, dear Charles, do you entertain a mean opinion of my principles, because I dare to chalk out a path of happiness according to my own fancy?”

“No--no. Perdita!” cried the young man, pressing to his lips the hand which was extended to him with such an appearance of ingenuousness that it quite enchanted him. “But how is it possible that you--so young--should have pondered so seriously on the subject of love and of marriage? For you have assured me that you never loved till now----”

“Though nineteen summers have not yet passed over my head,” interrupted Perdita, “my mind has travelled much in the realms of thought and meditation;--and though, as I will candidly confess to you, I have read but little, yet have I pondered much.”

“And there is about you a mystery as charming and as interesting as your loveliness is indescribably great,” said Charles: “and you know, angel that you are, how I adore you!”

“Then if we plight our faith to each other to-day, as solemnly and as emphatically as yester-night we vowed an eternal friendship, shall you ever repent the step you will have taken?” asked Perdita, gazing affectionately on her handsome companion, whose looks seemed to devour her.

“Repent!--what, repent the step that makes you mine?” he exclaimed. “No--never, never!”

“And you take me as your wife on the conditions I have named--that I am to be a wife, and no wife?” said Perdita, her musical voice sounding soft as a silver bell and tremulously clear,--ravishment in her tone, love in her eyes, and warmth in the tender pressure of the hand which the young man had grasped.

“Yes--I take you as my wife on those conditions,” he returned, pressing her to his bosom. “But there are still many things to be considered, my Perdita,” he observed, after a short pause, during which they exchanged the most rapturous kisses. “In the first place, your mother----”

“I shall boldly acquaint her with what I have done,” said Perdita; “and she will not seal my unhappiness by an opposition--which, after all, would be vain and useless,” added the syren.

“And will not Mrs. Fitzhardinge recoil in horror from the idea that her daughter should have formed this connexion, without bearing the legal name of a wife?” demanded Charles, gazing earnestly on her beautiful countenance.

“Leave me to make my mother a convert to my own principles respecting marriage,” was the reply. “And now, with regard to yourself, my Charles,--you need be under no restraint. Continue to dwell with your family--and visit me as frequently as you can. In fact, I shall of course expect you to pass as much of your time as possible with me,--but never when your relatives and friends require your presence.”

“Oh! on these terms we shall indeed be supremely happy!” cried Charles. “And now you are my wife?”

“Yes--and you are my husband,” blushingly answered the syren, as she drooped her head upon his breast.

He wound his arms around her; and then their lips met in warm and luscious kisses. Charles grew bolder: his hand wandered to Perdita’s glowing bosom,--and Perdita no longer restrained him--no longer shrank back. Still, however, she did not choose to surrender herself immediately: a little more tantalization would only rivet his enthusiastic attachment and confirm the madness of his devouring passion;--and, accordingly--at the moment when, wild with desire, he was about to claim the privilege of a husband, she started from his arms, exclaiming, “Hush! my mother has returned--I hear her approaching!”

They separated--retreating to the ends of the sofa; and Perdita arranged her disordered hair once more.

No one however came: it was a false alarm,--as Perdita indeed well knew it to be.

“You must leave me now, Charles,” she said; “for my mother cannot be long ere she comes back. To-morrow, at mid-day, I shall be again alone--for I am aware that she will have to pay another visit to her attorney. Come, then, at that hour--and I will tell you all that has passed between my parent and myself.”

“Not an instant later than twelve to-morrow shall I be!” exclaimed Charles. “And now,--forgive me for returning for a moment to worldly affairs--quitting the paradise of happiness to which you have raised me, my Perdita,--but in respect to the small sum----”

“Oh! I had forgotten all our arrangements with regard to that matter,” said Perdita: “and, indeed--I detest and abominate money-affairs. But now--as your wife, dearest Charles--I may mention my wishes on that head without a blush. I should therefore be pleased if you could forward the amount to me in the course of the afternoon; and I will use it to the best possible advantage with my mother.”

“In less than an hour it shall be here in an envelope, sealed, and addressed to yourself,” said Charles. “Farewell, my sweet Perdita--farewell, until to-morrow!”

They embraced each other fervently; and Charles Hatfield took his departure.

Before he returned home, he walked into the park to collect his scattered thoughts and acquire some degree of composure. His perfidy--his infamous treachery towards Lady Frances now burst upon him in all its hideousness. That very morning had he demanded his cousin’s hand in marriage;--and within an hour afterwards he had solemnly contracted a strange and scarcely comprehensible union with Perdita Fitzhardinge.

His conduct seemed vile in the extreme: his heart, smote him painfully.

Yet was he so completely infatuated with Perdita, that he could not calmly contemplate the idea of breaking with her for ever. He was like a gambler who loathes himself for his ready yielding to a ruinous vice--but who nevertheless returns with renewed zest to the gaming-table.

For Charles thought of the happiness which he had so nearly attained on this eventful day, and which he felt assured must await him on the morrow:--he could not banish from his imagination the recollection of those charms which had plunged him into a perfect delirium of passion;--and the more he thought on the witching loveliness of Perdita, the less inclined was he to resign her.

Then came the almost inevitable results of the sophistry which the designing woman had called to her aid,--results which may be explained the more completely by following the current of the young man’s thoughts.

“After all, I am not indissolubly bound to Perdita--nor has she for ever linked her destiny with mine. No marriage ceremony has taken place between us--nor will any. I am not inextricably fastened to her apron-strings. And yet--and yet, is it honourable of me to make such calculations, the inferences to be drawn from which I am ashamed even to express to my own secret self? No--no: because no legal ties exist between us, I am the more imperiously bound to remain faithfully attached to her! Beautiful--enchanting--mysterious Perdita, how hast thou enthralled me! But--my God! am I not your willing slave?--do I not accept the yoke which thou hast thrown upon me?--would I release myself from those silken chains, even were I able? No--ten thousand times _no_, my adored--my worshipped Perdita! I care not whether thou dost exercise a supernatural enchantment over me: if thou art Satan in a female shape--or a serpent, as my dream appeared to give warning--I cannot cease to love thee,--no--never--never!”

But what of Lady Frances Ellingham? Oh! it was rash--it was indiscreet of him to solicit her hand;--but had he not acted in pursuance of the advice of his father?--and had he gone so far as to be unable to retreat?

Alas! Charles Hatfield, the sophistry of Perdita has rendered thee sophistical, until thou dost stand on the very threshold of--villainy!

Reckless art thou of the whisperings of conscience:--thou art infatuated with the fatal beauty of thy Perdita--and the hope, the burning hope of tasting in her arms the pleasures of paradise, renders thee studious only to subdue the remorse that whispers to thee the name of the outraged Lady Frances Ellingham!

Having wandered in the park for upwards of half an hour, Charles Hatfield bethought himself of the promise to send the amount of his savings to his beauteous Perdita; and, hastening home, he sought his chamber, which he reached unperceived by any one save the domestic who gave him admission. That he was thus unobserved, was a source of satisfaction,--inasmuch as he felt that his cheeks were flushed, and he feared lest his appearance might seem singular.

Opening his desk he took from a secret drawer the Bank-notes which constituted his savings; and enveloping them in a sheet of paper, he issued forth again to leave the parcel at the house in Suffolk Street. This being done, Charles returned to the park, where he roamed about until the hour arrived when it was necessary for him to return home in order to dress for dinner.

The reader must not forget that a splendid banquet was to take place that evening at the mansion of the Earl of Ellingham,--a banquet given in honour of the Prince of Montoni, and at which his Royal Highness was to be present.

As the hour approached, Charles Hatfield felt his heart beat; and all his admiration of the illustrious hero revived;--so that his mind was labouring under no inconsiderable degree of excitement, as he thought of Perdita on the one hand--the Prince on the other--and also of Lady Frances Ellingham!