EMORY UNIVERSITY
FOR ONE MAN'S PLEASURE.
a
FOR ONE MAN'S PLEASURE.
A NOVEL.
BY
NELLIE FORTESCUE-HARRI
AUTHOR OF 'SO RUNS MY DREAM,'
ETC., ETC.
<rO-
' What the years mean ; how time dies and is not slain ;
How love grows and laughs and cries, and wanes again :
These were the things she came to know and take their measure
When the play was play'd out so for one man's pleasure.'
Swinburne,
LONDON: F. V. WHITE & CO.,
31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1885.
{All Rights reserved.]
! F. V. WHITE & CO.'S
SELECT NOVELS BY POPULAR AUTHORS.
Crown 8vo, doth, 35. 6d. each.
! The following Volumes of the Series are now ready, and can
be obtained of all Booksellers in Town and Country^ and
at all Railway Bookstalls :—
By FLORENCE MARRYAT.
MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. HER WORLD AGAINST A LIE.
A BROKEN BLOSSOM. PEERESS AND PLAYER.
FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. UNDER THE LILIES & ROSES.
By ANNIE THOMAS.
FRIENDS AND LOVERS. I JENIFER.
By LADY CONSTANCE HOWARD.
SWEETHEART AND WIFE. I MOLLIE DARLING.
MATED WITH A CLOWN. I ONLY A VILLAGE MAIDEN.
By MRS ALEXANDER FRASER.
A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. | A FATAL PASSION.
By IZA DUFFUS-HARDY.
LOVE, HONOUR AND OBEY. I NOT EASILY JEALOUS.
By H. LOVETT-CAMERON. 1 By DORA RUSSELL.
A NORTH COUNTRY MAID. OUT OF EDEN.
|
| By JEAN MIDDLEMASS.
! POISONED ARROWS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
HER FIRST.APPEARANCE, .
CHAPTER II.
THREE WEEKS AFTER,
CHAPTER III.
MOTHER AND SON,
C PI A P T E R IV.
IN THE STUDIO, ....
CHAPTER V.
CLOVE CARNATIONS,
vi
Contents.
CHAPTER VI.
AT THE ACADEMY,
CHAPTER VII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER, .
CHAPTER VIII.
A NEW HAPPINESS,
CHAPTER IX.
' WILL YOU BE MY WIFE ? '
CHAPTER X.
LADY STELLA'S RECEPTION,
CHAPTER XI.
A BITTER WAKING, ...
CHAPTER XII.
THE STORY OF THE PAST, .
CHAPTER XIII.
ON THE BALCONY, ....
CHAPTER
THE DAY AFTER THE BALL,
XIV.
Contents.
CHAPTER xv.
A DINNER AT HURLINGHAM,
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RIVALS, ....
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FfiTE AT CHISWICK, .
CHAPTER XVIII.
' I LOVE YOU,' ....
CHAPTER XIX.
SELF-SURRENDER, ....
CHAPTER XX.
CHAOS, .....
CHAPTER XXI.
IN SUNNY LANDS, ....
CHAPTER XXII.
BEAUTIFUL MONACO,
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING,
viii Contents.
CHAPTER XXIV.
the beginning of the end,
CHAPTER XXV.
' for my sake,' . . . . .
CHAPTER XXVI.
for evermore, ....
CHAPTER XXVII.
burning traces, ....
CHAPTER XXVIII.
as man to man, . . . .
CHAPTER XXXIX.
the weary guest,
CHAPTER XXX.
found, .....
CHAPTER XXXI.
persuaded, ....
CHAPTER XXXII.
so Near and yet so far,
Contents.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A CHOICE OF GRIEFS,
CHAPTER XXXIV.
HIS WIFE, .....
CHAPTER XXXV.
' IT IS IMPOSSIBLE,' . ...
CHAPTER XXXVI.
TOO LATE, .....
FOR ONE MAN'S PLEASURE.
FOR ONE MAN'S PLEASURE.
CHAPTER I.
HER FIRST APPEARANCE,
'Oh, to see or hear her singing! scarce I know which is divinest,
For her looks sing too—she modulates her gestures on the tunes,
And her mouth stirs with the song, like song ; and when the
notes are finest,
'Tis the eyes that shoot out vocal light, and seem to swell them
on .'—E. B. Browning.
1 ||gfp®||IRST appearance of Mdlle. Delacourt,
11 Sill daughter of the late world-famed tenor.
K<Lwai| This talented artiste will make* her debut
as Marguerite in Gounod's " Faust" on
Saturday next.'
So ran the advertisement that took all the London
world by surprise one bright April morning, and
set every tongue wagging lustily. It is not often
that this lazy, highly-educated, scandalous, nine-
teenth-century world condescends to be heartily,
healthily interested in anything. It takes a good
deal now-a-days to really astonish people. Society
A
2
For One Mans Pleasure.
listens calmly to the most incredible tales, and
merely remarks, ' I quite expected it/ in conclu-
sion. To feel, or at any rate to show surprise, is
to voluntarily enrol one's self among the lower
orders, and to simply declare one's self beyond the
pale of what is so significantly termed ' the set' !
But in this instance, viz., Mademoiselle Delacourt's
first appearance, much interest was both felt and
openly shown by even the Upper Ten themselves.
What memories did not the once familiar name of
Delacourt arouse, and how quickly did the scandal,
now nearly twenty years old, spring again into life.
It seemed only yesterday that Lord Byfield's
lovely daughter, the acknowledged belle of the
season, had chosen to cast' in her lot with the
popular tenor, and had given the world something
to talk about by quitting her home with him.
The sheep, as soon as the goats are fairly divided
from amongst them, very soon drop the black ones
out of their life, their heart, their thoughts. Society
had long ceased to talk about that piece of scandal,
had almost forgotten, in fact, how Lord Byfield
had died suddenly of heart disease the night of his
daughter's flight ; but now that the name of Dela-
court once more appeared before their eyes, now
that their attention was attracted towards the re-
suit, so to speak, of that scandal, the whole thing
seemed but of recent date, and provided food for
conversation in the boudoir and club alike.
The long-advertised Saturday has at last arrived,
so let us leave the Mayfair world of bustle and
fashion, whose men are wrestling with cravat ends,
and whose women, with their flowing locks twisted
into the compact classical knobs that have, thank
goodness, superseded the gigantic erections known
as chignons, are placing faint-smelling flowers in
their bosoms, in preparation for the night's dissi-
pation ; let us leave it all and fly to London the
Her First Appearance. 3
Bohemian, and catch a glimpse of the young
debutante before she leaves her home to make her
first appearance in the world. If you want to see
her you must come with me to the top of a small
house, and enter her tiny bedroom with muffled
tread, and look reverently at her as she stands
alone in her youth and innocence in the dim twi-
light. She has extinguished the solitary candle
by which she has been performing her simple toil-
ette, and stands upright and still as a statue in the
pale moonlight, one hand resting upon the dressing-
table before her, gazing out of the little casement
upon the silent beauty of the night.
Mark how slim and supple is her form, how small
and shapely is the head set proudly upon the long
white throat, how rich the clusters of her red-brown
hair, how fair and soft her delicate skin. But if you
would look upon her greatest beauty, tread softly,
creep near, and gaze into the large dreamy eyes,
so mournful and yet so beautiful. What sorrow
in her young past life could have taught those eyes
to look so sad ? Or, say, are they weighted with
a future grief?
It is evident, from the peacefulness of her pose,
that she is not the victim of nervous excitement ;
she is lost in thought, not anxious wonderment.
Perhaps, in a dim, indescribable manner, she is ex-
periencing what we all come to realise some time
or other in our lives, namely, that long-looked for
things, when at last they are ours, affect us quite
differently to what we fancied they would. We
have each to learn that life is composed of Wait-
ing and Disappointment. Perhaps her thoughts
have flown to one whose heart, had he been alive,
would indeed have beat high in anticipation of his
daughter's triumph.
At any rate, whatever her thoughts, the lines
about the delicately-curved sensitive lips deepen.
4 For One Mans Pleasure.
and the eyes grow more sad and dreamy, as she
stands there in the full radiancy of the April moon.
She does not move even when a rap at the door
is followed by the entrance of a little old woman,
in a bonnet and shawl, with a kind, plain face and
thick white hair. She comes stumbling across the
dark room until she stands beside the quiet figure
bathed in silvery light.
* Is that you, Bertha ?' Muriel says, without
moving. ' Come and see how lovely the moon is
to-night.'
' Oh ! my dearie, it is near time we started, I am
thinking,' was the answer somewhat nervously
given. * The fly has been at the door nigh a
quarter of an hour.'
* Has it ? Well, let us go ; I am ready.'
And stooping a little from her proud height, the
girl leant towards the old woman, and received
around her the wrap she held in her hands.
' How do you feel, Miss Muriel—nervous like ?'
asked the anxious old nurse, trying to peer
through the darkness up into the fair grave face
beside her.
Muriel bent down, and lightly pressed her lips
to the old woman's forehead.
' Do not be afraid, dear, I shall do my best,'
she said quickly ; and drawing her wrap about her,
she turned and left the room.
' God bless her,' murmured Bertha, as she fol-
lowed her young mistress down the short flight
of stairs that led into the tiny entrance-hall. ' But
my heart, misgives me, somehow ; she is too young
and fair to be setting herself up on a stage for all
the idle fools to gape at.'
The small hall was dimly lighted by a single
lamp placed on a bracket in a niche. Muriel
turned sharply to the left, and, opening a door,
entered a long narrow room, divided into two
Her First Appearance. 5
parts by heavy damask curtains, and made her
way towards a window at the further end, in front
of which her mother lay upon a couch drawn close
to the open casement. As she glided with her
noiseless tread across the room, a man arose from
the end of the couch where he had been sitting,
and came forward to meet her, looking very tall
and powerful in the gloaming.
'Is it you, Claude?' said Muriel, stretching out
a hand towards him ; ' how very kind of you. Are
you going to keep la petite mere company during
my absence ? '
'And so miss Mademoiselle's first appearance?'
retorted he, smiling tenderly. 'Pas si bete, little
one. I am going with you, if you and Bertha
can pack me away somewhere in your fly. Shall
I crowd you ?'
' Not at all, I am glad you are coming ; I shall
like to feel that I have one friend at least amongst
the audience.'
She had passed on as she spoke, and now stood
upright and tall beside her mother's sofa, with one
white burning hand clasped, in both of hers.
How beautiful she was still, that dying mother, in
spite of long years of anxiety and delicate health.
Muriel bent down, and kissed the worn cheek
with almost passionate earnestness.
'You are flushed and excited,' she said, in a tone
of alarm. 'You will go to bed now, will you not?
You must not be anxious about me. I am not the
very least nervous : feel how cool and steady my
hand is.'
Madame Delacourt smiled faintly, and fondled
the little hand that twined round hers.
' My darling,' she said, gazing, oh ! so earnestly
and fondly, into the fair young face bent over her,
' there was so much that I wished to say and tell
you before this night arrived, but I have put it off
6
For One Mans Pleasure.
weakly day by day, and now there is no time ; to-
morrow—to-morrow I must talk to you.'
She leant back on her cushions, too much agi-
tated to proceed.
' Never mind, darling,' said Muriel soothingly ;
'to-morrow you shall tell me all you wish ; do not
excite yourself now. Kiss me and wish me good
luck, for I must be going.'
Madame Delacourt drew the girl close down
over her, and whispered solemnly, ' Good-bye, my
precious child, and your mother's blessing go with
you now and always.'
Muriel kissed her in silence, then rose, and pre-
pared to leave the room.
' Good-bye, Madame Delacourt,' said Claude
Hamilton, coming up in his turn to the sofa to say
good-bye. ' Go to bed and to sleep, and trust to
me to look after the child.'
The invalid smiled.
' You will bring her home, Claude ; I shall be
anxious to hear your version of to-night's doings.
I shall lie here until your return.'
He found Muriel waiting for him in the hall
with old Bertha by her side. She came up to him
at once, and of her own accord slipped her hand
through his arm.
' I am anxious about la mere,' she said, as he led
her out to the fly. ' To-morrow, I think I shall
send for Dr B. to see her again.'
' She is excited to-night, that is all,' replied
Claude, in a would-be calm voice ; and Muriel said
no more.
Half-an-hour later he was sitting in his stall,
surveying with satisfaction the well-filled house,
and listening to Faust's burst of joyous song on
finding himself once more young.
Muriel had stood the trial of being gazed at
in the vision with extraordinary calmness. How
Her First Appearance. 7
wondrously fair and young she had looked seated
at her wheel; how perfectly her pose, the slight
droop of the long white throat, had expressed
youthful innocence ! Never had he realised how
truly lovely she was before.
His excitement was intense, his nervousness for
her was great, and he began to feel he could bear
the suspense no longer. But the scene changes, it
is the Fair, and, yes ! no! is that Muriel who comes
gliding through the crowds so demurely, her eyes
bent upon the ground, her hands holding a prayer
book clasped loosely in front of her ?
Faust advances towards her, he speaks to her, he
offers her his arm, she turns and rejects it; and oh !
what bird-like sweetness pours from her lips.
The whole house sits entranced, astonished,
taken by storm ; but Marguerite passes on through
the crowds, and Claude recovers his surprise, and
wakes up to the fact that Muriel is actress as well
as singer.
The opera proceeds. Muriel's rendering of that
most exquisite of scenes, the garden scene, is per-
feet; her rich, true, bell-like voice, her passionate
acting, her fragile beauty, works on the audience
like a spell, and the enthusiasm at the close is
extreme. Again and again they call her before
the curtain, and scatter bouquets at her feet—bou-
quets which have not been brought there for that
purpose, but which, in their excitement and delight,
the women cast from them without regret.
Claude leaves his stall, and works his way round
behind to the greenroom for five minutes' conver-
sation before she changes her dress.
She smiles a little as he takes both her hands in
his, and begins to congratulate her on her immense
success.
. Bertha stands close beside them, lost in admiration
of the splendid bouquets that lie scattered about.
8
For One Man's Pleasure.
'Did you notice that this one fell from the royal
box?' Claude says, touching a magnificent purely
white one. 'You have taken the world by storm,
child.'
' Will not madame glory in all these flowers,
sir?' remarks Bertha, joyously ; and Muriel smiles
as she turns away, and says, in her gentle tones, ' I
am glad the people are pleased.'
And the mother at home, waiting anxiously for
her darling's return, has gone back in thought to
the night when first she heard Delacourt's liquid
tones in that self-same opera, and from her box on
the grand tier, surrounded by flattering admirers,
could find it in her heart to envy the prima donna
the pleasure of responding to his passionate love in
Gounod's all-entrancing melodies.
How vividly the past arises. Her .introduction
to the tenor at a friend's home, their rapid intimacy,
his betrayal of love, the confession of her own, her
headstrong resolve to snatch her pleasure at no
matter what cost, her flight accompanied by her
youthful maid, the immediate death of her father.
Once more she feels afresh the bitter pangs of re-
morse that assailed her when the tidings reached
her in her foreign home. Not all the tender de-
votion of her worshipping husband could banish
that remorse from her heart.
It was the tale of her own youth that she wished
to tell Muriel, to warn her against the selfishness
of passion,
But could she bring herself to speak on the sub-
ject to her daughter ?
Better to write it, perhaps, and to leave it to
chance for Muriel to find it some day when she
was dead.
The thought pleased her. Yes, she would write.
Hastily drawing a sheet of paper towards her, she
wrote in pencil—
Her First Appearance. 9
'My darling Child,—In case the day should
ever come when you will feel tempted to take your
own pleasure at the sacrifice of another's happiness,
I write these lines to warn you—'
She sank back on her pillow exhausted, with the
paper in her hand.
' I will finish it to-morrow,' she said to herself.
* There is no hurry about it.'
To-morrow ! O God ! which of us can answer
for to-morrow ?
Meanwhile Muriel, in her prison cell, was fancy-
ing that Faust was once more addressing her at
the Fair.
Half-an-hour later, she, Claude, and Bertha, half
smothered by the flowers, were driving home in the
old fly.
They were arranging how Muriel should make a
triumphant entry to her mother, laden with her
bouquets, and discussing joyously her surprise and
delight. The fly stopped, and they all got out. In
the hall they waited to arrange Muriel, then Claude
threw open the sitting-room door, and Muriel, fol-
lowed by him and Bertha, passed in like a young
queen of flowers.
The room was dimly lighted, but by the window
she could see that her mother still lay upon her
couch, with the pale moonlight streaming in upon
her.
' I think she is asleep,' Muriel says over her
shoulder to Claude, as they all move down the room
together. ' Hush ! we must not wake her.'
But Claude, with a horrible misgiving, steps for-
ward, and reaches the couch first.
'Oh, Claude, what are you doing? You will
wake her!' exclaims Muriel, as he stoops down
over the quiet figure, thus shutting it out from her
view. She goes round to the other side of the
couch, the bouquets tumble down from between
io For One Mans Pleasure.
her clasped arms, and with a blanched, stricken
face, she, too, gazes upon the quiet dead !
Sle6p is oft-times mistaken for death, but never
can death be mistaken for sleep.
Muriel neither speaks nor cries, only casts her-
self down upon the couch, and flings her arms
about her mother's neck.
' Oh ! my darling, how could you go without
one good-bye ?' she whispers, scarce knowing what
she says ; and in her fondlings her hand comes
in contact with the sheet of paper in the dead
woman's hand.
In a second she has got it in her own, and is
holding it to the light. It does not take her long
to decipher the few lines traced upon it.
She holds it out to Claude, with a blank, far-
away expression in her beautiful eyes.
'What does she mean? What could she have
been about to tell me ? ' she asks.
Claude takes both paper and hand in his, and
says, in his kind, tender voice,—
' Poor little child ! God help you !'
' Oh ! my lamb—you, who I held in my arms
only five minutes old, what is to become of you ?'
And old Bertha, overcome by her feelings, puts
her arms round the desolate girl, and bursts into
tears.
'Hush, dear!' said Muriel; 'not here—not
now!'
She led the old woman towards the door, and
returned to the side of the couch.
' How beautiful your are, my darling,' she whis-
pered, and laid her lips against her mother's icy
cold ones.
As she rose from kneeling beside the couch,
Claude noticed she staggered. In an instant he
was by her side, and, taking her like a baby in his
strong arms, he bore her half-fainting upstairs to
Three Weeks after.
it
her own room, and laid her upon the bed. Then,
leaving- Bertha in charge, he went below to watch
beside the dead.
CHAPTER II.
THREE WEEKS AFTER.
' We men and women are but floating straws
On the inevitable stream of Destiny :
We love not whom we would, and oft the heart
Resists its fetters, but of what avail ?Violet Fane.
The gloaming of a sultry May day, when there is
a pause between the dissipations of the day and
night.
In the country there is a great solemn stillness ;
the flowers are holding up their jaded heads after
the day's heat, and opening their soft sweet petals
to receive the evening dew. The wind is lazily
whispering love tales to them, and they love him
better than his rival, the golden sun, who scorches
them with the breath of his fiery passion. They
give out their heavily-scented fragrance freely, and
rustle modestly their leaves, which look like silver
in the dusky twilight, and sway their fragile bodies
to and fro in answer to the wind's solicitations.
The feathered world has gone to bed, only now
and again some dreaming bird in his leafy nest
gives vent to a disconnected chirp.
It is the hour when to stand side by side and
hand in hand with one we love, with one whose
every heart-throb answers to ours, is to feel in-
tensely, supremely, overwhelmingly happy : such
an hour as, if one could, one would choose for one's
last upon earth. In London all the world is dining,
with wide-open windows.
12
For One Man s Pleasure.
The solitary passer-by starts as the subdued
hum of voices floats out to him on the quiet air
from around the different dinner-tables.
It is the hour when cabs collect expectantly
about street corners, and piano-organs pervade
the squares and quieter localities.
There is one playing now before a handsome
house in Bruton Street, the dining-room windows
of which are wide open, though the blinds are
closely drawn down.
It is the peculiar hobby of the owner to dine all
the year round by candle-light, and he is gratifying
it on even this hot May night. It is a party of
six who are eating fruit and drinking sparkling
champagne whilst listening to the organ strains,
five men and one woman.
The table is a round one, and richly laden with
silver candelabras deeply shaded with delicate
pink shades, white, heavily perfumed flowers, green
ferns, ripe, richly-coloured fruits embedded in cool
moss, and old china.
Of the five men, two are strikingly handsome,
one, the host, passably so, another plain and good-
natured looking, and the fifth too ordinary for
comment of any sort.
They are all chatting and laughing, the worth-
less ' doings of the day' conversation that generally
forms the topic of converse at such tables.
At this moment the woman is silent, leaning
back somewhat wearily in her chair, and trifling
with her white jewelled fingers with the grapes
on her plate.
She is very lovely, no one can deny that. Tall,
stately, with her small head beautifully poised on
the delicate throat, the dead whiteness of her skin
contrasting startlingly with her blue-black hair,
which she wears classically bound round her
shapely head, and with that grace and dignity
Three Weeks after.
13
of manner peculiarly her own, which fascinated
men and women alike, Lady Stella Dacre clearly
possessed the right of the reputation she had
earned of being one of the greatest beauties of
her time.
It was in vain that her enemies pronounced her
cold, proud, too white, declared that her hair was
too black for beauty, and her figure too tall and
slim for grace; those who had once gained a smile
from those delicately chiselled lips, listened once
to the low music of her thrilling tones, received
one glance from those large, soft, dark-grey eyes,
so closely shaded by long black lashes, remained
true to their opinion that there was no one like
her in the whole world.
A plain likeness of her is her father, Greville Morton
Dudley Tremaine, sixteenth Earl of Arrowdale.
Not yet fifty, with a tall, powerful figure, toler-
ably good features, and short black beard, Lord
Arrowdale might yet, had he chosen, have won
another bride for himself. But he had not chosen ;
at a very early age he had married for love, a
strange thing for even earls to do now-a-days,
and all the capacity for love of women that still
remained in him was concentrated and lavished
on his daughter.
Lady Arrowdale had been neither beautiful nor
clever, but she had possessed a charm for her hus-
band more durable than either, and her death,
caused, only a few years after their marriage, by
an accident out hunting, had entirely crushed him.
But as years passed on, and his little daughter
grew from childhood to girlhood, and finally into
womanhood, and began to manage his house-
hold with a certain imperious dignity of her own,
his natural vivacity re-asserted itself, and now a
livelier, more good-natyred man than Lord" Ar-
rowdale could not be found. He was a special
14 For One Maris Pleasure.
favourite with young men, who were proud of his
friendship, and eagerly responded to his hospitality.
He chaperoned Lady Stella as zealously and un-
selfishly as any mother, and stood for hours in
doorways, or crammed against a wall, while she
floated round the ballroom, the acknowledged belle
of the evening. Matrimony was a subject that
had never yet been mentioned between the father
and daughter, though in his heart Lord Arrowdale
was forced to own that now Stella was twenty-one
he would not be sorry to see her settled.
With her wondrous beauty and great wealth,
for she inherited a large fortune from her mother,
there could be no misgivings as to her making a-
good match.
As he talked eagerly to his companions, he
glanced ever and anon at the beautiful face oppo-
site to him, and wondered in a vague sort of fashion
which of the two men beside her would win her for
his own. They were both strikingly handsome, as
I have before remarked, the Earl of Clairmont, with
a fresh boyish handsomeness befitting his twenty-
three summers, and the Viscount Nugent, with the
more careworn, world-weary good looks, correspond-
ing with his greater number of years.
He could scarcely be termed a ' good match ' for
any girl, being notably dissipated, extravagant, and
poor. The two first failings the world could for-
give, but his poverty never !
Better be wanting in virtue now-a-days than in
cash. It is the only fault Society cannot bring
herself to overlook and forgive.
Strange to say, just because it was entirely to his
advantage to admire and love Lady Stella, Lord
Nugent had never felt himself the very slightest
moved by her beauty.
In a woman he liked warmth and colouring ; she
must amuse, she must interest him, in fact, take
Three Weeks after. 15
half the love-making off his hands ; she must have
wit enough to see his game and play up to it, and
passion enough to respond to his own. Lady
Stella was too cold, too passionless, two grave and
silent for his taste, and, though he had learnt to
like her, he did not, he felt as though he never
should, love her.
All through dinner he had allowed Lord Clair-
mont to monopolise her attention, conversing
himself chiefly with Lord Arrowdale.
But now, when there came a pause in the con-
versation, and he remarked how wearily she leant
back in her chair, paying but scant attention to the
gay nothings that were being poured into her ear
by her boyish admirer, he told himself that it was
time he drew himself together, and made some of
the running himself.
' Lady Stella,' he said, bending towards her, 'I
hope I was right in thinking you preferred the pit
tier to the grand ? '
' Quite right. I think it so much more sociable.
By-the-bye, I don't think I have yet thanked you
for procuring me the box. I was so particularly
anxious to hear this Mademoiselle Delacourt.
What a sensation she is causing, and how fright-
fully sad it was her mother dying in that sudden way.'
' Yes, poor girl ; she went home after a tremen-
dous triumph, and found her dead, they say. I
was sorry to miss her first appearance, but I was
out of town. I remember her mother distinctly,
and thought her the most lovely woman I had ever
seen. That must be nearly twenty years ago, when
I was a small boy in short jackets.'
' Her mother was Lord By field's daughter wasn't
she ? '
'Yes; I have heard my father tell that story
often about her flight with Delacourt. How
romantic the whole thing is.'
16 For One Mans Pleasure.
4 Stella, darling, it is getting late/ called her
father from the other end. 4 Here is Vandeleur
offering to take you in good time, if you care about
it. We will all follow later.'
1 That is very kind,' and Lady Stella arose.
4 Are you going alone with Colonel Vandeleur? '
jealously demanded Clairmont.
4 Yes ! do you object?' was the amused answer.
4 Colonel Vandeleur nursed me when I was a baby,
so don't look shocked at our taking a short drive
in a brougham together.'
She threw some soft white lace artistically about
her as she spoke, placed some gardenias and
stephanotis in the filmy folds, and passed out to the
carriage.
Yes: it is only three weeks since Madame
Delacourt's death, and Muriel is about to make her
second appearance before the public. The world
does not grant to her playthings much time in
which to bemoan their private griefs. She is a
fractious, selfish child, who recognises no troubles
but her own.
Lord Nugent had, with some difficulty, obtained
a box two from the stage, for Lady Stella, and
when, later in the evening, he and the others joined
her in it, he thought he had fairly earned the right
to the chair immediately behind her own.
She knew intuitively who it was filling the empty
place, though she never moved her head.
The house was sitting in perfect silence, listening
to Marguerite singing at her wheel.
As the tones of Muriel's bell-like voice fell on
his ear, he bent forward eagerly, raised his glasses,
and took his first look at that lovely childlike face.
Three weeks of grieving had taken nought from
her pure fragile beauty ; on the contrary, they had
but added to it. The large mournful eyes looked
more dreamy, more spiritual than ever.
Three Weeks after. 17
He put down his glasses with a strange restless
admiration in his heart. At the same moment
Marguerite arose, her song finished, and carried
her wheel to the corner of the stage where they
all sat.
Their eyes met. An electric thrill seemed to
pass through Muriel's whole frame, and a deep
pink flushed her face.
She turned quickly away, recognised Siebel's
flowers, and never again the whole evening glanced
in the direction of that particular box.
Nugent was piqued, and then angry with himself
for being so.
It was a little custom of his to make those upon
the stage aware of his scrutiny, but never before
had his admiration met with so instant and steady
a rebuff.
He knew he was a fool to care, but he felt as
though he would give worlds, did he possess them,
to see that fair prima dotina singing and acting at
him !
Lady Stella was enchanted. It was not often
she became enthusiastic, but to-night she grew so.
She declared that Mademoiselle Delacourt was the
loveliest woman she had ever seen, and that she
infinitely preferred her voice to either Pat.i's or
Nilsson's.
As she was bending forward to survey the house
at the conclusion of one of the acts, she recognised
a friend whom she wished to speak to in the stalls ;
and turning eagerly round to acquaint her father
with the fact, perceived that he and some of the
others had left the box, and that for the moment
she and Nugent were alone.
'I see Claude Hamilton in the stalls,' she re-
marked. ' I want to speak to him, and ask him
about Mademoiselle Delacourt. She is a great
friend of his, I understand.'
S
18 For One Mans Pleasure.
In an instant Lord Nugent was all eagerness and
attention.
' Do you want him to come in here ?' he asked,
advancing to the front of the box. ' He is a great
and old friend of mine, too. I will make him
understand in a minute, if you like.'
' Will you ? Please do, then. He is a great
favourite of mine, and his pictures are so lovely.
I want to ask him how many he has in the Academy
this year.'
' Has he not kept his acquaintance with the fair
debutante very close?' observed Nugent, as, his
object accomplished, he sat down on a vacant
chair at the back of the box.
' I fancy he knew her more in her childhood,'
returned Lady Stella carelessly.
And just then a rap came on the half-opened
door, and Claude Hamilton entered.
Accustomed as Lady Stella had been from her
earliest infancy to be surrounded with handsome,
well-bred men, she was always struck afresh, each
time she greeted Claude Hamilton, with his noble
presence.
It was not only that he had good features and a
tall figure ; it was the nobility, the utter goodness
of his expression that made him such a pleasant
sight to gaze at.
There was something, too, peculiarly touching
and appealing in the sort of bend he had acquired,
no doubt, from standing over his easel. It was a
bend of the neck, not the - shoulders, and gave
women a sense of being tenderly and gently dealt
with when he came and talked to them.
With Lady Stella he was, as she had said her-
self, a great favourite. She admired his talent,
and certain other qualities that she fancied she
had discovered in him, and he returned her friendly
liking in full.
Three Weeks after.
19
The greeting that passed now between them was
hearty and sincere, and then Lady Stella went on
to ask about Mademoiselle Delacourt, and said how
much she was charmed.
' And are all those dreadful tales one hears about
her mother's death true?' she says, looking up into
his grave, saddened face.
' I do not know what tales you may have heard,
Lady Stella. I have no time to listen to what the
world says, but the facts are these : she did return
to find her mother dead, and God knows I shall
never forget the sight of Muriel standing in the
moonlight gazing on her mother's form, with all
her bouquets lying at her feet. For some days I
really trembled for her own life.'
' «How dreadful!' murmured Lady Stella. ' And
does this poor child live alone, Mr Hamilton ? Has
she no relations ? '
' None that would own her,' was the sad reply.
' But she has a faithful servant—her mother's old
maid—who will guard her from the pitfalls that,
in such a life as hers, surround her.'
All involuntarily he turned towards Lord Nugent
as he said this, and his voice grew grave and stern.
That nobleman had not altogether spoken truth
when he said that he and the artist were old and
great friends ; acquaintances of some years' stand-
ing they certainly were, but the sympathy that
cements friendship was lacking between them.
They had a queer knack of knocking up against
one another every now and again, and then long
periods would elapse in which each was as the
dead, save by name, to the other.
They had not met for some time, and somehow
Claude could not choke off a certain feeling of an-
noyance that he should turn up then, evidently
deeply interested in Muriel.
'You have known Mademoiselle Delacourt some
20 For One Mans Pleasure.
years?' remarked Lord Nugent, but his voice made
it a question, and his eyes flashed with suppressed
excitement as he stood carelessly leaning against
the wall at the back of the box.
'My greatest friend was her father, that is all,'
was the quiet reply.
' Then you have known her from a child—you
have been interested in her growing up ?'
'Not exactly. I saw her frequently as quite a
tiny child, it is true, but not again until about three
years ago, at her father's death. I went over to
Rome to see him, at his own earnest desire, and
learnt for the first time the future he had planned
for his-daughter. Then I did not see her again
until she and her mother came to England a month
or two ago.'
' But she looks upon you, I suppose, as her
greatest friend ? '
' I trust so,' answered Claude composedly.
Then, perceiving that the orchestra were re-
assembling, he shook hands with Lady Stella, and
withdrew from the box. But as -he resumed his
seat in the stalls, and listened to Muriel's thrilling
tones, it angered him to know that Lord Nugent
was also drinking in their sweetness, and gazing
his fill on that lovely face.
'I never knew before how devoted you were to
music,' Lady Stella could not help remarking once,
as she noticed his keen interest.
' Did you not ? ' smiling down on her. ' It is the
thing I love best in the whole world—the only
thing I could not live without.'
• Lady Stella bit her lips, and turned her attention
once more to the stage.
But, all the same, it was his arm she accepted
later to lead her to her carriage.
No sooner had he seated her in it, than he
viorked his way quickly round to the door by
Three Weeks after.
21
which he knew the artistes would make their
exit.
If his object in so doing were to see Muriel, he
was not disappointed.
Just within the shelter of the doorway, he saw
her standing, leaning on the arm of a short, white-
haired woman, evidently her maid.
She had changed her dress, and was in deep
mourning, a black lace shawl thrown round her
slender shoulders, and drawn mantilla-fashion over
her head.
How lovely she was ! How unlike anyone he
had seen ! Could those large dreamy eyes dilate
and glow with passion, and those sensitive lips
tremble in answer to another's pleading ? He won-
dered, and a wild longing seized him to teach this
stately lily maid the pleasures and pangs of love.
As he stood gazing, Claude Hamilton passed
him and went up to her.
' Come, Muriel,' he heard him say. I have found
the fly ; it is waiting just round the corner. Should
you mind walking to it? You will get away
quicker so.'
' Not at all ; it is such a lovely night.'
She took his arm, and signing to Bertha to
follow closely, they passed out, almost touching
Nugent as they did so.
She looked up, and again their eyes met as the
men exchanged a hasty good-night.
Claude hurried her on, dreading lest an intro-
duction should be asked for.
' Who is that, Claude ?' she said, as she was step-
ping into the carriage.
' Lord Nugent. Good-night, Muriel.'
' Are you not coming with me ? I can so easily
drop you.'
' No thank you, not to-night, ma mie. I shall
walk home.'
22 For One Mans Pleasure.
Something" in his face convinced her that it
would be useless to plead with him, so she said no
more, and they left him standing alone on the
pavement.
CHAPTER III.
MOTHER AND SON.
' So love did not exist (at least for him),
And Pleasure seem'd a ghastly haggard shape,
When sad experience had untied her mask ;
But still, if Love were not an empty name,
How sweet to love ! '— Violet Fane.
True son of his fathers was Adrian Mordaunt
Mowbray, Viscount Nugent.
For successive generations the Nugents had been
notorious for their gambling, racing, betting, and
theatrical proclivities. They had successively kept
race-horses, theatres, mistresses, and occasionally
indulged in the pleasant but expensive little pastime
of running away with their neighbours' wives, until
their income, never very large, had been reduced to
an alarming smallness.
The present viscount was unmistakably poor,
even though he had enjoyed a long minority, hav-
ing come in for the title whilst a baby.
At the present time, when his age was probably
not more than two or three-and-thirty, there were
few pleasures he had not enjoyed, few vices in
which he had not indulged.
To live and enjoy had evidently been the motto
of his fathers, and he did not hesitate to follow in
their footsteps and act up to their standard.
This at least must be said in his credit, and it is
no small thing in the present day, when the world
Mother and Son.
23
is teeming with selfishness : he had never wronged
another for his own gratification. He had never in
his life acted meanly by a friend, and no woman
laid her fall at his feet. The women, and they
wrere many and of all ranks, in whose company he
had delighted, whom he had loaded with gifts, and
made the companions of his days of pleasure, had
been as low when he found as when he left them.
It was a something in his favour, and he prided
himself somewhat upon his forbearance in these
matters, and was loud in his judgments against
others less forbearing than himself.
But with all his faults, and they arose more from
his heart than his head, he could not fail to be a
favourite with both sexes. He was generous, kind-
hearted to a fault, quick to be touched by another's
troubles, ready to do his best to remedy them.
But he was an idler and a dreamer; his life was
one long picturesque reverie ; he was a thorough
Bohemian, and apt to frequent society scarcely as
refined asr his own. He had many friends, some
few who loved him not wisely but too well, alas !
for their own peace of mind, and but few enemies.
The reason of his remaining so long a bachelor
was the topic ofmuch conversation, and society,
who never rests until she discovers a cause for
everyone's actions, hesitated not to declare that he
had formed an undesirable union in early life.
By very many this was believed, but such was
not the case.
Adrian, with his peculiarly sensitive, passionate
nature, found it an impossibility to marry where
he did not love, and having, unfortunately, often
loved where his reason told him it would be folly
to wed, he had perforce remained single.
But it was a state of things that must not long
continue, and so he told himself daily.
Not only did he tell himself, but his mother took
24 For One Mans Pleasure.
care to tell him also, and she is delivering him a
lecture on this very subject the morning after he
had taken that box at the opera for Lady Stella
Dacre. He had lounged in about lunch time at
his mother's pretty house in Hill Street, and sits
half amused, half vexed, listening to her tirade.
Lady Nugent is a tiny, fairy-like woman, ex-
quisitely formed, and thorough-bred from the crown
of her head to the soles of her pretty little feet,
encased in high-heeled shoes. She is a clever
woman, too, and a great politician, .delighting in
the epithet of' Rad,' which she had gained for her-
self as a girl in consequence of her liberal views.
Perhaps her personal appearance was her weakest
point, and she dressed according to a fashion of
her own.
Always in black, she wore night and day an
artistic arrangement of black lace draped carelessly
about her neck and shoulders, and fastened by a
diamond pin upon the white curls which graced
her head.
The snowy whiteness of her hair, contrasting as
it did with the fairness of her skin and delicate
bloom of complexion, was the first thing that struck
strangers. And thereby hung a tale.
When Lady Beatrice Grey married Lord Nugent,
it was against the expressed desire of her family
and friends.
There were many more eligible suitors for her
lovely petite form and laughing piquant face than
he ; but she loved him with the whole strength and
force of her nature, and was determined to have
none other than he. It was in vain others maligned
him to her, whispering tales of his dissipated tastes
and habits ; the more he was slandered, the more
she Hung to him, and in spite of all opposition they
were married.
For six months they were perfectly, utterly happy.
Mother and Son.
25
After that, their happiness waned. The Nugents
had never been known to be constant, and the
young wife, so soon as she grew to be weak and
ailing, was set aside for others with greater powers
of amusement. Lady Nugent bore this desertion
without a murmur or complaint. Too proud to
allow others to see her disappointment, she hid her
secret trouble well, and waited patiently for the
time when, the heir born and herself once again
strong and able to take part in her husband's
pleasures, she would win back his wandering
tenderness.
Adrian was born, and the father's heart woke
again to something of its former love for the lovely
young mother ; but scarcely had his wife recovered
from her confinement when he unexpectedly went
abroad, leaving no address behind him.
Too soon did his unhappy wife learn the cause !
He had gone to fight a duel with a friend about a
popular actress who, it appeared, had been living
under Lord Nugent's protection.
The viscount was severely wounded, and his
wife hastened across the water to nurse him in his
last hours.
On her return, three weeks later, her hair was
snowy white.
Such was Lady Nugent's history. She was ae-
voted to her son, and observed with sadness many
of his father's characteristics in his character, most
especially his liking for Bohemian society.
' If only you would marry Lady Stella,' she is
saying now, as she regards him fondly.
' If only I could love Lady Stella,' echoes he.
' Ah! mother, I think you will remain the one
true love of my life. Why cannot you find me a
wife like yourself?' And he bends down and kisses
her cheek.
She blushes up prettily as any girl under his
26 For One Man s Pleasure.
caress, and, retaining his hand between her soft
white ones, she answers softly,—
' Foolish boy ! You will love some day, never
fear; and then it will go hard with you, my dar-
ling. I wish it could be Lady Stella.'
' Do you ? Fancy marrying a statue. She
doesn't know what passion is, mother; she is
simply a piece of beautiful marble.'
'You could teach her,' was the low answer.
Adrian flushed a deep red at the idea.
' Oh no, mother, she is not my style ; you had
better put her out of your head at once.'
' What is your style, Adrian ? How much I
wish I knew. 1 have always such a terrible dread
of your asking me to love some girl inferior and
unworthy of you. Promise me, my darling, you
will never marry beneath you.' She looked up
earnestly into his face, and clasped his hand still
closer between her own. ' Promise me,' she pleaded,
as her son remained silent, regarding her with a
strange, wistful look. ' Oh ! Adrian,' as a hideous
thought crossed her brain, ' you are not already
married, are you ? '
' No, mother, no,' he answered hastily.
' Are you sure ? Can you swear it ?'
' I swear it by all I hold most sacred.'
' And you make me the promise I wish ?'
Adrian was silent.
' Oh ! my darling, remember all I have gone
through. Will you, too, 'work me grief and shame ?'
At this allusion, the first he had ever heard from
his mother's lips, to the wrong done her by his
father, his heart was touched.
' I promise,' he said, steadily and firmly.
And stooping, he sealed his promise with a kiss.
In the Studio.
27
CHAPTER IV.
IN THE STUDIO.
' If I can catch the colour of her hair
And her neck's poise, and set beneath her name.
Shall not her loveliness have deathless fame ?'
Have I already mentioned that Muriel lived in St
John's Wood ?
Had you strolled about the many quiet roads
with which that locality abounds, you would per-
chance have wandered down one flanked on either
side by high walls, above the summit of which
lilacs, acacias, and laburnums bloomed in rich pro-
fusion, and alighted upon Mademoiselle Delacourt's
tiny house.
And not a hundred yards off was Claude Hamil-
ton's home.
Society had taken this artist by the hand, and
would fain have made a pet of him ; but such was
not the nature of the man. Beautiful women of
fashion loved to visit his studio, inspect his half-
finished pictures, and sip tea out of his delicate
china cups, and had even been known to offer them-
selves as models ; but no woman had ever succeeded
in making a fool of Claude Hamilton. Though far
from being a vain man by nature, the artist could
not be blind to the fact that more than one grande
dame would not have been averse to a liaison with
him ; but the foolish creatures little knew the man
with whom they had to deal.
Gentle and chivalrous as his manner ever was
with women, they were not necessary for his
happiness, or, rather, had not been hitherto, per-
haps never would have been, had he not grown to
love Muriel.
28 For One Man's Pleasure.
With that love his whole nature, his whole life,
had changed. Love, with such a man as he, takes
no half-measures ; it affects his whole being, his
whole existence, once and for ever.
It is two or three mornings after Muriel's second
appearance, and she is sitting with him in his
studio while he finishes two pictures that he has
been painting of her. They were to have been
sent to the Academy ; but Madame Delacourt's
death, occurring when it did, had hindered the
sittings, and prevented their being completed in
time, and they were now to be exhibited separately
in King's Street.
Both were portraits of her as ' Marguerite.' In
the first she was represented seated at her wheel,
and, hackneyed as the subject is, the picture was
original in its conception. He had caught Muriel's
pure and innocent expression to perfection, and at
present this was the better likeness of the two.
In the second, the more beautiful picture, he had
drawn somewhat on his knowledge of Muriel's
character for the expression of her face under
certain experiences. In this picture he had de-
picted the hapless Marguerite standing in the
market-place, suffering in silence the jeers and
taunts of her former companions. Her back is
turned to her tormentors, so they do not see the
proud resignation of her lovely face. She stands
alone, her hands loosely clasped in front of her,
listening as they jest at her lover's desertion.
/There is no anger, no shame even in her ex-
pression, only an intense utter despair, not
at her companions' gibes, but at the loss of
Faust.
Perfect silence reigned in- the studio; the
thoughts of both artist and model were too full
for speech.
It was a large square room, tastefully hung with
In the Studio.
29
ancient tapestry. Old screens stood about the
apartment, breaking it up into sociable little nooks
and corners ; stags' heads and curious old metal
plates adorned the walls, while richly-worked stuffs
were flung with careless grace upon the low couches
and chairs.
It communicated with the rest of the house by a
large conservatory—flowers being one of Claude's
hobbies—which led in its turn to the drawing-room,
and was only separated from it by heavy velvet
curtains.
Muriel loved the studio, it was so cool and silent,
and to watch the artist at his work had a peculiar
fascination for her.
Sometimes they had long conversations as they
sat thus together, at others unbroken silence; but
then it was sociable, sympathetic silence, that
greatest of all signs of a perfect union of thought ;
but to-day, somehow, it was not so.
Watching Claude's face as he bent over his
work she read he was troubled, and longed but, for
the first time in her life, feared to ask the reason
why.
Strange to say, unknown to the other, both were
thinking of the same person.
' How beautiful Lady Stella Dacre is,' observed
Muriel presently. Claude had spoken of her to
Muriel, and of his visit to her box. ' I noticed her
directly I came 011 the stage. I wonder you have
never painted her, Claude.'
' Lord Arrowdale did once hint he would like
something of the sort, but I turned the subject.'
' Turned the subject ? Why ? '
' Because,' said Claude, laying down his brushes
and palette, and stretching his arms with a
weary sigh, ' if he wanted me to take her portrait,
and intended paying me for it, I have no time nor
inclination for the work ; and if he wished her to
30 For One Mans Pleasure.
serve as a model for one of my fancy pictures, I
have no intention of robbing my poor Juliet of her
honest earning. It is too much the fashion now-a-
days for ladies to do the work of their poor sisters,'
he added beneath his breath.
' And yet you asked me to sit for these pictures,'
said Muriel, a little puzzled. ' Perhaps you meant
me to refuse, and consider that I, too, am robbing
Juliet?'
' Nonsense, child !' said Claude hastily ; ' that is
quite different.'
' I wonder who will buy them ?' observed Muriel
thoughtfully.
' Buy them ? ' echoed he. ' Why, no one. They
are not for sale, Muriel.'
' Do you mean to keep them yourself, then ?'
' Most certainly. Did you th[nk I meant to sell
the little girl who sat on my knee and sang her
baby songs in my ear? No, no, ma mie, these
pictures are for myself, and will come back here
after they have been duly exhibited.'
He thought Muriel looked disappointed, but she
said nothing, and once again silence reigned.
How passionately he longed to confess some of
the fears that were troubling him, and frankly make
Lord Nugent the subject of conversation. Her
utter silence on the subject only confirmed his idea
that she was already interested in him, and he
longed to tell her. some little passages out of the
viscount's past life ; but he knew too well that
to slander a man to a woman is but to invest
him with additional charm, and convert him into
a martyr. So he was silent, and Muriel asked
no questions.
It was an ill fate indeed that left one so young
and fair without a legitimate protector.
Claude longed to tell her of his love, but he
feared that she regarded him only as a dear and
In the Studio.
old friend, and he was too proud and too just to
seek to win her by any means but her own free
love.
He glanced up at her, and wondered how that
dear face would look transfigured by the passion of
love, and trembled at the very thought of being the
one to awake it.
As he looked and as he wondered, he saw a rosy
light flood her face, and a strange, new expression
glow in her eyes ; and the sound of footsteps on
the tesselated floor of the conservatory made him
turn his head, and perceive Lord Nugent advancing
towards them.
Muriel was standing somewhat in the back-
ground, and Adrian fancied the artist alone.
' Hallo! old fellow,' he said, coming in gaily,
with outstretched hand. 4 Meeting you the other
evening reminded me to look you up, and so I
have come to have a chat.' Then, perceiving for
the first time a figure in the inner part of the room :
4 But perhaps I intrude, which I wouldn't do for the
world.'
4 Not at all. The sitting is over, and I have
finished work for to-day,' said Claude coldly.
And then, as Muriel moved towards them to leave
the room, he added. 4 Let me introduce you to
Mademoiselle Delacourt.'
Adrian started, recognised who it was advancing
towards him, and bowed.
41 feel proud, indeed,' he said, in his low musical
tones—his voice was one of his greatest charms.
4 Do let me thank you, mademoiselle, for the treat
you gave us the other night. Your voice and act-
ing are perfection. I have heard and seen nothing
like them for years.'
41 am glad you are pleased,' said Muriel, a
little shyly. 4 But you flatter me. I am but a
beginner.'
32 For One Man s Pleasure.
' Not so,' he answered, and turned towards the
pictures.
He gazed at them in silence for some time, and
then observed in a low tone to Claude that they
were the best things he had ever painted, and how
much did he want for the pair.
' They are not for sale,' was the curt reply.
Adrian regarded him fixedly, but said nothing,
and Muriel at that moment held out her hand to
wish him good-bye.
' I am afraid I have driven you away,' he said re-
proachfully. ' Do not make me feel so cruel.'
' Oh no; my old servant came for me some
time ago.'
' And you live near here?' looking eagerly into
her upturned eyes.
' Very close—the next road to this,' naming her
address.
' And may I do myself the, honour of calling
upon mademoiselle?'
There was a slight pause. Muriel looked at
Claude for advice ; but the artist stood with his
back towards them, and she did not like to make a
more outward appeal to hirri.
' Certainly. I shall be always pleased to see you,'
she said at last, with quiet dignity. And passing
out through the conservatory, she disappeared
through the velvet curtains.
As soon as the two men were alone, Claude
turned round.
' I say, old man, what's the matter with you ?
You look as black as thunder,' says Adrian
lightly. ' I believe you are vexed I looked you
up ; spoilt your little game, perhaps. If so, I am
awfully sorry.'
' I don't understand you,' answered Claude
coldly.
'Then what are you looking so black o,ver?
In the Studio. 33
Was it because I met the fair debutante, and asked
leave to call on her ? '
Oh ! how earnestly Claude longed to say yes,
and to speak a word of warning to the idle man
of pleasure ; but here again he felt it would be bad
policy to speak. With an effort he shook off his
forebodings, and made an attempt at friendliness
with his visitor.
' What nonsense you are talking,' he said, with
forced gaiety. ' Look here ; I am in doubt about
the folds of this dress,' leading the way back to his
picture. 'You are a bit of an artist yourself, aren't
you? Tell me, would you leave it as it is, or alter
it so?' rapidly drawing what he meant upon a piece
of paper.
' Leave it as it is, decidedly,' was the prompt
reply. And the two men were soon deep in artistic
discussions.
' What a lucky visit,' Adrian says to himself as
he walks away, after lunching with his friend.
' Got the girl's address without making her the
subject of conversation, and so arousing that
fellow's jealousy. He is in love with her himself,
that any baby could see. But she—does she re-
turn his love ? That's the question. How lovely
she is ; more so off the stage than on.' And, well
pleased, Lord Nugent walks briskly home to his
rooms in Clarges Street.
C
34
For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER V.
CLOVE CARNATIONS.
' But even as I mused and dream'd,
The old life faded quite away,
And all the golden sunlight stream'd
And warm'd my being with its ray.
Ah ! then for me the garden glow'd,
And then for me a silvery voice
Sang in the river as it flow'd,
And whispered to my heart " Rejoice,
The days of Death are gone and past,
And Life and Love are here at last. "'
Violet Fane.
I HAVE not said much about how Muriel mourned
for her mother, because grief is not a pleasant
thing to write or read about.
Each one of us grieves, as we love, after a fashion
of our own, and therefore it would not do to judge
from outward actions as to the depth of inward
feeling.
At first the girl was almost too ill and stunned
to realise the loss that had befallen her, but as the
days crept on into weeks she woke to a full realisa-
tion of what she had lost. She was too pure and
ignorant of the world's doings to understand and
feel crushed at the critical position in which her
youth, great beauty, and profession placed her, and
was almost inclined to smile when Claude or
Bertha hinted to her that she was unable to take
care of herself, thinking they considered her as still
a child.
Very anxiously did the old woman watch over
her precious charge, and sorely troubled was she
by a certain indescribable change which took place
in Muriel at that time. But she asked no questions,
for with all her .gentleness there was a dignity about
Clove Carnations.
35
Muriel which even she, who had held her as a baby
in her arms, did not dare to offend.
There was a restlessness about the girl, and a
strange expression of expectancy that puzzled her,
and she watched and waited for the solution of the
mystery, with the quiet patience so characteristic
of old age.
Every morning Muriel said to herself, ' He will
come to-day,' and each night as she laid her head
on the pillow, she murmured, ' Perhaps he will come
to-morrow.'
Poor little child, the innocent victim to a
thoughtless man's idle pleasure! he is teaching
thee, after a fashion of his own, the mystery of love.
Lord Nugent had not won and cast aside so
many hearts without gaining some little experi-
ence in the game he played, and he had ever found
his efforts most crowned with success when he
thus raised expectations and delayed the fruition
of them.
' She will be pleased enough to see me when I
do go,' he says to himself.
And so, though he is restless and impatient once
more to look into the dreamy depths of her lovely
eyes, and watch the colour come and go in her soft
face—as any love-sick boy racked and torn by the
vehemence of his first passion—be delays his visit
for yet another day.
She has only sung once since that meeting in the
studio, and then she failed to recognise him among
the audience.
She is beginning to feel sick and weary with
suspense and disappointment.
It is a hot sultry afternoon, the sort of day that
makes the body weak, and the mind depressed.
She has been sitting lost in thought, with the piece
of paper, that she had found in her dead mothers'
hand, lying before her on her lap.
36 For One Mans Pleasure.
It is the only scrap of her mother's writing that
she possesses, for never until now had they been
separated for even a day.
Many, many times since she had discovered it that
awful night, had the girl gazed at it with blinding
tears, and wondered over the strange meaning of
the pencilled words.
What fearful instance of selfish gratification could
she have been about to disclose to her ? And would
that day ever come that her mother had feared for
her, when she would feel tempted to take her own
happiness at the expense of another? And in-
voluntarily she prayed silently that she might be
helped were such a trial ever hers.
Poor dead mother ! lucky for thee that thou dost
not know, as thou liest in thy quiet grave, how thy
words shall, in the day of thy darling's peril, work
the very ruin that they were written to avert.
Muriel kisses the paper reverently, and places it
once more within the bosom of her dress. She feels
sad and deserted, and scarcely up to the work be-
fore her, that of appearing for the first time in
' Romeo and Juliet,' that evening.
The sun has sunk to its rest, and the air, as it
comes stealing gently in at the open windows, feels
cooler.
Muriel has still some hours to herself; and in-
stinctively she turns to .music for comfort and sup-
port in her lonely depression.
Oh ! music, true and only solace to many an
aching heart, what would mankind do without thy
soothing aid ? How many hearts have been healed,
and brains kept from madness through thy all-
entrancing melodies ! True caster-out of devils,
how can we thank thee enough for thy divine in-
fluence over the human heart !x
Muriel seated herself at the piano, and allowed
her fingers to wander at will over the keys, im-
Clove Carnations.
37
provising as she played ; and as the strains flowed
and rose and fell from beneath her slender fingers,
she felt her restlessness and sadness passing from
her, and floating away in the melodies.
She played on and on until the light waned and
the twilight fell, and she was calm and resigned
once more.
Then she rose, and passing down the room,
stepped from the shade of the back room into the
light that was streaming in from the western window
in the front ; and the rosy ray fell softly on her
slight form and bathed her fair throat and face with
a pink glow, and lit up the dreamy lustre of her
eyes.
And the man who stood hidden from her by the
curtain that divided the two rooms, was struck
afresh by her wondrous beauty.
So lost was she in thought, and dazzled by the
light that shone full on her, that she would have
passed him, but he put out his hand and touched
her gently.
She gave a great start, and the beautiful eyes
dilated with fear, and then she knew rather than
saw who it was.
' Did I frighten you ?' Adrian asked tenderly,
taking her hand in his. ' I did not mean to ; only,
when I saw you fading from my presence like some
beautiful vision, I could not help putting out my
hand to stop you.'
' I was only startled, this light is so blinding,' she
answered, moving back into the shade.
He followed her, and marked how pale she was
now that she had stepped out of the sunset glow.
His heart gave a great passionate throb. Had
he taught her already to pine for his presence ?
He could scarce command himself as he stood
thus alone with her, and watched the new shy look
in those deeply-fringed eyes.
38 For One Mans Pleasure.
' I have been here some time,' he said, seating
himself close to the arm-chair in which she sat.
'You did not know you had a listener to your
lovely music. I would not let your servant an-
nounce me, because I could not bear to stop the
sweet sounds. Was it very wrong of me to keep
you in ignorance of my presence ?'
She looked up bravely, but something in the ex-
pression of his eyes made her own droop. There
was a fluttering at her heart that made it difficult
to breathe, and her voice had a tremble as she
answered simply,—
' Oh no, my lord, I have no secrets to betray.'
He smiled to himself at her evident confusion,
and continued,—
' I should have done myself this honour, made-
moiselle, long ago, but I have been much engaged
of late. I would not have you think me neglectful
of your kind permission to call. I cannot tell you
how high an honour I esteem it to be able to see
and converse with one in private, whom all the
world admires in.public.'
She flushed a little at his flattering words, but
answered somewhat proudly, though she still avoided
meeting his eyes,—
' I am pleased to see you here since you say it
pleases you to come. No doubt, many would con-
sider the honour mine.'
' And you only feel pleasure on my account,—
my being here gives you none?'
Muriel was silent.
He bent towards her and saw that her lips were
trembling.
' Perhaps you had even forgotten you ever
asked me ?' he continued, with well-feigned re-
proach.
How perfectly he knew to the contrary.
At those words she turned round towards him,
Clove Carnations.
39
-cut to the heart, as he had intended she should be,
by his tones.
' Ah ! no,' she said earnestly. ' I have expected
you every day.'
How simple and childlike she looked as she said
those words.
Adrian's heart smote him. Was she not, in sooth,
too pure and innocent to be sacrificed as he was
sacrificing her, for an idle hour's amusement ?
He meant nothing really wrong towards her.
He only wanted to teach those eyes to answer to
the language of his own ; to feel, perhaps, once
those arms about his neck, and those red lips cling-
ing to his ; nothing else, nothing more !
No doubt she would finally marry the artist and
become the mother of his children, and he was
content at this time that so it should be ; only first
let him, just for a little space, be something in her
life.
He wanted to ruffle the even course of her pure
existence, to create in her loving memory a place
for himself, that was all. It gave life a fresh in-
terest and charm to have this fair creature to visit,
to whisper love-words to, and it excited him to
watch her as she took the lessons he taught to
heart.
But he forgot that sometimes one kindles a fire
that cannot be extinguished until we ourselves have
been consumed in the flames.
Muriel regained her self-possession as she sat and
listened to the easy flow of his conversation. He
spoke in such low musical tones, that even a timid
infant would have felt confidence, and his looks
were so kind that no wonder the poor child felt her
heart slipping away from out of her keeping.
Did Lord Nugent never pause and wonder what
the love of such a nature as hers would be ? Did
he never realise that what he was doing was for
40 For One Maris Pleasure.
once and always, and that the man who won for him-
self Muriel's love would retain it to his dying day ?
Selfish people never reflect. They walk on
straight to their goal, unmindful of the flowers
they crush beneath their feet.
Adrian had sworn to himself to be something to
Muriel, he hardly cared what, and went to work in
his own fashion, blind and heedless of the pain he
might cause in so doing.
By-and-by, when the conversation turned upon
music, Muriel offered to sing to him, and he eagerly
accompanied her back into the inner room, and
stood leaning over the piano feasting both eyes
and ears.
She sang several short things to him in succes-
sion, with the same pathetic tone running through
them all, that somehow seemed to him familiar,
and recalled moonlight nights on balconies, the
flash of love-lit eyes, and the touch of trembling
hands. He was set off dreaming by the melodies,
but awoke as the strains ceased.
'What are those? I know them all perfectly,'
he asked, as she took her hands off the keys and
looked up at him for comment.
' Do you like them ? They are Neapolitan
songs. Have you ever been to Naples? They
are as common there as your " Tommy, make room
for your Uncle." '
He laughed.
'Ah ! of course. Know Naples ? I should think
so ; why, I have spent some of the pleasantest
days of my life there.'
And he flushed a little as certain memories in
connection with that place floated before him.
' And you love it!' she exclaimed joyously, ' I
can see you do. Ah ! how pleased I am. Bella
Napoli,' she murmured to herself, 'when shall I
see you again ?'
Clove Carnations.
41
'You know Naples well, and love it, evidently,
yourself, mademoiselle,' he answered.
' Oh yes; there is no place like it, at least to
me. I was born there, and scarcely ever left it
until I was fifteen, when we went to Rome. Wait!
I will sing you my favourite of all these songs ;
do you know it,—" L'Addio a Napoli " ? '
At the last verse Adrian could not help joining
in the plaintive melody.
'You sing, too ? How I wish you would let me
hear you. Will you ?'
' Some day, perhaps, I may have sufficient
courage, but not now,' was the laughing reply.
' But I love that air so much, I could not help
joining in. I beg your pardon.'
' But why ? I am so glad to find someone else
who loves those airs as much as I. Shall I ever
forget-the day we left Naples? It was the grape
season, and all the land was full of beauty, and my
father and I almost wept at leaving it. We sat
hand in hand and sang that air all the time the
carriage was bearing us away.'
'You find England, London especially, a sad
change, do you not, poor child, from your own
sunny land ?' he said tenderly.
The tears stood on her long lashes as she an-
swered with a smile,—
' I have no land really. My father was French,
my mother English, and Italy is the land of my
birth, and where I have spent the greater part of
my life. You see, I have no nationality.'
' By rights clearly not, but by taste what are
you ?'
'Ah! I do not know. My dear mother was
English, so all your people are dear to me for her
sake ; but I cannot very heartily love your land—
it is all so triste here, no music, no flowers, no sun,
I do not think I can ever be very happy.'
42 For One Mans Pleasure.
She rose from the piano as she spoke, and
walked back to the other room.
' I am afraid I must send you away,' she said,
glancing at the clock. ' I have left myself barely
time to get down to the opera house. Ah ! what
is that smelling so sweet ? '
She stooped, and picked a clove carnation from
off the floor.
It had fallen from Lord Nugent's coat, and
she handed it to him, saying as she did so,—' Is
it not a delicious perfume? I love it nearly as
much as gardenias and stephanotis, and all those
heavily-scented hot-house flowers.
' Do you ?' he said, taking her hand and holding
it tightly between both of his. ' It is au revoir and
not adieu, for I shall see you later on at the opera.'
'Are you coming?', and she could not hide the
glad light that she felt was shining in her eyes.
'Yes! I have taken that box on the stage to
the left. Will you give me a glance of recognition ?'
He still held her hand, and bent down as he
asked the question, until their eyes were nearly on
a level.
She laughed a little nervously, as she answered,
—' I am afraid I should grow frightened if I
once began recognising those I knew among the
audience.'
He released her hand and said coldly, —' I
should be sorry to make you that. It was a foolish
request of mine ; forget I made it.' Then, before
she could answer, he had gone.
But Muriel could not be miserable even though
he had apparently left her in anger. Some strange
new feeling within was transforming all life into a
great bewildering joy.
Just as she was starting for the opera, a com-
missionaire drove up in a hansom and handed her
a basket directed to Mademoiselle Delacourt.
At the Academy. 43
It contained a quantity of hot-house flowers,
all those that she had named that afternoon as
being her favourites, and some splendid clove
carnations.
On a twisted piece of paper inside she found
written these words,—
' If you have forgiven my folly, wear my flowers
to-night, and I shall know I am pardoned.'
Had Bertha not been with her, she would have
pressed the senseless papqr passionately to her lips.
Why had she been so slow this afternoon to
respond to his request ?
Well! she would wear his flowers, and he should
have his coveted glance of recognition as well.
Surely he deserved it, after his great kindness.
And all the world noticed that Juliet in the
first scene wore white and crimson flowers in the
bosom of her dress, and that she glanced more
than once in the direction of a certain box, the
occupant of which was well hidden behind the
curtains.
CHAPTER VI.
AT THE ACADEMY.
' She cannot love him as well as I ;
There are so many who throng her round,
And she forgetteth, when they are by,
The very colour of his eye,
And of his voice the sound.'—Violet Fane.
' Lady Stella, have you been to the Academy
yet?' The questioner is Lord Nugent, who is
sitting beside Lady Stella in the Row, and he is
thinking, as he asks the question, that he has never
seen her look more lovely than she does this
44
For One Maris Pleasure.
morning in her cool, cream-coloured dress, and a
knot of crimson roses stuck in her bosom.
She is watching with amusement the crowds
that move slowly in front of their chairs, and pass-
ing little witty remarks on the appearance and
gait of some of them. Just now Lord Clairmont
sauntered disconsolately by, giving her a wistful,
pleading glance as he went, but she is feeling too
happy and contented with the present existing
state of affairs to feel any sympathy with his jealous
mood, and smiled and nodded gaily in response to
his glance and raise of the hat.
Now she is intent on scrutinising the horses that
throng the ride. She has inherited all her mother's
fondness for animals, and horses in particular, and
is herself a capital horse-woman, liking nothing
better than to have been allowed to follow the
hounds ; but to this Lord Arrowdale would not
consent, and she was too obedient and sweet-
tempered to attempt to question his commands.
She is much interested in watching the skittish
movements of a horse that has excited her admira-
tion, and does not at first hear her companion's
question ; but on his repeating it, she turns her
lovely face towards him with a radiant smile.
' No, not yet ; but I want to go so much.
Everybody is talking about a picture called, " The
New Love and the Old," painted by some new
man. They say it is quite lovely. If it were not
for that, I don't think I should go, for I am so
disappointed at Claude Hamilton having nothing
there this year.'
' Have you seen his two portraits of Mademoiselle
Delacourt. They are being exhibited in King's
Street.'
' No ; but I mean to. Have you ? '
'Yes; at least, I saw them in his studio before
they were quite finished. They are the best things
At the Academy. 45
he has ever painted, I consider. But about the
Academy! Have 3'ou any engagement for this
afternoon ? If not, why should not we do the
pictures to-day ? I could meet you at Burlington
House at any hour you like.'
' Or better still, come home and lunch with us
first,' responded she, smiling. ' Father,' turning
round to Lord Arrowdale, who sat on her other
side, ' can you take me to the Academy this after-
noon ? Lord Nugent and I have just discovered
that we should like to see the pictures.'
' Anything you like, my darling,' was the ready
response of the good-natured earl. ' But have you
not had nearly enough of this heat and dust, Stella ?
I think it must be close upon lunch time.'
' Yes, dear, I am quite ready and very thirsty,'
answered Lady Stella, rising with a light laugh.
She was quite ready to do anything that did not
separate her from the man at her side, whose
musical tones never failed to arouse a throb of
delight in her oft-deemed passionless heart ; and
she talked and laughed with a brilliancy that
Adrian had never before observed in her, until he
was fairly charmed, even though he told himself
again as he strolled along by her side, that she
was not his style, and could not hold a candle,
either in beauty or talent, to his ' lovely singing-
bird,' as he called Muriel. Still, for all that, he
was nothing loth that all the world should note
Lady Stella's evident delight in his society, and it
amused and pleased his vanity to notice the frown
that his presence called up on Lord Clairmont's
handsome, boyish face, when they came upon that
young nobleman just beyond the entrance to the
Row.
' Where are you off to, Bertie, my boy ? ' said
Lord Arrowdale, laying his hand affectionately on
the young man's arm. ' Come home and have a
46 For One Mans Pleasure.
bit of lunch with us, and do the Academy after-
wards. You have been already, haven't you ? so
you can tell us what is worth looking at.'
Clairmont's face cleared, up at the kindly words.
' I should like it of all things. May I ?' turning
with a sunny smile to Lady Stella.
' Of course ! Why not ? The more the merrier ;'
and she continued her conversation with Adrian,
leaving the young man to follow with her father.
It was the afternoon of that same day that
Claude Hamilton pushed open the door of Muriel's
sitting-room, and entering, found the girl alone.
She was sitting perfectly idle, with her hands
folded loosely on her lap, as she had a trick some-
times of doing ; for she was a bit of a dreamer,
this girl with the divine voice and liquid eyes with
their strange, far-away expression.
She did not move as Claude came in, only
reached him out a hand with a sweet smile of
■welcome.
He took it in his large one, and sat down near
her with a sort of sigh.
'Are you tired, Claude?' she asked. 'You
should not work so hard. I shall have to preach
you a sermon one of these days on the wickedness
of overworking one's self.'
Her tones were cheerful, and there was a new
bright expression on her face that seemed to tell
of some inner, hidden joy that had recently come
into her life.
The arfist looked at her with a weary qching in
his own loving heart.
Whose hand was it that was leading this girl
into fresh pastures, and teaching her hitherto un-
known experiences ?
Instinctively he knew, and writhed beneath the
bitter knowledge.
Was it not hard that a stranger, a selfish, idle
At the Academy. 47
libertine, should succeed in awakening feelings that
better, nobler men than he had striven ineffectually
to bring to life ?
As he glanced round the room he noticed that it
was profusely adorned with rare, heavily-scented
hot-house flowers, such as Muriel could not afford
to supply herself with, and their sweet fragrance
seemed to oppress him.
Muriel had told him frankly of Lord Nugent's
first and subsequent visits, and he had listened
without comment of any sort.
How Could he speak of suspicion and sin to one
so pure and innocent as she ? How warn before
cause for alarm had been given ?
He could say nothing that would not probably
do more harm than good ; so he suffered in silence,
and determined to watch more carefully than ever
over his darling.
' How silent you are,' she said presently, arousing
herself from her own reveries. ' Come, have you
nothing to tell me after not having been near me
for two whole days ?'
She had missed him then, had even counted the
days of his absence ! His heart gave a great throb
as he answered gravely,—
' It was not my fault I stayed away. I have
been nursing poor young Durant. I am very un-
happy about him, Muriel. I fear he will scarcely
last another day, and have promised to go back
and spend the night beside him. Poor fellow ! to
think that he should be lying there dying, when all
the world is speaking in praise of his picture.
Fame for him has come too late. His is a sad
history.'
' Tell it to me, Claude,' she said, and leant
nearer to him in her earnestness.
' It is the old story,' said he, sadly. ' He loved,
and his love met with no return. And then he
48 For One Mans Pleasure.
determined to live in his art alone, and achieve
greatness that she might hear and know. But it
has been too much for him, and he is dying fast in
his solitary lodgings, without a living soul but
myself to speak a word of comfort and courage to
him.'
Muriel's eyes were full of tears as she raised
them to Claude's, and said slowly,—
' Ah ! I can quite understand. He wished to be
great for her that he might grow worthy of his love
for her. And she, does she know or care, I
wonder?' •
' Probably not ; he did not tell me her name.
But why do you say he wished to make himself
worthy of his love for her? The chances are she
was not worthy of him.'
' Perhaps not, judging from an outsider's view;
but to the one that loves, surely the loved one
must always appear immeasurably the superior of
the two.'
He was silent, musing over her words.
Was she not right ? Did not Love in truth in-
vest men and women with virtues not their own ?
' Claude,' she said suddenly, ' I have not seen
this picture of " The Old Love and the New." Will
you take me now, at once, to see it ? I should feel
so sorry if he died and I had not seen the work
that has cost him so much.'
' Yes ; I will take you at once if you wish it,' he
answered, pleased at her interest in his friend.
' Thank you. I will not keep you long while I
put on my things.'
In a few minutes she rejoined him, and calling a
hansom, they drove to Burlington House.
The rooms were crowded, and the popular prima
donna excited no small interest as she passed
through the apartments, accompanied by the well-
known artist. But heedless of the curious glances
At the Academy. 49
cast in her direction, she hurried on as fast as the
crowd would permit, closely clinging to her com-
panion's arm.
As they approach the picture they had come to
see, Muriel noticed a group already before it, and
recognised, with a sharp pang of pain, Lord Nugent
bending down over Lady Stella Dacre.
Some other men were standing near, holding her
glasses, her book, her fan, but she appeared only
aware of Lord Nugent's presence, and was gazing
up earnestly into his face, as he stood whispering
his opinion of the picture in her ear.
'Stay!' Muriel said hurriedly, as Claude, who
had not yet observed his friends, was about to clear
a space for her to approach nearer the painting, 'I
would rather wait until there are fewer round it
Here, let us look at some of these pictures.' And
she drew him into another room.
She felt sick and faint, she knew not why, but
compelled herself to talk about the paintings at
which they were gazing, and to feel interest in what
Claude had to say on the subject.
Presently Lord Nugent passed them, going hur-
riedly towards the entrance. He almost touched
Muriel as he pushed his way through the people ;
but he did not see her, though her face was turned
eagerly towards him. Somehow she was both vexed
and relieved that he had passed her without notice.
' Come now,' she said. ' Let us go and look at
Mr Durant's picture.'
And they wended their way back, and stood in
silence before the work that had cost the worker so
much.
The subject was the eve apparently of a bridal-
day. The happy bridegroom, in rich attire, stands
at last alone with his lovely bride, who is radiant
in shimmering silk and costly jewels. The apart-
ment in which the pair are, is. evidently the library
TT
50 For One Man s Pleasure.
of some grand old hall, the man is clasping the
woman lovingly in his arms ; her back is to the
window, he faces it, and through its panes the face
of his old love looks in, like the ghost of former
days.
The expression of horror and astonishment on
the man's face, and of sorrow and despair on the
deserted woman's, were splendidly depicted, while
there was something inexpressibly touching in the
happy loving face of the young unconscious bride.
It was a picture that haunted you long after you
had gazed your fill and gone away to your own home.
The faces came back to you again and again, each
telling so forcibly their own tale.
Muriel stood fascinated, her whole soul in her
beautiful eyes.
' Do you like it ?' Claude asked at last.
She shuddered a little as she drew back, and
slipped her hand through his arm.
' Like it ? Oh no ! it is too dreadful-—too
real; but it is very, very clever. No wonder that
poor man made himself ill; he must have felt it
all so vividly to paint it so well. Let us go now. I
shall not care to look at any other pictures to-day.'
As they were passing out, they came again upon
Lady Stella; Lord Clairmont was now the hon-
oured swain, and she was laughing merrily at some
remark of his.
This time she recognised Claude, and bowed as
-he passed.
' What a flirt she is,' Muriel could not help
saying.
She judged, as so many of us do, from outward
signs.
'Who? . Lady Stella? My dear child, you
never made a greater mistake in your life. If she
has a fault, people say|it is that of being too cold
and difficult to please.'
Father and Daughter. 51
Muriel made no reply, but in her heart she
said to herself, ' He cannot be to her what he
is to me, or how could she listen with pleasure
to another's voice, or care to look into another's
eyes ?'
Ah! Muriel, my dear, you should have lived
long, long years ago, before women had learned
to hide the secrets of their inmost soul. The
most seeming inconstant, now-a-days, are ofttimes
the truest. But how should you know that, poor
innocent one ?
CHAPTER VII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
' I know not why my spirit sighs,
For other hearts are seeking mine ;
And I can read in other eyes
The tenderness I miss in thine. "
Yet, 'tis in vain ! thy friendship cold,
The calm esteem I have from thee
Is deai-er, oh ! ten-thousand fold,
Than love which others give to me !'
Violet Fane.
Lady Stella Dacre, with all her wealth, beauty,
rank, and crowd of admirers, was not a happy
woman.
Cold and passionless as she was ofttimes
deemed by those who but knew her slightly, she
was in reality of a highly sensitive, affectionate
nature.
But she had done the most foolish thing a woman
can do. She had flung her best, most precious
gifts unasked at another's feet. She had given her
heart's devotion to one who neither prized nor
wished for it.
It is hardly a pleasant thing for a naturally
52 For One Mans Pleasure.
somewhat proud woman to realise that she has
freely given to another what that other has not
cared sufficiently about to in any way seek ; and
Lady Stella's cheeks are wont to flush an uncom-
fortable crimson whenever she thinks matters
calmly over, and realises to the full how completely
she has allowed Lord Nugent to become necessary
for her happiness.
Hers had been a strangely isolated life for one
in her position.
Bereft at so early an age of a mother's loving
care, she had been "dependent upon her nurses and
governesses for love and interest in life. It was not
until she reached womanhood that anything like
mutual love and intercourse took place between her
and her father ; for with all his devotion for his
daughter, Lord Arrowdale was scarcely the man
to inspire complete confidence in a young child, or
timid maiden, just beginning to feel perplexed with
life's mysteries.
No man is capable of filling the place of mother
to a child, more especially if that child be a girl.
I speak not, be it understood, of the modern
fashionable mothers, who dress in as juvenile gar-
ments as their daughters, and copy their coiffures
and manners.
Many a girl, I think, must be ashamed to own
as mother some of the women that are to be met
with now-a-days, with their tightened waists and
dyed frizzled locks.
No! I speak of women worthy of that sacred
name, and, thank God ! there are still a few such
to be seen: women who live quiet, chaste lives,
occupying themselves with their children and
household duties, and finding pleasure in such
work ; women who exercise out of their own
ipure lives a holy influence for good over those
•around them, and to whom their husbands turn
Father and Daughter.
53
for rest and happiness. To Lady Stella her
mother was but a sacred memory, a cherished
ideal.
As a little child, it had been her greatest pleasure
to sit beside her father in the twilight, and listen
while he talked in softened tones of the one they
had lost.
Sometimes she wondered, in a vague, dreamy
fashion, what her own life and character might
have been had that cherished ideal been a living,
acting reality.
With many acquaintances, and a greater number
of relations, Lady Stella reached womanhood with-
out having once formed a romantic attachment for
either female friend or lover.
With a great, deep capacity for love—nay, ab-
solute worship—ready stored in her maiden heart,
to be lavished on some one being, the girl waited
patiently for her fate. She had not, as too many
do, frittered away her best feelings, her highest,
noblest affections, on first one and then another of
the admirers that thronged her round, all eager
to teach her that sweet old story, which is so old
and yet ever appears so new.
No wonder she was called cold and difficult to
please. Many voices whispered in her ear, many
hands strove to clasp hers in loving grasp, many
eyes looked into hers with glowing, passionate
tenderness, but not one had met with any re-
sponse. Her heart had not thrilled nor her hand
trembled, nor her eye drooped, at any one of their
whispers, touches, or looks.
Then one day she had suddenly awoke to the
knowledge that her heart had slipped away from
her keeping—knew that for evermore her soul
would be racked and tortured by the pangs and
throbs of love.
It is only when we love that we discover our
54 For One Maris Pleasure.
full powers of suffering, for with that passion comes
ever more pain than joy.
And yet, and yet, who among us, once having
experienced the overwhelming utter bliss of an-
other's heart answering to our own, another's lips
pressed to ours, another's hand grasping with fever-
ish fervour our clinging fingers, would forego that
blessed past, even if by so doing we could save
ourselves the tortures of Hell itself? To have
once known that supreme happiness, is something
for which to thank the gods and die.
It is not the most worthy that we choose oft-
times on whom to lavish our heart's tenderness,
our soul's devotion.
Lady Stella was not, with all her love, blinded
to Lord Nugent's many faults. She saw him as
he was, an idle, self-indulgent man of pleasure,
who spent his days and nights in one round of
meaningless excitement, striving ever to drown in
the gaieties of the present the memories that arose
from the dissipations of the past. She had too
often heard his name coupled with some one or
other of her married acquaintances, had too often
had confided to her by others the false hopes as
to matrimony that he had excited, by his marked
attentions, in maiden breasts, to exalt him into a
faultless idol. It was he, he with all his faults and
failings, that she loved, and no immaculate divinity
could ever have been to her half so dear. It was
so easy for her, leading the life she did, mixed up
as she was in the same fashionable but immoral
set, to find excuses for his actions.
Lady Stella was no innocent, unsophisticated
girl, ready to be shocked and frightened by a mere
shadow, she was a woman of the world ; more than
that, her rank placed her where she had full and
perfect means of seeing men and women as they
are, and not as good righteous little story books
Father and Daughter. 55
represent them. She soon discovered that it is
not so easy as at first sight it appears, to designate
this woman or that man as ' bad ' or ' good.' She
came to know that many of the women whom, on
first acquaintance, she had deemed virtuous and
pure, were, in reality, full of vice, and led behind
the scenes impure, sensual lives. Others, of whom
she had been previously warned, she had known
to do unselfish Christian actions, and seen them
prove themselves true staunch friends in the hour
of need.
And if in women she had observed this great
seeming contradiction, how much more forcibly
was it shown forth in men. It is Carlyle, I think,
who says,—' There are depths in a man that go
the lengths of lowest Hell, and there are heights
that reach highest Heaven ; for are not both
Heaven and Hell made out of him, made by him,
everlasting miracle and mystery that he is ?'
Many and many a time had she heard of noble,
self-sacrificing, devoted acts on the part of men
whom the world deemed mere idle sensualists in-
capable of a pure deed, a lofty aspiration. There-
fore, in loving Lord Nugent, and being cognisant
as she was of his daily life, she did not despair,
could she only gain his love, of winning him to
better, higher things. But it was the hoplessness
of ever making herself more to him than a lovely
woman, sufficiently pleasing to his taste to induce
him to pay her attention when fate threw her in
his way, that so weighed upon her night and day,
and rendered her unhappy and restless, spite of
all the many blessings a kind fate had lavished
upon her.
When the man she loved was seated at her side,
breathing, in his low musical voice, soft sentimental
words of self-reproach and dissatisfaction, as was
his wont, she was feverishly happy. But she was
56 For One Mans Pleasure.
too sensible, too much a woman of experience,
when in solitude she recalled his confidences, to
value them at more than they were worth.
And when whole weeks sometimes elapsed with-
out his voluntarily seeking her society, when she
saw him devoting himself before her very eyes to
other lovely women, and whispering, she doubted
not, the self-same confidences into their pretty
ears, she was forced to own the bitter truth, that
she was no more to him—not so much, apparently,
as one or two—than the other beautiful women of
his acquaintance.
She told herself again and again that if she were
wise she would do well to tear this unrequited love
from her bosom, and accept from others the tender-
ness she sought in vain from him.
But what woman ever is wise when the choice
lies between Wisdom and Love!
There are women born with that dog-like faith-
fulness of soul, that they treasure their life-long
misery from one hand, more dearly than supreme
happiness from another.
Even when to cast their love from them would
bring them peace and rest at least, they cannot do
it, and, hugging their cherished sorrow closer to
their aching, breaking hearts, they prefer to drag
through their miserable lives weighted with the
chains of a loved memory, last relics of a sacred
past, to casting the links aside and standing free
to carve out a fresh life for themselves.
It is folly, you say? Yes, it is folly ; but then
in love there is ever so much, so very much, that
none save our own heart, and perhaps one other,
can understand, and what the world cannot com-
prehend it always designates as foolish. But, per-
haps,—who knows ?—-such folly is capable of reach-
ing to heights of greatest wisdom.
Lady Stella sat vaguely realising the truth of
Father and Daughter. 5 7
what I have written, with a weary aching at her
heart, late one afternoon, a few days after the visit
to the Academy.
She was surrounded by every luxury and beauty
that money and taste could supply. The draw-
ing-room in Bruton Street was often quoted as a
master-piece of artistic arrangement. Lady Stella
had much original taste in such matters, and her
wealth and her father's indulgence gave her full
scope for displaying her powers.
Pure works of art peeped bewitchingly from dim
nooks and corners, tempting the beholder upon a
voyage of discovery round the apartment; whilst
rich Eastern stuffs spread upon the couches and
chairs, and the many handsome screens that stood
about the room, gave a strange bizarre effect to
the whole.
There were flowers everywhere. Great, tall,
feathery palms, sweet-smelling plants placed in
every available china pot, and huge bowls of cut
fragrant flowers.
The room smelt like a conservatory, whilst the
dim, subdued light struck the in-comer with a sense
of thankfulness and rest. Those who found their
way in on a hot day were ever very loth to leave it
and its lovely, maddening occupant.
Lady Stella has just come in from her afternoon
drive, and has been partaking of her usual cup of
tea from a dainty china set which stands on a low
table at her elbow.
She and her father are dining out that evening,
and later are to look in at a crowded assembly
given by one of the Ambassadors. The thought
that by its intensity is ruffling her white brow, is
whether or no, at this latter entertainment, she will
meet Lord Nugent.
Interruption to her troubled reflections comes in
the shape of her father, who enters the room with
58 For One Mans Pleasure.
a preoccupied expression, and, sinking wearily into
the depths of a low, comfortable arm-chair, asks
his daughter for a cup of tea.
Lady Stella pours him one out, and hands it to
him, too much occupied still with her thoughts to
notice the unusual look of care depicted upon the
earl's naturally open, good-natured countenance.
' Bertie Clairmont has been here chatting with
me,' he remarked presently, glancing furtively at
his companion to see if that name calls up any
maiden blush of confusion. No! the calm, white
face remains as calm and white as the lilies by her
side. The name he has just uttered possesses not
the power of awakening in those soft cheeks the
crimson flush of conscious love.
Lord Arrowdale heaves a gentle sigh, why he
scarcely knows, perhaps from disappointment.
' Can you guess what he has been talking to me
about, Stella ?' he asks.
' No, father. Has he got into trouble of any
sort, out of which he thinks you can help him ? '
She raises, her beautiful, clear, limpid eyes gravely
to her father's face as she speaks. Clearly she has
no suspicion of the tale he has to tell.
' Yes, you are right. I am sorry to say he is in
great trouble ; but I fancy it is your aid rather than
mine that he seeks.'
' Really ! What description of trouble can it be
in which he thinks my help can be of any service
to him ? Poor old Bertie, of course I will do my
best for him. I hope you told him so ? '
And Lady Stella sat up quite interested. Here
was someone else beginning to discover that life is
not all play and enjoyment.
Perhaps Bertie wanted her assistance in a love
affair; and several girls of her acquaintance flit-
tered in quick succession through her brain. Yet,
surely, it could not be that; was he not in a stupid
Father and Daughter. 59
boyish way attached to herself? Of course, he
would really fall in love some day ; but how quick
he must have been about it, for was it not only
yesterday she had been obliged to rebuke him
sharply for some foolish loving act, which she
considered transgressed the bounds she had laid
down for his boyish admiration and friendly feeling
for herself?
'Yes, he is in great trouble, Stella,' the earl
repeated gravely. ' He has been confiding fully in
me, and he is a fine character, a very fine character ;
I never knew how much good there was in the boy
before.'
He stopped and glanced again at his daughter
half uneasily. This time her face was bent towards
him and full of interest.
' It appears,' he continued, still keeping his eye
upon her, ' that he is deeply in love, so deeply that
he feels that life without the woman he loves would
be worthless.'
' Poor Bertie,' interrupts Stella, laughing, ' how
highly romantic. Fancy him pouring out his love
troubles to you of all people in the world. What a
bore you must have thought him. Why did you
not pack him upstairs here to me ? Since he wants
my aid, it is but fair I should have heard his story
from himself.'
'That is just what he complains of,' interposed
Lord Arrowdale quickly ; ' he says he can never
make you believe he is in earnest, and that when
he mentions his love to you, you turn the subject
with some jest.'
'Turn the subject with some jest? What can
the boy be talking about ? He has never yet
mentioned his lady-love to me.'
The earl looked fairly puzzled.
' Mention her to you ? ' he echoed. ' What do
you mean ? It is you that he loves, that he would
6o
For One Man s Pleasure.
fain make his wife, and I have promised to say a
good word for him.'
Now, indeed, the blood came with a hot flush
bathing even Lady Stella's throat and brow with a
crimson glow.
4 Me that he loves ?' she exclaimed, incredulously
4 Father, are you sure you are not making a mistake ?
4 Quite sure, darling. He came to me first on
the matter, partly because he wished to know if 1
thought he had a chance of success, and also to
secure my good word for him with you.'
4 And you ? What did you say when he told
you all this ?'
41 told him that I could not answer for your
feelings ' towards him, for you had not confided^
them to me, but that so far as he personally were
concerned, I should be pleased and proud to
welcome him as a son ; but that it was a matter
for you alone to decide—I should not attempt to
coerce you either way.'
4 Thank you, darling,' she said softly, rising as
she spoke ; and, going over to his arm-chair, she
knelt down by his side and leant lovingly against
him.
Lord Arrowdale put his arm round her and drew
her close.
4 You do not want to get rid of me, do you ?
You are not vexed that I cannot marry this poor
boy.'
The earl at any other moment could have smiled
at hearing the Earl of Clairmont, with ^180,000
a year, the greatest catch of the day, with his three
handsome estates and splendid town house, called
4 a poor boy.'
He was not without the natural ambition of a
father, and to see his daughter wedded to one of
the handsomest, most good-natured, richest men of
the day, would have pleased him greatly.
Father and Daughter. 61
But he was too fond of his child to urge her
into a loveless marriage, and knew the proud and
honourable characteristics of her nature too well to
attempt to point out to her notice the advantages
and position that would be hers did she consent to
become the Countess of Clairmont.
41 am very sorry for all this,' said Lady Stella
presently. ' How could he dream for a single
minute that I could marry a mere boy, scarcely
older than myself, and everyone knows how much
older women are at the same age than men. Of
course I knew he admired me in a foolish, romantic
fashion, but I thought he knew as well as I that it
is but a thing for the time. Ten or twelve years
hence he will meet some young girl and love her,
while she will look up and reverence him as a god.
He is too young to marry now, let him wait for
greater experiences and riper knowledge before he
binds himself for life. You will tell him, father,
kindly and tenderly, of course, all I say, and make
him understand how sincerely fond of him I am,
but not in that way, not in that way.'
' Very well, darling,' was the fond answer, rather
sadly given. 4 If you do not love him, of course
the thing is out of the question.'
4 And you will not be very disappointed if I never
marry? You will believe always that I know best
what is for my own happiness, either in refusing or
accepting a husband.'
' I will never attempt to alter your decision, if
that is what you mean,' answered Lord Arrowdale,
smiling at her earnestness. 4 But I cannot say that
I shall not feel disappointed if you choose to re-
main single all your life. In doing so you will
miss the greatest and highest blessing God gives
to man. Selfishly, of course, I shall be glad, for I
have every thing to lose and nothing to gain by
your marriage.'
62 For One Mans Pleasure.
Lady Stella put her arms round his neck and
kissed him fondly.
4 Thank you,' she said simply. Then, rising, left
the room.
CHAPTER VIII.
A NEW HAPPINESS.
' Oh ! love, love, love ! oh ! blessed word,
That never did I understand
Till in my ear his voice I heard
And felt the pressure of his hand ;
No more I walk with eyes cast down
I am his queen, love is my crown.'
To Lord Nugent, Muriel had come as the revela-
tion of a new life.
Already he felt her pure influence stealing gently
over his world-wearied, jaded senses, and experi-
enced, in her presence, a soothing sensation of peace
and rest, a renewed belief in all the sweet faith of
his boyhood, when his naturally artistic, romantic
nature, had dreamed its poetic dreams of woman's
virtues and man's courage and honour. Seated by
her side, gazing his fill of her spiritual beauty, listen-
ing to her exquisite voice as it thrilled and vibrated
through his whole frame in song, or spoke in softer
cadence, telling of her innocent, girlish ideas of Life
and Love and Art, he asked himself again and again
whether it were indeed a fable of which the poets
sang, that women were strong in purity and faith
and constancy, and that men, through them and by
them, had been raised 4 on stepping-stones of their
dead selves to higher things.'
There was something strangely refreshing in
listening to the outpourings of her simple and yet
A New Happiness.
63
intellectual mind. Many of her beliefs and dreamy
fancies were so noble and exalted, that the listener
seemed inspired with new strength and courage as
her gentle tones fell upon his ear.
After having mingled for so many years with men
and women who scoffed at virtue, sneered at honour,
and laughed lightly at the bare mention of the word
constancy, when pleasure and self-gratification led
the other way, it charmed and lulled him with a
strange power to hear this girl speaking, from out
the steady conviction of her own pure heart, of love
true and lasting.
It was love in the abstract, not the girl's own love-
powers about which they conversed. He was in the
habit of lending her books, both French and English,
love tales vividly told, glowing with passion and
excitement, which appealed forcibly to her tender,
sensitive heart, and thrilled her with their fascinat-
ing but unwholesome sentiments. Then, as he
lounged away his hours in her dim, old-fashioned
little sitting-room, he would, by a few well-chosen
words languidly uttered in his musical voice, draw
out her opinions, and listen, well-pleased, as she
revealed the hidden treasures of her loving heart
and pure mind.
He was so weary of the women of his own world,
weary of their looks, their words, their manners ;
he knew so well by heart all their little tricks and
mannerisms, and delicately-veiled innuendoes ; and
their society, for the first time in his careless, pleas-
ure-seeking life, began to pall upon him.
He found himself unconsciously forming plans,
and dreaming dreams of which Muriel was the
central figure. He was never tired of lazily con-
jecturing how such and such things would please
and strike him, were she by his side sharing his life
and interests.
Surely those mournful, limpid eyes were beautiful
64 For One Man s Pleasure.
enough to make him who saw himself mirrored in
their soft depths forgetful and indifferent of the
outer world. Was she not, in truth, sufficiently
lovely and charming for any man to consider the
world well lost for her sake ? He asked himself
this question again and again, as he sat quietly
smoking in the luxury and comfort of his own rooms;
in crowded ballrooms where the most lovely women
of the day uncovered their charms liberally before
his critical eye ; on lonely balconies or in secluded
corners when some fair face was close to his, giving
back glance for glance, replying with smiles to his
low love-whispers, and returning with gentle press-
ure the furtive clasp of his hand—and the answer
ever came, clear and distinct, ' Yes.'
By her side he felt himself a better man, she in-
spired him with some of her own faith in mankind,
aroused in him some of her own enthusiasm and
noble courage for right and truth.
Her childish interest in small matters, her grati-
tude for tiny favours, were a pleasing change from
the studied ennui and languid sufferance of the
women for whom he had been accustomed to ar-
range excitements, and on whom he had showered
far greater liberalities.
He was beginning to chafe under the knowledge
of Claude Hamilton's connection with and influence
over her, and to begrudge him his liberty in wooing
and winning her if he could.
So great was his infatuation, and so earnest and
passionate his love, that had it not been for his
mother he would not have hesitated for an hour in
asking Muriel to become his wife. But he knew
rightly that his mother would never free him from
his oath, and that in no way could he disappoint
and pain her more than by a mesalliance of that
sort.
With a keen sense of noblesse oblige in personal
A New Happiness.
65
matters, radical as she was in political ones, she had
as was perhaps only natural considering her past, a
particular aversion to all those connected with the
stage. Had Adrian chosen to love some girl of
poor, obscure parents, the chances are she would
have yielded to his persuasions, and agreed to wel-
come and love her as a daughter, rather than cause
a rupture between herself and her idolised son.
But to be expected to keep up daily intercourse
with one who had at any period of her life chosen
to exhibit her charms upon a public stage, was some-
thing that Lady Nugent felt to be utterly impos-
sible. To her there was no distinction between a
prima donna and a ballet-girl ; both were alike
public property, legitimate targets for the arrows
of public opinion and admiration, and, as such,
entirely beyond the pale of her ladyship's interest
or respect.
Lord Nugent, knowing all this, feeling every day
more and more how much he loved Muriel, and how
his love could never work her aught but sorrow and
shame, should have been man enough to leave her.
The wound would have been a sharp one for the
girl, but she would have recovered from it in time,
for no woman with an ounce of self-pride can con-
tinue to mourn for ever for a man who thus shows
her she is nothing to him. She has mistaken his
interest in her, that is all, and a proud woman never
rests until she has put that man entirely out of her
life and thoughts, and is not content until she can
recall him as merely a pleasant memory in her
past.
God help such women ! Theirs is no light task,
and many a now happily-smiling wife, who carries
some such memory in her heart, shudders still as
she remembers the tears she shed, the pangs she
endured, the torments she suffered before that work
was accomplished.
E
66 For One Maris Pleasure.
But as selfish men are thoughtless, so also are
they vain. They cannot bear for their own vanity's
sake that they should become as nothing to the
women whose lives they have wrecked by their
heartless conduct. To leave a woman whom he is
teaching to love him for pure self-gratification,
when his absence is likely to save his victim from
life-long pain, is just what no man can persuade
himself to do. He must hover round, prolonging
his own gratification and her agony, weakly led by
his own prevailing sentiments, instead of calling
strength and resolution to his aid.
Strange to say, notwithstanding Lord Nugent's
frequent visits to Muriel, he had never yet en-
countered Claude there ; but one morning, when it
pleased him to call before lunch instead of, as was
his wont, later on in the day, l)e found the artist
sitting with Muriel when he somewhat familiarly
strolled into the room.
However, the greeting between the two men was
outwardly friendly enough, and Muriel was too
unconscious still of her own position towards these
two to suspect or look for animosity.
Claude could not help noting her brilliant colour
and the lustre of her radiant eyes as she greeted
the new-comer, and the pain at his heart increased
at the sight.
After a few common-place words, he arose and
took up his hat.
' Are you going, Claude ?' said Muriel. ' Can
you not wait a little longer and finish telling me
about poor Mr Durant's death ?'
' It would not interest you,' he answered brus-
quely ; and Muriel opened her eyes in displeased
astonishment at his tone and defiant manner.
She said nothing, but held out her hand to bid
Jiim good-bye.
' Stop a minute, Hamilton,' interrupted Adrian.
A New Happiness. 67
' Look here, old fellow, I am awfully sorry I broke
into the middle of your story. I can explain the
reason of my visit in a few seconds, and will be off
out of your way.' He drew an envelope from
his pocket as he spoke, and continued rapidly,
leaving no chance for either of his companions to
interpose a word, ' I knew you did not sing to-
night, Mademoiselle, and I thought you might
perhaps care to hear Albani in " Lohengrin." I
have done myself the honour of procuring you a
box, pray accept it ; it will secure you an evening
of intense pleasure, that I can safely promise.'
He held out the ticket as he spoke, and Muriel
took it with a flush on her lovely face, brought
there by the thought of his kindness.
Claude still stood near her with a look of dis-
pleasure on his handsome face. He listened moodily
to her words of thanks, heard her accept the box,
and then turned to go.
' Stay, Claude,' she said, with a sweet smile of
forgiveness ; and going towards him, she laid her
hand on his arm. 'You will share this pleasure
with me to-night, will you not ? Surely it will be
quite " proper," as you say in this land, if I take old
Bertha with me ? '
He took her hand from off his arm, and stepped
back a little from her.
' No, thanks.. It would be no pleasure to accept
his gifts,' with a jerk of his head in the direction
where Lord Nugent stood carelessly glancing
through a book while this whispered conversation
took place between his companions.
' How can you be so foolishly proud ?' answered
Muriel earnestly, not understanding the true cause
of his refusal. ' I cannot think what has come over
you to-day, you are so cross and disagreeable.'
That may be,' he replipd sadly; ' but at least,
child, I am honest.'
68 For One Mans Pleasure.
* What do you mean ? What do you insinuate ? '
' Never mind, ma miel he answered, in his usual
tender tones. ' Let me go in peace. I have other
engagements for to-night, and could not accompany
you even if I wished. Take old Bertha with you,
and then my mind will be at rest about your safety.'
She laughed merrily.
* Now you look yourself again. Well, good-bye,
I am sorry you cannot come; but if you say you
cannot, I believe you.'
He bade her farewell and went his way, thinking
that she had not found it difficult to believe him,
because her inclinations were in favour of the belief.
' Well, has he gone good friends with you ?' play-
fully demanded Adrian, as Muriel came back to
him alone.
He threw down the book he held, and met the
half-timid glance of her eye with a long-dwelling
loving one.
'Yes, I think so,' she replied slowly. 'But he
was in a strange humour to-day. I have never
seen him so before.'
' Perhaps he was vexed at finding me here,' said
Adrian, still looking down longingly on her, and
with difficulty refraining from taking her in his
strong arm, and uniting their lips in one long wed-
lock.
' But why should he ? ' innocently replied Muriel.
' Oh no, it could not be that. I think Mr Durant's
death has upset him.'
' What! Durant ? The man that painted that
picture at the Academy ?'
'Yes; is it not sad? He worked so hard at it,
it has killed him. Did you like it ? I thought it
so dreadfully real.'
' I think it made me feel a little creepy,' answered
he, smiling. ' Ah ! that was the day I was fool
enough to miss you in the crowd.'
A New Happiness.
69
Muriel, you perceive, had taken the trouble to
inform him of that important fact.
' How it could have happened, I can't make out
Did I really knock against this little arm, and not
know and feel it was yours ?'
He took hold of it as he spoke, and their eyes
met-in a long passionate glance, each gazing at the
other half delirious with the force of their feelings.
Adrian felt his reason fast drowning in the
lustrous depths of the girl's dreamy eyes. In
another moment he might not be master of his
actions. His breath came in great throbs, and he
could hear the beat of his heart.
How wondrously fair she looked, standing with
the clear morning sun streaming full upon her, and
yet unable to detect a single flaw or blemish on
that delicate skin. Its rays turned her hair to a
rich red gold, and lit up the depths of those
upturned eyes, with their thick fringe of eye-
lash.
He must break the spell that her beauty was
working upon him. He turned away his eyes, and
withdrew his hand from off her slender arm.
' I must go,' he said hurriedly ; ' but to-night, if
I possibly can, I will look in upon you and Bertha
at the opera. May I ? '
'You know you may,' was all she could bring
her lips to frame ; and, with a clinging clasp of the
hand, he was gone.
For a few minutes Muriel stood perfectly still,
listening to the sound of his retreating footsteps,
and trying to calm the tumultuous feelings in her
breast. She was bewildered and almost frightened
by the vehemence of her own sensations.
Could this be love ?
She was startled by the mere thought, and, as
though afraid longer to remain alone with her own
reflections, she moved away, and joining Bertha in
7 o
For One Mans Pleasure.
the kitchen, unfolded to her the plan for that night's
amusement.
The old woman said little, but she was vaguely
troubled in her mind, and noticed with uneasiness
the girl's restless excitement during the whole of
that day. She could settle to nothing ; books,
work, all were laid aside as uncongenial with her
present frame of mind, and even the piano failed to
soothe and calm her. The sounds that flowed from
beneath her fingers startled their young composer,
for the melodies seemed too openly to express her
feelings, and she would start up and leave un-
finished the strain, fearing to betray her secret.
But once seated in her opera-box, well hidden
from curious glances behind the curtains, her ex-
cited feelings subsided, as she eagerly drinks in the
first notes of ' Lohengrin.'
Those who have not listened entranced to that
masterpiece of Wagner's, whose hearts have not
thrilled and vibrated to its grand harmonies, nor
felt the subtle charm of its softer soul-appealing
strains, as they come wailing forth with a strange
weird power from the souls of the violins, will not
be able fully to enter into and understand the effect
they produced upon Muriel.
With her highly-wrought, sensitive nature, music
worked upon her with the most exquisite pleasure ;
a pleasure so keen, as to at times amount to actual
pain.
She was trembling with excitement. The effec-
tive scenery, the crowds upon the stage, in their gay,
picturesque dresses, the wails from the orchestra,
the clear ringing tones of Albani, had carried the
girl out of herself.
Actress as she herself was, the scene before her
appeared as a reality, and her heart thrilled in
answer to each situation on the stage. Every new
sensation experienced by her was observable on her
A New Happiness. 71
mobile face, and her eyes glowed or grew dreamily
sad in harmony with the grandeur or pathos of the
music.
So Lord Nugent found her when, later on, he
slipt softly into the box and took the seat behind
her.
His presence was all that was needed to bring
her happiness to perfection, and after exchang-
ing one expressive look of welcome, and one tight
pressure of the hand, her attention wandered
back to the stage, her pleasure being heightened
by the knowledge that he too was artist enough to
thoroughly appreciate what was causing her such
keen enjoyment.
And while she was wrapt up in the music and
acting, he leant back and studied every fresh ex-
pression of her lovely face.
He could have wished Bertha less interested in
himself; but he was not in the habit of allowing
one in her position to interfere materially with his
pleasure, and he speedily forgot her very existence.
Never had he seen Muriel looking so irresistibly
beautiful as to-night—simply dressed in a black
dress made high to the throat, without jewel of any
sort, her sole ornaments being some white gardenias,
Adrian's gift, twisted in among her burnished locks
and nestling at her bosom.
To his beauty-loving eye there was intense hap-
piness in thus sitting and gazing his fill of the pure,
delicately-cut profile beside him ; and it was his
delight to utter some remark that made her turn
towards him, and allowed him to flash a look into
the soft depths of her eyes.
Between the acts she conversed eagerly with him
about the plot, and discussed the different characters
with an originality and enthusiasm that amused him.
With the utmost difficulty he succeeded in get-
ting her away just before the conclusion, and thus
72 For One Mans Pleasure.
avoided all chance of being recognised by friends-
in the crush-room.
He had already declared his intention of seeing
her safely home, and, when they arrived, responded
immediately to her hospitable invitation to come
in and partake of some light refreshment.
The sitting-room was dimly lighted by a single
lamp, which Muriel herself carried in from out of
its niche in the hall.
Bertha set a tray with wine and biscuits upon a
low table at her young mistress's side, and then
most unwillingly retired.
But Muriel was still too much under the influence
of the inspiring music to feel any embarrassment at
this midnight tete-a-tete, and talked away with un-
usual gaiety, while Lord Nugent slowly sipped a
glass of wine and crumbled away a biscuit.
He was at that moment due at some half-dozen
ballrooms, but he could not tear himself away from
this girl who exercised so powerful a charm over
him, and he sat on, responding to her conversation
and feasting his eyes on her radiant beauty.
At last he rose to go, for there had come a lull
in their converse, one of those pauses so fraught
with danger to two people who love and are alone.
' I must really go,' he said, getting up out of his
low chair and standing over her; ' thank you for a
very pleasant evening.'
' It is I who ought to thank you for giving me
such a treat,' responded Muriel, also rising and walk-
ing to the door. ' Come, I must let you out my-
self, for I expect Bertha has gone to bed, as I told
her I should require nothing more.'
But as she reached the hall she discovered her
mistake, the careful old woman was waiting with
the hall door already open.
' Bertha is there,' she said, smiling, ' so I will bid
you good-pight here.'
A New Happiness. 73
Adrian drew her to the other end of the apart-
ment, where their low voices could not reach the
ears of the watchful Bertha.
' Good-night/ he whispered.
And folding her in his arms fast and close, he
laid his eager lips to hers, and took from them one
long clinging kiss.
Muriel's whole frame thrilled in unison with his
passionate caress, but when at length their lips
parted wistfully and unwillingly, and Adrian stooped
to read her feelings in her eyes, he was struck with
her extreme pallor.
' Forgive me, my darling,' he murmured, still
keeping his arms around her; ' tell me you are not
angry, my own one, my flower!'
But Muriel drew back and was silent. She felt
outraged and hurt, but still not angry. To her
simple mind that kiss was evidence past all dis-
proving of his love for her; and if that were so,
had he not a right to press his lips to hers ?
Lord Nugent held her hand, but did not again
attempt to fold her in his arms.
'Forget all about it,'he said hurriedly. 'Your
beauty turned my head, I think. I meant no harm,
child. Forgive it and forget it. Go to bed now,
you are tired out with excitement. Good-night,
and pleasant dreams.'
And .pressing her hand tenderly in his, he dropped
it and left her.
Left her alone in the silent stillness of the summer
night, with a new wild happiness beating in her
breast.
74
For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER IX.
'will you be my wife?'
-i that have love and no more
Give you but love of you, sweet :
He that hath more, let him give ;
He that hath wings, let him soar :
Mine is the heart at your feet
Here, that must love you to live.'—Swinburne.
The engagement which Claude Hamilton had put
forward as an excuse for not accompanying Muriel
to the opera, consisted of nothing more important
than the determination to take a long solitary
ramble that evening for the purpose of thinking
matters over.
There was a fierce battle going on in his true
heart, love and pride each striving valiantly for a
victory.
He was keenly alive to the difficult and critical-
position in which Muriel was placed ; and while
with every pulse of his being he longed and craved
for her, his pride forbade his wooing her, knowing
as he did, the feelings with which she regarded
him.
Again and again as he rambled aimlessly about
in the sultry twilight of the summer's eve, did he
ask himself this question—should he, ought he, to
open her eyes to Lord Nugent's true character,
and, whilst speaking a word of warning, plead to
be allowed to give her the shelter and safety of
his name and love ?
It was true he had but little, in a worldly point
of view, to offer her, being too true an artist to
paint how and when the frivolous taste of the
world dictated, but he made a sufficiently large
income to be able to keep a wife in all comfort,
4Will You be My Wife?' 75
and he knew rightly that Muriel was the last
woman in the world to wish for and covet luxuries.
Once given the right to protect her, he felt
assured his love would prove an infallible shield
from all wrong. Muriel would guard her husband's
honour zealously, he knew: no man need fear who
placed his life-long happiness in her hands.
But, loving her as he did, truly and passionately,
the mere idea of binding her young free life to
his without the same description of love on her
side, caused him the greatest agony. In his honest
eyes it almost seemed a crime of the deepest hue.
The battle raged fierce and long—at one mo-
ment love, and at the next pride, gaining the
ascendancy.
His wanderings had led him to Hampstead
Heath, and as he stood, the only living being in
sight, alone with his great agony in the summer's
night, he lifted his eyes to the star-studded heavens,
and cried aloud in passionate longing, ' O God !
help me to judge aright. Thou knowest, much as
I love my darling, my chief wish in making her
my wife is to save her from the possibility of a
worse lot. Grant that at any cost to myself she
may be kept pure and happy.'
He had taken off his hat, and as the soft night
air blew gently on his heated brow a great peace
fell upon his troubled spirit, and something seemed
to whisper in answer to his heart-felt prayer—
' Fear not, all shall yet be well.'
Behind him lay London, its lights glowing dimly
in the distance, with its millions of aching, weary
hearts ; but as he turned and retraced his steps,
Claude Hamilton felt cheered and strengthened.
Poor Claude! I think if he could only have
known how his prayer would be answered, if he
could have withdrawn the veil from the future kand
gazed upon Muriel in her shame and sorrow, he
y6 For One Man s Pleasure.
would gladly have lain down there on the Heath
and breathed his last, if by so doing he could have
averted his darling's hapless fate. But that in this
world is not possible ; we cannot, however much
we may wish to do so, bear one another's burdens,
and perhaps one of the most trying consequences
of evil doing is the knowledge that we cannot
confine the sufferings of it to ourselves, it is ever
our nearest and dearest who have to endure the
most.
And while Muriel was sitting happy and en-
tranced at the opera with the man she loved at
her side, the man who loved her fought a great
battle with his own heart, and allowed love to
conquer. And when Adrian was pressing his lips
to Muriel's, Claude was dreaming his happy dreams,
and telling himself over and over again that all
would yet be well, and the woman he so madly
idolised saved from misery and dishonour.
All the following day he was busy, but in the
cool of the gloaming he walked round to Muriel's
house, and, unannounced, entered the sitting-
room.
Muriel was at the piano, and, involuntarily,
Claude paused in the shade of the curtains, and
listened to the glorious sounds that came pealing
out in answer to the touch of her fingers on
the keys.
There was a wild jubilant ring about the melody,
that set him wondering as to what the composer's
thoughts could have been when he gave it birth.
When the sounds ceased, he came forward and
advanced towards the instrument. Muriel was
still sitting before it; but her hands were loosely
clasped on her knee, and a new tender glow of
inward happiness lit up the dreamy lustre of her
eyes.
'I wonder what feelings gave rise to that
' Will You be My Wife ?' ;;
melody,' said Claude, as he came and leant upon
the piano with a thoughtful air.
'Whose music is that, Muriel? I never heard
you play that thing before.'
Muriel looked up archly, with a laugh :—4 Do
you like it ? That is mine. But I am afraid no
words could exactly describe the feelings that
brought it to birth.'
'Yours.! You never told me before that you
composed.'
'Compose?' echoed Muriel, with pretty con-
fusion. ' Pray do not dignify my little outbursts
with such a grand name. I can hardly be said
to " compose " ; I only talk to myself sometimes
through my fingers. But you cannot imagine
what a comfort it is to me. Whatever I feel very
deeply I long to give utterance to, and I like what
my fingers tell me much better than my tongue's
language.'
' But that air was beautiful, my child, far beyond
the sort of little outburst of which you speak. Do
you know, Muriel, that even when the beauty of
your voice is a thing of the past, the world might
still ring with the echo of your name, and you
might live eternally in the people's heart through
your melodies.'
At his words the light of inspiration and genius
lit up Muriel's pure face with a glorious glow.
Her eyes flashe4 and dilated in the dusky twilight,
and a bright colour came into her usually pale
cheeks.
' Do you think so really, Claude, or do you only
say so to please me ? Ah ! if you only knew how
often I have envied you the power of dwelling in
the world's heart by your works long after you
have passed away. What you put upon your
canvas lives for aye, and so your name and memory
endure eternally but I—I sing and charm the
yS For One Mans Pleasure.
world for one night, a year, perhaps two or three,
and then I die, or my voice goes ; and the next
generation, what will it care ? what will it know
of me? Nothing, not even my name, perhaps.
Ah ! that is hard. To be artiste, to live in one's
art, to feel it in every nerve of one's body, to love
it with every beat of one's heart, and then to
fade away into nothing, as though one had not
been.'
In her excitement she rose from her seat, and
came near to him as he stood listening and gazing
at her.
How beautiful she looked, so slim and tall in
the gloaming, with all her talented soul looking
out on him from her glowing radiant eyes!
Again the thought crossed him, what was he,
to win this precious jewel for his own ? In his
great earnestness, almost overpowered by his love,
his adoration, Claude put out his hand and seized
hers.
' Muriel,' he said, almost in a whisper, ' I love
you. Will you be my wife ?'
When one feels yery deeply, simple words seem
best to express one's meaning. This was not one
bit what Claude had meant to say. More than
once he had rehearsed how he should by degrees
lead her up to guess what he wished to tell her.
He had meant to point out the difficulties of her
position, and then show her the way of escape from
her present perilous life,
But it had all come about in an unexpected
way. She looked so lovely standing there reveal-
ing her secret aspirations, that he could not keep
down the words that would rise to his lips. Through
the dim light he strove to read his answer in her
face ; but at his words the girl had involuntarily
stepped back, and thus they stood, he still elasping
her hand and longing—oh! so painfully—for any
'Will You be My Wife ? '
79
sound to break the horrid silence that was creeping
up between them.
At last he could stand it no longer.
' Muriel, speak to me,' he pleaded, his handsome
face all white and drawn with emotion. Oh! my
darling, say something. Surely you must have
known how devotedly I loved you. Have I loved
in vain? Could anyone in the wide world love
you more truly than I, I wonder! I haven't much
to offer you in some ways ; but oh ! child, in the
years to come you may learn to know the worth of
a heart that is loyal and true.'
'Claude,' said Muriel, in a low troubled voice,
and allowing her hand to remain passively in
his loving clasp, ' I wish you had never told me
all this. Indeed, I never dreamt of your loving
me in this way. I thought we should be good, true
friends all our lives through, and now you have
made that impossible. I can never forgive myself
for causing you pain.'
'You mean you cannot love me?' hoarsely
-answered Claude. ' But oh ! think well before you
decide to reject the protection of a true loving
heart. Are you sure you can never love me well
enough to be my wife ? I don't want my answer
just at once ; wait a little, and think it calmly over.'
'No, Claude,' she replied firmly; 'to do that
would be to give you useless pain. Believe me, I
know my own heart, and I tell you once and for
ever, and God knows it pains me enough to tell
you so, I can never be your wife ; I can never love
you in the way you want.'
(I want so little love at first,' he pleaded. ' Be
my wife, and I will make you lqve me in time.
Oh! my darling, you who are far too young and
beautiful to live the life you do, come to me, be
my own, and give me the right to guard you from
henceforth from all sorrow and care.'
8o For One Mans Pleasure.
But she shook her head sorrowfully as she
answered, ' No, I cannot do that. I love you too
well to marry you without feeling towards you all
that a woman should feel for the man to whom she
gives herself, body and soul. It is kinder to tell
you the truth at once—it can never be.'
' Then you love another,' was his fierce response.
Muriel was silent.
'You dare not deny it. You love another,' he
repeated, coming closer to her.
' And if I do, what is that to you ? ' was the
answer proudly given, and the girl drew herself up
to her full height, and her eyes flashed angrily.
' Do not make me angry, Claude; let us part
friends. What you wish can never be, but let us
forget all this and go back to our old friendly
intercourse.'
'Never!' he exclaimed bitterly. 'That is like
a woman, she will not spare a man one iota of
pain, no matter that he loves her to distraction;
to please her he must wound himself by basking in
her presence, when to see her even gives him the
sharpest agony. No ! I will be all or nothing!
Muriel, Muriel,' and his voice softened, ' if you
have no pity for me, have some for yourself.
Darling, my own darling, something tells me that
you are in danger ; come to me before it is too
late. You do not know the world as I. You do
not know how small a thing loses a woman her
good name—often most unjustly ; and then many
a one, knowing that, has grown reckless, and cast
herself away in desperation. You in your inno-
cence cannot imagine how great is your peril.
You would not believe, if I were to tell you, how
men, for the idle gratification of an hour, wreck
another's lifedong happiness, and deprive her of
her honour. Your gentle mind could not ccmpre-
hend the wanton cruelty of the men of the present
' Will You be My Wife ?' 81
day. Good God!' waxing fierce again at the
thought, 'such men as they ought not to be
allowed to live. Child, if you only knew—if you
only knew !'
With a great sob he sank down' on the sofa, and
resting his arms upon the back, laid his weary
aching head upon them.
Muriel grew frightened, he was so still. Would
he never raise his head again and speak to her ?
And yet she dreaded to meet each look of his
soul-stricken agony. She went up timidly to his
side, and put one little hand on his shoulder.
Instantly he looked up, and took it in his own
burning one.
' Muriel,' he said sadly, ' I have been a fool.
Forgive me for causing you this pain ; it is the
last, God help me ! that you shall ever experience
at my hands. I will fight this battle with myself,
and when I have conquered, we will resume our
old ways ; until then, do not be hurt if you see
but little of me. When I have conquered, I will
come and tell you; until then, do not seek me.
Good-bye ;' and he took both her hands in his,
and looked with wistful longing into her face.
' Promise me one thing before I go; swear to me
that you will see as little of Lord Nugent as pos-
sible, and will, above all things, avoid giving the
world a chance of coupling your names together.
Believe me, I know the man better than you ;
and never yet has any woman had cause to do
aught but curse the day that brought him into the
stream of her life. He is an idle profligate, and
allows nothing and no one to stand between him
and his own pleasure.'
Muriel drew her hands quickly from his firm
grasp, and her eyes flashed angrily. ' Do not say
such things to me, Claude ; how poor your opinion
must be of me to deem I stand in need of such
F
82 For One Mans Pleasure.
warning. Lord Nugent is my friend, and, as such,
I do not allow even you to slander him to me. If
you cannot speak more kindly, do not mention his
name at all.'
Claude smiled—oh ! such a sad, heart-broken
smile. ' Good-bye, my child,' he said tenderly.
' Do not fear, I shall never breathe his name to
you again. Even I cannot believe he is so utterly
bad as to work harm to such as you. Take care
of yourself, ma mie, until I see you again.'
He bent towards her, almost imploringly. Surely
she would not object to a friendly kiss of peace.
How often in the old days had he caressed her
childish face, and read in her clear-cut features the
promise of her great future beauty.
But Muriel turned her head aside. ' No, Claude,
not that,' she said hurriedly; then, fearing she
had pained him, she lifted his hand to her lips and
softly kissed it. 'We part friends, do we not?'
she said ; ' try to think kindly of me. And oh !
Claude, be quick, very quick in getting over your
trouble, for I shall miss my dear, kind friend sadly.'
She did not mean it selfishly, but all love and
even friendship is, without knowing it, to a certain
extent selfish.
He smiled bravely, even while his heart was
breaking.
' Good-bye. I will come again as soon as ever
I feel it possible,' he answered ; and with one firm
hand-pressure, he left her.
' Poor Claude,' murmured Muriel to herself, ' I
never dreamt of his loving me in that way. Was
he pained, I wonder, at my drawing back? I
hope not; but oh! how could I let him kiss me
after last night? My darling, how I love you ! to
me there is no other man in the whole world. I
wonder will you come and see me to-day.'
But Adrian did not, neither that day nor the
Lady Stellas Reception. 83
next, and on the evening of the third, Muriel had
promised to sing at Lady Stella Dacre's reception.
The girl longed for the evening with feverish
impatience.
' I shall be sure to see him there,' she said to
herself, ' and perhaps learn the cause of this
strange silence and absence on his part.'
CHAPTER X.
LADY STELLA'S RECEPTION.
' This is the madness of my soul,
Thy love can never reach as far,
There are two halves in every whole,
But these, in love, unequal are ;
And when I know how great is mine,
I feel, perforce, how small is thine.'
Violet Fane.
The fortnightly receptions in Bruton Street were
renowned for their pleasantness. Nothing de-
lighted the Earl of Arrowdale more than the
constantly seeing around him such of his friends
as were congenial to his own good-tempered, easy-
going nature. Hospitable almost to a fault, he
loved to keep open house, and, being a universal
favourite, his invitations were as eagerly accepted
as they were generously issued. But, for some
reason or other, nothing would induce him to give
a ball, and he was often heard to declare that no
power under the sun would prevail upon him to
turn out all his furniture and upset his whole
house for the mere purpose of allowing his friends
to cut capers in his drawing-room.
A crush was his detestation, and his theory was,
'Entertain often but smally' ; hence his frequent
and pleasant receptions. Heartily fond of music,
84 For One Mans Pleasure.
though no musician himself, he secured for his
guests' amusement the talent of some of the lead-
ing instrumentalists and vocalists of the day, and
as Lady Stella was a great adept at bringing the
right people together, and the rooms were never
over-crowded nor too brilliantly lighted, the even-
ings spent in Bruton Street were looked upon as
things not to be missed.
With an appreciative eye for beauty, Lord
Arrowdale had not failed to be struck with
Muriel's refined loveliness of both face and form,
and he never rested until, through the medium of
his daughter and Claude Hamilton, she had con-
sented to sing at one of his at-homes.
She had acquiesced for various reasons, though
it was quite against her rule to sing at private en-
tertainments ; but a desire to please Claude by
falling in with the wishes of his friends, and, above
all, an intense wish to see Lord Nugent as he ap-
peared in society, had caused her to agree to sing
on this particular occasion.
There was a low murmur of applause, admira-
tion, welcome, I scarcely know which, perhaps a
mixture of all three, when Mademoiselle Delacourt
appeared in the unusually crowded rooms.
The rumour that the popular prima donna was
to sing, had resulted in many being present who
had not originally been asked.
She was graciously and gracefully received by
Lady Stella, and the Earl of Arrowdale himself
led her to the piano.
She was quaintly dressed in white brocade, which
fell in heavy, graceful folds round her lissom figure,
and was softened by white lace, which, together
with the diamond stars which flashed from among
the coils of her burnished hair, and shone from
round her throat, had once been the property of
her mother.
Lady Stella s Reception. 85
Her dress was made high to the throat, which
added somewhat to its picturesque effect, and some-
how, in spite of her grand attire, she looked utterly
unlike anyone present.
Her apparel had been the subject of much serious
thought, for, free from vanity as Muriel was, she
was woman enough to wish to appear her very best
before the eyes of the man she loved.
Surely she may be pardoned for the desire to
please his fastidious taste even among the many
fair women of his own set; and she had her wish,
for as Lord Nugent entered the room, and stood
in the doorway so as not to interrupt her song,
he thought he had never seen her look more
lovely.
Standing in a graceful, easy pose, the rich swell-
ing notes seemed to flow without the slightest
effort on her part from her lips.
Even in the middle of her song she noticed his
entrance, and the flush on her cheeks deepened,
and her eyes gained fresh lustre.
But he noted, as he looked keenly at her, that
there was a changed expression about her face
—the expression that comes to every woman's
face when first she loves, and knows that she does
so.
He longed to go up and speak to her, and
watch the colour come and go under her delicate
skin, and call up the half shy, loving expression,
that he was beginning to know so well, into her
dear eyes. But he was no love-sick boy, unversed
in tfie world's ways, to commit such an impru-
dence as that, and, instead, turned and entered
into conversation with his young aqd also lovely
hostess.
' How divinely Mademoiselle Delacourt is sing-
ing to-night,' remarked Lady Stella. ' And how
very beautiful she is. All the men are soliciting an
86 For One Mans Pleasure.
introduction to her. Shall I present you, or do
you already know her ? '
' Thanks, I have that honour,' and, as Muriel
glanced half wistfully towards him, he bowed in
acknowledgment of her recognition.
He was utterly disgusted at and ashamed of his
want of self-control that evening after ' Lohengrin,'
and was quite determined to exercise a greater
amount on future occasions, and prevent the world
ever coupling their names together.
He still had no deeper intentions towards Muriel
than giving her a little pleasure and excitement
through her friendship with him, and himself the
interest of caring for and being with a creature as
pure and unique as herself.
And so, while he was longing all the time to be
at her side, he resolutely remained at the other
end of the room.
But the women, to whom he appeared to be so
earnestly whispering, were conscious all the while
of a certain wandering of his attention, and noted
jealously how indifferent he was to their charms.
He could keep his body, but not his eyes and
thoughts away from his idol, and many a one
who with good cause had on previous occasions
flattered herself that she had made an impres-
sion on his fickle heart, was forced to-night to
own how slight in reality was her power over this
man.
But how was Muriel, at the other end of the
room, to know all this? To her loving eyes it
seemed as though Lord Nugent was altogether
unconscious of her very existence, so engaged did
he appear in the distance to be with the pretty
woman by whose side he sat. In vain that some
of the highest and noblest in the land begged for
an introduction, and overwhelmed her with com-
pliments; to Muriel all the praise and admira-
Lady Stella s Reception. 87
tion in the world could not make up to her for
the want of a single word of admiration from the
man she loved.
Too proud to show her disappointment, she
stood smiling in reply to the sweet speeches which
were showered upon her, until Adrian began in
his heart to call her a coquette, and grew restive
under the sight of seeing her surrounded by the
handsomest and most fascinating men in London,
apparently well pleased with the admiration she
excited.
So we misunderstand and misjudge one another,
until hearts are broken, and lives drift hopelessly
apart, for want of one little word, one little act of
generous love !
Why cannot we love more freely, trust more
implicitly ? Why should we feel most doubts
about the one we love most dearly ? It is cruel
to be so distrustful, cruel to others, cruel to our-
selves. Shall we never learn to love without fear,
never surrender our whole life to another's care
without one misgiving as to the stability of that
other's love ?
It is better to trust and be deceived than to
altogether lack that power of entire self-surrender.
There is something ennobling, something purify-
ing, in the mere fact of trusting another human
being ; to be faithful, even if only to an ideal, is to
be admired.
One of the men who stood chatting to Muriel
was Lord Clairmont. These was an unusual look
of dejection upon his handsome, boyish face,
which enhanced rather than detracted from his
good looks.
Lord Arrowdale had faithfully repeated to him
his daughter's opinion of him ; but he was too
young, and of too hopeful a disposition, to be
crushed at a single blow, and he refused to accept
88 For One Mans Pleasure.
her decision as final. He still continued to haunt
her steps, and frequented her society as much as
circumstances allowed.
Lady Stella was too truly fond of him to wish
for him to altogether absent himself, and, so long
as he knew her sentiments on the subject, was
content to have him about her, her willing, useful
slave, as ever.
The evening was wearing away, people had long
since ceased to arrive, not a few had already gone,
others were in the supper-room refreshing and
fortifying themselves before they took their depart-
ure. Lord Arrowdale had himself conducted
Muriel downstairs for a rest and some refreshment,
and now she was once more back near the piano,
consenting graciously to favour the remaining
company with one last song.
Seating herself at the instrument, her fingers
wandered carelessly over the keys, bringing forth
sweet snatches of melody. She was puzzling her
brains what to sing, when a voice beside her
whispered,—
' Do sing some of your Neapolitan songs.'
And in answer to that voice, whose tones
thrilled her heart with a strange pleasure, she
broke forth into some of those dear, well-known,
plaintive airs.
But Adrian noticed that she chose other than
those that she had sung to him alone, and he was
pleased.
When she ceased, there was a general rush of
departure, both Lady Stella and her father were
absent from the room, and those few remaining
in the apartment were unknown to Adrian, who
freed from the surveillance of society, determined
now to make up for lost time.
* Muriel,' he said softly, for the first time using
her Christian name, ' did not my bouquet arrive in
Lady Stella s Reception. 89
time ? I noticed at once that you had not brought
it with you.'
She turned round and met his gaze, love and
pride making her manner confused and shy.
'Your bouquet?' she echoed; 'did you send
me one ? I did not know it was from you. Cer-
tainly I received it, but, not knowing who the
sender might be, I left it at home.'
' I am glad that was your only reason; I was
afraid, when I saw you without it, that you had
not yet forgiven me for my mad folly of the
other night. Surely you are not so very unfor-
giving ?' ^
His voice had sunk to a whisper—why do words
sound so immeasurably more tender when uttered
beneath one's breath—and his eyes sought hers with
a loving glance of inquiry.
' I have stayed away from you these two days
on purpose to punish myself for my madness ; to
prolong that punishment would be more than I
could bear. Tell me that I am pardoned, and, in
proof that we are once more friends, grant the re-
quest I have to make.'
' You know I have forgiven you,' she answered, a
little reproachfully ; ' do not let us speak of that
night again. What is this request you have to
make of me ?'
' That you will let me take you for a drive to-
morrow afternoon. Do not refuse me,' he added
hastily, seeing her refusal written on her face.
' Good God ! child, what do you take me for, to
think I would ask anything of you that it would
injure you to give. There is so much I must say
to you, must tell you, for both our peace of minds.
What harm can there be in your sitting by my side
for a couple of hours, with a man-servant at our
backs distinctly overhearing our conversation ? If
you refuse, I shall feel, in spite of all you may say,
9°
For One Mans Pleasure.
that you no longer trust me. You cannot mean to
be so cruel.'
Muriel was silent, while conflicting thoughts
passed - through her brain. Love does not, as a
rule, make us over-critical, or else she might have
noticed the slight contradiction in Lord Nugent's
speech. If his man-servant was to be so well
within hearing distance all the time, what oppor-
tunity would there be for him to say all that he
wished to her ?
She longed to go, and yet her recent promise to
Claude, to keep, as far as lay in her power, free
from Adrian's society,-and thus make it impossible
for the world's tongue to wag, weighed heavily
upon her. She hesitated, and the woman that
does so is lost.
Adrian took within his own the little hand that
was hanging at her side among the folds of her dress.
'You do not know how much you pain me by
distrusting me,' he said sadly. ' I had begun to
think I could not be so utterly hopeless, since one
so pure and good as you deigned to take an inter-
est in my life.'
At his magical touch, at the sorrowful tones of
his low, tender voice, all doubts faded instantly.
' I will go with you,' she said softly. ' I do
trust you, God knows I do. Do not speak in that
despairing way; it pains me to hear you. I am
quite sure you never could be anything but good
and true.'
' I believe you could make me anything you
liked,' he answered earnestly. ' Many a man worse
than I has been reclaimed by the truth and purity
of a woman's love.' Then, glancing round the
fast emptying rooms, he added, ' But come, shall
I take you down to your carriage ? Everyone is
getting away I see, and the queen of the evening
must not be the last to depart.'
Lady Stellas Reception. 9r
She laughed, and taking his arm, allowed him
to lead her downstairs and put her into her hired
brougham. His own neat little dark-green one,
with his high-stepping spirited bay, was standing
waiting immediately behind.
' How I wish I might come in yours,' he said,
as he stood holding her hand through the window.
' Good-night, and be ready for me at half-past
four. By-the-bye,' as though it were an after-
thought, ' put on a thick veil ; you see, you are so
well-known that everyone will otherwise stare at
you.'
'Very well,' she replied, and, as the brougham
drove off, she leant out of the window and smiled
at him in the moonlight.
She had that evening experienced both pleasure
and pain, and her last thoughts that night were:
' It is impossible that I can ever be to him half of
all he is to me.'
Ah ! Muriel, that is what each loving heart feels
so keenly; love makes us very, very humble, and
it is not until another has become our life that we
begin to make ourselves miserable about our own
shortcomings and want of charm. The self-satis-
fied man or woman is one that has never known
love in its truest, highest meaning.
92
For One Maris Pleasure.
CHAPTER XI.
A BITTER WAKING.
' Since my life is sad and weary,
Full of bitterness and woe ;
Since my path is dark and dreary,
Swept by winds, and cloth'd in snow ;
Can you blame my greed for pleasure,
Love for hours when sorrows cease ?
Will you grudge my path a measure
Of the shining light of peace ? '
There are few things pleasanter than being bowled
swiftly along by a pair of strong, fast-going bays,
side by side with one we love, and all the golden
glory of a summer day around us.
The physical comfort of the softly-cushioned
phaeton, the close proximity of the beloved one,
the quick yet easy motion, the fresh current of
air, all combine to intoxicate one's senses with
healthy bliss.
To Adrian this was no new pleasure. Many
and many a trip had he taken in that same vehicle,
with many and many a fair companion ; but to
Muriel this experience had all the charm of novelty.
She had never been in a similar conveyance before,
and she gave herself up to the delight of the present
with almost childish enjoyment, and without a
single sad foreboding.
As soon as they had really left London behind
them, and were driving briskly along the pleasant
country *lanes, Muriel threw aside her heavy black
veil, and eagerly drank in the beauty around her.
She had asked her companion at starting whither
they were bound, and his brief answer, ' Hampton
Court,' had satisfied her. All names were to her
alike, and she cared little where their destination,
so long as they sought it together.
A Bitter Waking.
93
The presence of the groom had induced Adrian
to make his first remark in French, and Muriel
to whom all languages were equally natural, had
replied in the same, without one thought as to the
reason of his having done so.
' How refreshing it is to see green fields and
trees once more,' she remarked presently. ' I can-
not understand why you, who are free to go where
you will, prefer to remain so much in London.'
Adrian laughed.
' Because,' he answered lightly, ' that little village
holds attractions for me that no other place under
the sun could rival.'
' Then you love your big, dirty, noisy London ?
How strange that seems ; I cannot understand it.
To me it is all so miserable. If it were not for
the parks, I think I should have gone mad long
ago. Next to music, there is nothing like Nature.
Both their beauties touch me in the same way, and,
while they make me very happy, give me at the
same time a slight feeling of melancholy.'
' That is because you are young, and pure, and
innocent,' he replied sadly. ' Nature appeals to you
in the language of your own true heart. But to
such as I she speaks a different tale. Do not look
disappointed. I do love her dearly, and have,
worshipped all my life at her shrine, after a fashion
of mine own. But she is no longer sufficient to
satisfy me. I could not, as I daresay you could,
remain alone and happy in her most beautiful spot.
I should grow restless, and long for human com-
panionship, human contact, human sympathy,
human love.
'Ah! then you mean you love humanity more
than Nature ? '
' I think I do. Nature is beautiful, but she is
too cold, too indifferent. If I weep, she still smiles
on, careless of my misery; she wants, in fact, to
94
For One Mans Pleasure.
command my mood, instead of replying to it. That
is not what I want. I crave for something to
respond to my every sentiment, to glow in unison
with my passion, to give back heartily every beat
of my heart, to answer every thrill of my frame, to
weep when I am sad, to laugh at my mirth. Na-
ture cannot do all that for me ; only a human being
can satisfy the requirements of my heart, and I
would rather look into a woman's eyes and read in
them her soul's sympathy with mine, than gaze
upon Nature's most exquisite picture.'
' But the perfect sympathy of which you speak
is very difficult to find,' said Muriel slowly. 4 Do
you think it is possible for another's heart to answer
and comprehend our own in the way you describe ?'
' I do,' he answered firmly, his colour rising as
he spoke, and his eyes growing tender as he looked
down upon her ; ' for I have found such a heart—
a heart that not only responds perfectly to my
own, but by its purity manages to raise mine to a
higher level. And,' he continued, looking away
from her as he spoke, ' will you understand, I won-
der, when I tell you that the discovery has given
me even more pain than pleasure? To meet in
this world with congenial spirits is, alas! too often
only the greatest misfortune that can befall us.'
' But why ? ' she demanded, half puzzled at his
strange manner.
She knew instinctively that he was alluding to
herself, and felt that for some unknown reason this
confession of love for her on his part was not to
bring her the happiness she craved.
'Why?' he echoed. 'Because too many of us
meet those congenial spirits too late ! Look around,
you where you will, where do you see perfect hap-
piness ? We each have our own peculiar curse laid
upon us, and those that appear to the outside world
most laden with blessings, ^arry in their secret
A Bitter Waking.
95
heart the heaviest curse of all. Take myself, for
instance. No doubt you have often thought mine
a particularly happy lot, have you not ?' turning
round to look at her.
'Yes,' she confessed gently. 'And surely it is.
You have everything you can possibly wish for—
health, freedom, rank and riches, and the happy
knowledge that you, by your kindness, have bright-
ened many a less fortunate lot. Surely there is
nothing left for you to desire ?'
He smiled slightly as he listened, and answered
gently,—
' If you only knew, my child, if you only knew!
But how should you even guess at the hundred
and one things that go to make such a life as
mine miserable ? What should you know of jaded,
satiated senses, of a heart often deceived and be-
trayed, a past spent in idle pleasure, a wasted
career, a blank future, and a life shackled by an
oath from which there is no hope of freedom ? To
you, no doubt, my present looks fair enough ; but
oh! it is hard—it is maddening, to feel insur-
mountable barriers between oneself and all that
influences one for good. Tell me, do you think
one ought always to keep a promise once given ?'
Adrian was not happy and easy about the line
he was taking, and, whenever conscience awoke,
he stifled its murmurs by recalling his given word
to his mother. He did not want to inquire too
minutely as to what he should do if he were not
bound by that oath. Even to ourselves we can
very seldom afford to be perfectly honest as to our
wants and intentions.
He wanted to retain Muriel's love and interest,
and yet not to delude her with false hopes of matri-
mony, nor work her any harm in the world's
opinion by his friendship.
In plain words, he wanted, as unselfishly as pos-
g6 . For One Mans Pleasure.
sible with his own pleasure, to take all, and give
very little in exchange ; to be a great deal to her,
and to allow her to be very little to him.
It is the old, old exchange, that will continue to
be given so long as men and women live and love
and suffer. One gives and the other takes; one
loves, and the other is loved.
There was a slight pause after Adrian's question,
and then Muriel said, with a little tremble in her
sweet, girlish voice,—
' Of course, one can never take back one's pro-
mised word; that would be dishonourable. What
is it that you say in your language? "Never do
evil that good may come."'
They were driving rapidly down a long avenue
of handsome trees with magnificent foliage, and
Muriel, to turn the conversation, made some re-
mark upon their beauty.
There was a strange aching in her heart, which
seemed to whisper that the words she had just
uttered were, in fact, the knell of her own happi-
ness.
41 have ordered dinner for us at the hotel,'
Adrian said ; ' and until it is ready, let us stroll
about a little, and I will show you the beauties of
Hampton Court.'
And a few minutes later they were standing in
front of the old red palace, watching the last rays
of the setting sun light up its great round-win-
dowed, stone-embossed courts, and long, warm-
coloured front and sides. Around them stretched
the garden with its well-clipped lawns, shaded
walks, curious yews, and Dutch-looking canal.
Later they entered the palace itself, and wan-
dered through its brown old chambers, with their
dusky canvasses and tapestry. Adrian took her
to see the long row of great drawings in tempera of
Andrea Mantegna, representing the Triumph of
A Bitter Waking.
97
Julius Caesar, and also the collection of Lely's
portraits of meretricious countesses of the Res-
to ration.
But the evening was too perfect to be spent in-
doors, and, leaving the pictures, they hurried once
more out into the fresh, sweet-scented air, and
strolled about the shaded walks.
' MuriJ,' said Adrian suddenly, clasping her
little bare hand in his, ' I want you always to be
my friend. Will you ? Not an acquaintance, but
a true, faithful friend ; one to whom I can turn for
comfort in trouble, advice in difficulty, and who
will always exercise over me a pure and holy in-
fluence. You do not know how much you have
already improved me, nor how often the memory
of you has checked my headlong passion and folly.
Do not cease to feel an interest in me, and so take
away the only happiness my life knows at present.
I am not vain enough to think my friendship can
work you harm, and I swear never to repeat the
folly of the other evening. You need have no
fears ; a man must be a brute to compromise an
innocent little girl like you. Only trust me, and be
my friend now and for evermore.
He turned eagerly towards her, and Muriel re-
sponded to his look with a faint smile.
Poor child ! she felt her heart was breaking, but,
woman-like, she hid the knowledge from him with
a gay laugh and steady voice.
'Yes, let us always be friends,' she said
earnestly, in her sweet tones. ' I will not fail
you in the friendship you seek ; you shall not
come to me for sympathy in vain. I think I
can be a true friend ; at least, I know all that that
word means.'
And bravely she returned the grasp of his hand,
and then drew hers away. Friends do not require
to walk hand in hand in the dreamy twilight, it is
G
98 For One Mans Pleasure.
only lovers who feel the need and want of human
contact.
Adrian sighed, but did not attempt to take her
unwilling fingers again in his. He felt he had
done his duty. He had made her understand
exactly how impossible it was for them to be more
to each other than they then were, and she had
promptly acquiesced in his wishes about their
further friendship.
Men win a woman's love, and then make a clean
breast of their affairs and confess they are 'fools,'
' mad,' ' brutes' ; and after the outburst console
themselves with the reflection that they have been
perfectly honest and open, and that the woman is
quite satisfied with the existing state of matters.
Would it not be better, oh ye men, to leave that
woman in the first instance unmolested by your
attentions ?
Very, very few women love unwooed, not one in
a thousand gives her heart unsought. Many a man
takes infinite pains and labour to teach a woman
to love him, who, a few months later, he heartily
wishes had proved a less apt pupil.
Some women, it is true, learn their lesson, and
as speedily forget it ; but most—yes, believe me,
most—learn it only too well, and only forget when
the heart ceases to beat and the eye closes in its
last sleep.
Poor Muriel. It was a bitter waking from a
sweet, entrancing dream.
But hers was a brave, true nature, and all through
dinner and the drive home she talked and laughed
with unusual gaiety, causing Adrian every minute
to regret more deeply the stern fate that kept them
apart.
But when she had got down, tired and limp, at
her own home ; after she had bidden him good-
night, and repeated how much.she had enjoyed
The Story of the Past.
99
herself; when the lights were out and her weary
head laid upon the pillow: then her great new
sorrow came upon her with an overwhelming rush,
and brought the tears into her aching eyes.
Not one reproachful thought found place in her
loving heart. To her he was blameless, all he had
done had been done in deepest kindness ; she had
been a fool, that was all.
Well, we can all bury our secret sorrow without
calling in the whole world to assist at the funeral ;
and Muriel dug, as she fancied, a grave deep enough
evermore to hide her despised love out of sight.
She did not know, poor simple child, that there
are some loves too deep and strong for any grave
to hold in subjection. They rise again and again
from their buried depths, and, like uneasy ghosts,
walk beside us day and night, knowing neither rest
nor repose until we too share their grave with them.
CHAPTER XII.
THE STORY OF THE PAST.
'Perchance if thou wert far away,
Did I not see thee day by day,
I might again be blithe and gay,
For ever and for ever !
Ah, no ! I could not bear the pain
Of never seeing thee again !
I cling to thee w th might and main
For ever and for ever !'
Violet Fane.
It was well for Muriel, at this period of her life,
that she had her profession to live for and labour
at. In the first burst of her disappointment and
ioo For One Maris Pleasure.
sorrow she turned eagerly to her art, and found in
it many hours of solace and oblivion. She told
herself, as so many have done before her, that for
the future she would live for and in it—make it,
in fact, sufficient for her happiness; forgetting,
alas ! that genius, God-given blessing that it is, is,
after all, powerless to heal the wounds that love
has made.
How much talent has lain dormant until unre-
quited or forbidden love in its anguish has called
it into active life !
And yet, and yet, what woman having the choice
given her, would not infinitely prefer to know the
true perfect joys of mutual love, to winning for
herself a world-wide fame and admiration ? It is
better, far, far better, to be happy than great.
In her secret heart Muriel knew this, but she
would not acknowledge it, and she worked harder,
and sang better, and acted more cleverly than ever,
and tried to drown thought and lose her own
identity in the excitement of her profession. But
had she granted herself breathing time, given her-
self one minute for reflection, she must have owned
how utterly worthless in her estimation the whole
world's admiration and applause was.
Lord Nugent continued to visit her frequently ;
but there was a marked change in his manner
towards her, which she was quick to notice and
feel. It was not that he was less kind, less tender,
but only that he had put, for the time, an iron
curb upon his feelings ; and Muriel missed the
love-light in his eyes, and the love-tone in his
voice.
Of Claude Hamilton she had seen nothing since
the evening he had confessed his love for her, and
at times she felt strangely lonely and deserted.
There were very many, some of high rank and
distinction, who would gladly have filled the
The Story of the Past. 101
position of lover towards her; but that Muriel
would not allow, and their rich gifts were quickly
but persistently returned, and their amorous letters
remained unanswered.
To a woman who truly loves, love-gifts and
words are simply hateful from all save the one
man to whom she has yielded up her heart and
life.
There were moments when poor Muriel would
gladly have exchanged her talent for rank and
riches, and when she bitterly envied the woman
who possessed both, and were free to sun them-
selves in Adrian's society. But hers was too brave
and noble a spirit to long give way to such fits
of discontent and depression, and she was wont
in such a mood to fly to her piano for refuge,
and play herself into a calmer, happier frame of
mind.
Muriel, unlike most of her sex, had but very
little curiosity in her disposition, and thus it was
that she had grown up in ignorance of the romance
attached to her parents' union, and was unaware
of her mother's aristocratic origin. The girl had
never asked any questions ; she knew her mother
was English, and that her grandfather was dead,
and had never hitherto troubled her head further
about the matter, and her parents had felt too
deeply on the subject to volunteer any information
on their own account. But since she had learnt
that Lord Nugent's and her own path in life must
lie far apart, she had begun to wonder a little
about her own pedigree.
Her father, she knew, was descended from one
of the oldest and proudest famdies of France, from
a family who regarded his profession as a disgrace,
and who had, from the day he entered upon it,
ceased to consider him in the light of a relative.
Often and often in the old days had she heard
102 For One Mans Pleasure.
him tell of his love from boyhood for artistic
society, and how one of his best Bohemian friends
had, when he had squandered his small fortune in
idle profligacy, suggested his turning his attention
to the stage and earning an income out of his rich
though uncultivated voice.
But of her mother's early past little had been
told her, and she had been too simple-minded and
innocent to suspect a mystery. Now she often
found herself speculating as to whether her mother
had ever, in her youth, experienced sentiments
similar to her own, and she longed with painful
intensity to fathom the hidden meaning of the
pencilled words she had found in her dead mother's
hand.
One afternoon the girl startled Bertha by wan-
dering into the quiet kitchen where she sat at
work, and, seating herself near her, abruptly ex-
claimed.—
' Bertha, talk to me about my mother, tell me
about her.'
The old woman took off her spectacles in as-
tonishment, and, gazing earnestly at the beautiful
wistful face beside her from out of her kind eyes,
answered slowly,—
4 Talk to you about your mother, my dearie, of
course I will ; but what am I to tell you ?'
' Ah ! that is just what I don't know,' replied
Muriel, smiling. ' She was quite a young girl
when first you went to her, wasn't she ?'
' Only sixteen, my dear, and so lovely, all Lon-
don was talking about her even then.'
' Did she live in London, then ? '
' Why, yes. We always came up for the season ;
but I think Madame was happiest down at
Byfield Hall. She often used to say to me, " Oh !
Bertha, how I wish they would leave us in peace
here all the year round" ; but, of course, that
The Story of the Past. 103
wasn't possible, and his lordship liked the months
in town ever so much the best.'
'His lordship!' echoed Muriel wonderingly.
' Who was he, Bertha, and what had his likings to
do with your movements ? '
Bertha was silent for a few seconds ; she was
perfectly aware of Muriel's ignorance on the sub-
ject, and the allusion to his lordship had slipped
out unintentionally. It had been Madame's strict
orders that her daughter should remain uninformed,
until she herself thought fit to enlighten her.
But now that Madame was dead, ought not the'
girl to be told a little about her antecedents ?
' Who was he ?' repeated Muriel, thinking the
old woman had not heard her question.
4 Why, my dear, he was your grandfather, your
mother's own father,' replied Bertha at last,
with a certain ring of pride in her dear old
voice; 'your grandfather, that's what he was,
dearie—and a fine handsome man he was too—
you're very like him, very like, a regular Byfield,
that anyone could recognise who knew the family
well.'
' My grandfather !' exclaimed Muriel, in surprise ;
' and a Byfield ! What was his title, Bertha ?'
' Lord Byfield, dearie; a baron, I think, they
called him. I have heard tell how he took on
awful when your mother was born; he wanted a
son, you see, for the title.'
' And who has the title now, then ? '
' That I don't know—a distant cousin, I fancy.'
'And how long ago did he die?' asked Muriel,
much interested.
A cloud passed over the old servant's face as
she answered slowly, ' Long years ago, my lamb,
before you was born.'
' Before my mother married ?'
' No, not before that,' was the hesitating answer.
104 For One Mans Pleasure.
'Bertha, you are hiding something from me,'
imperiously exclaimed Muriel; 'tell me exactly
how it all was, when he died, and how!'
' It's a sad story, Miss Muriel, and you've no
cause for to hear it ; he died suddenly, poor old
gentleman, and that's all I can tell you, my
dearie.'
Muriel left her seat impatiently, and, walking
over to the old woman, laid both her slim white
hands on Bertha's bowed shoulders.
' I mean to hear the whole truth,' she said,
firmly ; ' I am no child to be put off with
evasive answers. Come, Bertha, tell me all
about it.'
'There's nothing to tell, Miss Muriel, save that
he died sudden-like of heart disease.'
' And where was my mother; was she with
him ?'
' Why, no ! my dearie; it was the very day of
her flight.'
' Flight ! ' echoed Muriel ; ' what are you
talking about, Bertha — what flight did my
mother take ?'
The old woman grew crimson, and looked much
distressed.
' I think you've turned my head like, Miss
Muriel, with all your questions. Flight, was it
I said ? I meant it was the day of her marriage.'
' Well, go on. I suppose they telegraphed for
my poor mother, and she returned at once. Did
you come back with her ?'
' No, Miss Muriel, we didn't come back, we were
abroad ; and when the news reached us, the poor
old gentleman had been buried a long time.'
'I suppose,' observed Muriel thoughtfully, 'my
mother's marriage was not considered a particu-
larly good match. I remember once hearing my
father, when I was a tiny child, allude proudly to
The Story of the Past. 105
the number of good offers she had refused on
account of her love for him. When did she first
meet him, Bertha, do you know ?'
'At some friend's house, Miss Muriel, I fancy.
I remember perfectly the first night she ever heard
him sing at the opera ; she was talking of his voice
all the time I was undressing her, and she says,
" He is going to be introduced to me, Bertha, for
Lady "—I have forgetten the name now—" knows
him, and is going to ask him to her house to meet
me."'
' Well ! and then were they introduced ?' asks
Muriel breathlessly.
' Oh, yes! and after that she often told me
how she had met him at friends' houses, and how
handsome and charming he was, and I could see
how she was regular wrapped up in him. And just
then his Lordship was all for her accepting some
rich old Duke that was a-hanging about after her ;
and many and many's the time I have heard her
sigh and say, " Oh 1 dear, if only I was some poor
girl working for my bread on the stage, how happy
I should be." '
The tears gathered in Muriel's eyes as she
listened. How well could she understand and
sympathise with the wish to be in some different
station of rank to that in which she was placed.
'Bertha,' she said suddenly, 'what did she mean
by those words she wrote the night she died ?
Did she ever sacrifice another for her own
happiness ?'
Bertha paused for a moment, and then she de-
termined to tell all.
'Why, Miss Muriel, you see this was how it
was. His Lordship wouldn't hear of her a-
marrying your father, so she did it in private,
and went off leaving a note behind to say what
she had done.'
io6 For One Mans Pleasure.
'And my grandfather, was he very angry?'
' That's what nobody won't ever know. The
footman gave him the note as he had been ordered,
and he took it into the library to read. When
they went to tell him dinner was waiting, they
found him sitting dead with the letter still in his
hand.'
' Oh ! how awful,' said Muriel, in a low voice.
' Pauvre petite mere, what a dreadful shock it must
have been to her !'
' Ah ! that it was, Miss Muriel ; she was very ill
for many months ; she became quite melancholy-
like until after you was born, and then by degrees
she cheered up a bit. Ah ! how I loved you, my
pretty lamb, for bringing the smiles once more to
my lady's face ;' and the faithful old woman wiped
away a few tears with The corner of her apron.
' But there, Miss Muriel,' she added, in a more
cheerful tone, ' that's all gone and past, and, as I
often told Madame, there's no a-knowing what
mightn't have happened even if she had given in
to his Lordship's wishes and married that disgust-
ing old Duke with his dyed hair and wicked
goings on.'
' Ah! Bertha,' said Muriel, putting her arms
round the old woman's neck, and resting her head,
with its wondrous coils of burnished gold, upon her
ample bosom, ' how true and faithful you have
been ! La mere has often told me how you chose
exile in a foreign land, and very small wages with
her, in preference to seeking another more com-
fortable situation.'
'Ah! dearie, we are all alike in one respect, we
can't get along in this world without something
special to love and live for. I loved your mother,
and it gave me more pleasure and happiness to
work for her and share her hardships, to taking a
good comfortable situation where I was nothing to
The Story of the Past. 107
nobody, and nobody weren't nothing to me ; and
now,' she added tenderly, ' that my dear mistress
has gone where I can't do nothing more for her,
all my love has gone to the child that lay in my
arms five minutes after its birth. My dearie, it is
not much as a poor old woman like me can do for
you, only love you in a stupid, foolish sort of a way ;
but I have lived longer than you, my pretty bird,
and have seen many things that I hope with my
whole heart you won't ever see. You won't take a
word from me amiss, will you ? '
And Bertha looked anxiously into her young
mistress's face.
' Say whatever you please, dear,' said Muriel
gently.
It was only what she had long fancied would
come.
' My darling,' said the old woman earnestly,
' many's the night I have lain awake wondering
and thinking about you. You don't know, how
should you, poor innocent lamb, half the wicked-
ness that lies quite close around you. It's not like
that one so beautiful as you should pass through
life without temptation, and it makes me tremble
when I think if you should fall. Dearie, there's
the same wistful troubled look about your face,
something like how a dog looks that's always seek-
ing its master, that came into your mother's when
first she grew to love your father. I have seen
that same look come into many and many a
woman's face in my time, and I always say when I
see it, " God help them." I don't ask no questions,
but I should dearly like to give just one word of
warning, if I might.'
'Say on,' answered Muriel quietly, 'I promise
to listen patiently to all you have to say.'
' Well, then, I am none too easy in my mind
about Lord Nugent's visits here,' said the old
ioS For One Mans Pleasure.
woman bravely ; ' they are a bad fast lot, them
Nugents, never been good for anything yet except
run through their money, and make every woman
they come across curse the day that threw them in
their path. Did you ever hear about the present
Lord's father? He was a regular fast bad one,
left his wife barely a year after their marriage,
before she was half recovered from giving birth to
the present Lord, and went over to France to fight
a friend who had stolen away his mistress from
him. Lord Nugent was severely wounded, and
Lady Nugent went over to nurse him. He died,
and she came back with her hair as white as it is
now. Poor thing, I do hear as she is nearly heart-
broken at the wild, unsettled life her son leads.
They say Lady Stella Dacre is in love with him,
and that they are half engaged, only he plays fast
and loose with her, and puts off giving up his fast
bachelor ways. I don't like his coming here, Miss
Muriel, and that's the truth of the matter ; he's got
a bad name, and it don't do a girl no good for it to
be said he admires her.'
' Hush, Bertha, that will do,' interrupted Muriel;
'Lord Nugent does not admire me, and we are
good true friends, nothing more.'
4 Don't be vexed, my . dearie,' pleaded the old
woman wistfully. ' I didn't speak for to anger
you, only to set you on your guard, in case he so
far forgot himself as to make love to you.'
' I am not angry,' and Muriel bent down and
kissed her as she spoke. 'Make your'mind easy ;
Lord Nugent will never attempt to make love to me.'
Bertha's eyes followed her wistfully as she left
the room.
' Better be his friend only, and still see him
constantly, than become nothing,' said Muriel to
herself. ' Does he really love Lady Stella, I
wonder ? Ah ! well, she is fair enough even for
On the Balcony. 109
him ; and so long" as he is happy, why need I
care ? Better I suffer than he.'
CHAPTER XIII.
ON THE BALCONY.
' Ah ! darling, could we run this race
(This race of loving) side by side,
I should gain knowledge how to ride
To keep our hearts at equal pace.'—Violet Fane.
'Adrian, I am going to give a ball, so keep
yourself disengaged for the 14th,' Lady Nugent
had remarked to her son one afternoon early in
July.
He had seen but little of his mother for some
days, so had dropped in upon her in time for a
cup of tea and a quiet chat.
' A ball, mother ! What on earth is that for ?'
he had answered, half-amused and half-irritated,
for too well did he guess the true cause of this
unexpected burst of hospitality.
' What do most people give balls for ? ' she had
replied, smiling. 'To give their friends pleasure,
and to make some return for their kindness, I
fancy. Now, Adrian, you lazy boy, don't attempt
to persuade me out of my intention, for my mind
is quite made up, and a ball I will give ; and as
whatever I do I like to do well, I give you carte
blanche as to all the arrangements. Let my dance
be a thorough success, and I do not mind what
extravagances you plunge me into.'
' All right, mother mine,' he had answered,
laughing. ' I promise it shall be perfection itself.
110 For One Man s Pleasure.
But I tell you honestly, if you have any deep
design in your clever head concerning me, it is
pure waste of time and money.'
He put his strong arm round her slight, trim
figure, and looked down half sadly on her up-
turned, loving face.
' Adrian, how I wish. you .would listen to reason,'
she entreated. ' If yo'u only knew how anxious
you make me ! All the world can see how much
Lady Stella loves you : Lord Arrowdale told me
himself only the other day of her refusal of Bertie
Clairmont, poor boy, who refuses to believe the
girl knows her own mind, and he half hinted at
some secret attachment on his daughter's part.
He would like the match as much as I, I know.
Could anyone in the wide world suit you better—
lovely, graceful, intellectual, in your own rank of
life, and, moreover, a great heiress? What is it
that she lacks that you cannot return her love, for
love you I am certain she does ?'
4 Mother, mother, did we not discuss the subject
fully once before?' exclaimed Adrian impatiently.
4 For God's sake cease to urge me into this union.
I do not, never shall, love her, and it is pure folly
*to suppose she cares for me. Would you have me
commit the greatest wrong a man can do a woman
■—marry her without love, because her fortune
would come in nicely to repair the old estate, and
her beauty would grace any man's home? No,
no, mother ; bad and worthless as 1 am oft-times
painted, I have not sunk so low as that. I have
made you one solemn promise, which God alone
knows what it is costing me to keep. Rest con-
tent with that, and let me go my own way in
peace. At the close of the season I am off for ar
year's cruise in my yacht, and I fervently pray
that Lady Stella may be married long before I
return.'
On the Balcony. 111
' Is your love so serious as all that, my poor
boy?' murmured Lady Nugent. 'Can so long
an absence alone work your cure ? '
'Never mind, mother, don't you worry,' replied
Adrian, man-like hating nothing so much as his
private affairs and sentiments being the subject
of discussion. ' For the future let us avoid all
such conversations; they can do no good, and
only pain us both.' And with a hurried kiss he
had left her, to puzzle over his mysterious words
alorie.
But, with all his faults, Lord Nugent was a
tender, affectionate son, and he spared himself
no trouble about his mother's ball. The result
was as great a success as even her Ladyship could
desire. He superintended the issuing of invita-
tions himself, saw that the right people were
asked, and the undesirable ones kept away;
adapted the number of guests to the size of the
rooms, so as to avoid all crush and insure com-
fortable dancing; secured the Hungarian band;
and arranged all about the decorations of the
ball-room, and the seclusion and coolness of the
sitting-out rooms.
Lady Nugent was charmed by his interest and
activity, and still hoped all might yet be well when
he found himself alone with Lady Stella's bewitch-
ing beauty in one of the charming retreats he had
taken so much trouble to render conducive to flir-
tation purposes.
There was no little bird to whisper in her ear of
Adrian's infatuation for the popular prima donna ;
so well had he kept his secret, that not even Society,
great prying busybody that she is, guessed of its
existence.
And now the night of the ball has arrived, and
Lady Nugent's charming house in Hill Street throws
open its doors to admit the phalanx of beauty that
112 For One Mans Pleasure.
comes rustling in. The windows are all wide open
to the .hot night air, and strains of dreamy dance
music are wafted out to the listening, gazing crowds
below.
The whole street is lined thick with carriages,
the servants belonging to which exchange little
pleasantries and jokes, and relate for each other's
benefit the private affairs of the families to which
they respectively belong.
Upstairs, in the beflowered, brilliantly-lit ball-
room, men and women are gliding gracefully about,
in time to the music, and, as the strains come peal-
ing out with passionate cadence, hearts beat faster,
eyes wax more eloquent, and arms press a little, a
very little closer, the beauteous forms they encircle.
It is a brilliant scene, this moving mass of fair,
bejewelled, richly-clad women, and handsome, well-
bred men.
Hearts are won, and hearts are rejected, love de-
clared, and love repulsed, flirtation deepens into
passion, and words are spoken and deeds-done that
a lifetime cannot afterwards efface, and all the while
the band plays dreamily on, and couples continue
to revolve in unison. All balls are pretty much
the same, and human nature is very much alike all
the world over. The combined fascination of music
and beauty, and the certain amount of freedom
that lurks in all such entertainments, generally
bring about the same results.
Therefore, I am not going into any minute de-
tails of this ball in particular ; such of my readers
as are old habitues of such scenes can picture for
themselves, without any further assistance from
me, most of the proceedings that took place that
evening in Hill Street.
I am only going to tell you about a conversation
that Adrian had with Lady Stella in the course of
the evening. They had been valsing together, and
On the Balcony.
"3
at the conclusion of the dance stepped out upon
the balcony for a little fresh air. Here they were
far less alone than in the little nooks before al-
luded to.
I think a man would find some small difficulty
in making demonstrative love to a woman upon a
balcony, with a sea of faces turned up from below
to inspect him and his fair lady-love, and in full
view of all within the ballroom.
Adrian had no wish nor intention, however, of
making love to his companion, otherwise he would
not have brought her there ; something to say to
her he had, and he was puzzling how to introduce
the subject.
Lady Stella stood perfectly still, gazing upon the *
crowd below. Outwardly she looked calm and
self-possessed enough, but inwardly she was con-
sciousof a wild, tumultuous joy at thus being alone
with the man she loved.
What would she not have given to have been
able to read in his face that he returned her
pleasure!
Why could he not love her, her whom other
men had found only too fair for their peace of
mind.
What cruel fate was this that had compelled
her to give her heart to the one man who had
never sought it ?
Why could he not love her? Adrian asked
himself the same question as he looked at her
standing there in her radiant beauty. Good and
pure she was as well as fair, he knew well: a
woman that a man might proudly take to his
bosom and thank God for her love.
Did she love him ? Was his mother right in
saying that she loved him so, that she refused all
others for his sake ?
The mere idea, even though he did not love her
H
H4 For One Mans Pleasure.
sent the blood tingling through his veins, and made
his vain man's heart all astir with gratification.
' Lady Stella,' he said, bending towards her and
speaking suddenly, 4 do you know I am going
away very soon for an indefinite cruise in my
yacht ?'
What fools men are ! they think they have only
to declare their intention of departing, for a woman
to weakly betray her sorrow at the prospect.
I think if Lady Stella had just for once had less
self-control, and allowed him to see her real feel-
ings at his words, Adrian might have been so far
carried away by her beauty and his own vanity as
to ask her to become his wife. But in that case
this story would never have been written.
Lady Stella was no school-girl unable to conceal
her feelings, but an experienced woman of the
world, well versed in the art of hiding her true
sentiments.
At his words she turned towards him with
a pretty gesture of surprise and astonishment ;
nothing more, nothing warmer than that.
4 Really,' she remarked; 4 is not this rather a
sudden intention on your part, Lord Nugent?'
Though he did not love her, he was vain enough
to feel a pang of disappointment at her calm in-
difference.
How was he to know that beneath that quiet
mask of indifference a fierce battle was raging, of
wounded love and bitter disappointment and
regret ?
Oh! if we could only look into each other's
hearts sometimes, what strange sights we should
see, what astonishment would be ours !
Then only should we discover how utterly and
completely we misjudge one another, and learn for
the first time to distinguish rightly betwixt friend
. and foe.
On the Balcony. 115
We should know that the frank, childish eyes
that gaze with such charming candour into ours,
belong to a faithless, treacherous heart; and the
lips that we have so fondly pressed to our own,
and that have murmured such tender words of
endearment, are but living lies.
But it is better as it is, better to take foe for
friend, better to trust too much than too little, to
have too great a faith than to be altogether want-
ing in belief of human virtue ; better once to fancy
we know the utter, perfect bliss of mutual love
and mutual sympathy, than never to experience
that joy at all. It is only ourselves that suffer
from too large a faith ; from want of faith we are
apt to cause suffering to others,
Adrian forgot to reply to Lady Stella's question,
and she did not repeat it. They stood silent and
motionless in the hot night air.
Within the ballroom the music had recom-
menced. Men were dashing about in search of
missing partners ; girls were hiding in secret
nooks, hoping thus to escape duty dances. Some
few couples, whom liking and unison of step kept
together, came in from cool corners, and recom-
menced their exertions.
Lady Stella was engaged for this dance to Lord
Clairmont ; but she said nothing, and only smiled
to herself, when she saw his lordship rushing about
inside in search of her.
She had outgrown the age when to miss a single
dance is looked upon as a wasted pleasure.
She was quite content to remain any length of
time out here alone with the man she loved ; the
man, alas ! whom very soon she was no longer to
meet thus frequently.
'How many changes can take place in a year!'
remarked Adrian presently. ' What will have
happened, I wonder, before I return from my
116 For One Mans Pleasure.
wanderings. Dare I hope to find you as much
my friend as ever ?'
Lady Stella laughed lightly as she answered,
with well-feigned carelessness,—
' Of course. Why not ? Do you think every-
one as fickle as yourself?'
* What a character to give me! What makes
you fancy I am fickle, Lady Stella ?'
' Oh ! most men are, more or less,' replied she
readily. ' Besides, I have heard you declare your-
self how soon your friends bore you, and how
change of place and people is a necessity for your
happiness.'
' Did I ever say so ? I never meant it. The
most changeable person becomes steadfast at last.
Every biter gets bit before he has finished.'
' Do you think so ? I don't. I think some
people are born with natures so fickle that no
power under the sun could permanently fix their
wandering fancy. After all, I am not sure that
they are not the happiest. It is a miserable, al-
most a foolish thing to be so constant. Life is so
short, why cannot we enjoy ourselves?'
'Ah! why?' echoed Adrian, with a sigh.
'" Man wants but little here below, nor wants
that little long," so why on earth shouldn't he be
allowed to have that little according to his own
fancy ? '
' Perhaps we shouldn't like it when we had got
it,' replied Lady Stella, smiling sadly. ' I have
known many men and women who have longed,
yes ! and even prayed, for things that twelve
months after they have gone down on their knees
and thanked God were never granted them. Life
is a great riddle, and who among us is wise enough
to solve its mysteries? I have learned to think
it is useless to fight against fate.'
' Then you are content to just drift on with
On the Balcony. i17
the stream, and yield yourself meekly to existing
circumstances ?'
1 Not content, but there is no use in fighting
with powers greater than ourselves.'
'Then you don't believe in the strength of indi-
vidual will and determination of character ? '
' Oh ! yes, I do ; but there are cases when they
avail little.'
' How do you mean ? I do not understand.
Do you not believe in a person wishing for some
certain thing, and by pure determination and
steadfastness of purpose obtaining it ?'
' Yes, I have seen many instances of that ; what
I meant was, there are cases when one person's
will is not sufficient, the determination of two is
required.'
' Ah ! you refer to hopeless love affairs ? '
4 Perhaps I do,' she answered gaily. ' But what
a dismal topic we have wandered into. Do you
know, I fancy it is growing very late : would you
mind finding my father and telling him I am quite
ready to start ? It has been a charming ball, and
does you great credit. Your mother told me you
took all the trouble of it off her hands.'
'Ah, Lady Stella, you mustn't believe all my
mother says about me ; you knowT the old saying,
" Every parent considers its own goose a swan."
That is sadly true in her case, I fear. Will you
stay here while I seek your father, or shall I take
you back into the room ? '
41-will stay here, thanks.'
And Adrian, without further speech, stepped
inside and left her.
4 Poor, dear, old mother,' he muttered to himself,
4 what mistakes she does make. That girl love me ?
Impossible. She is as beautiful and as cold as a
statue. What a fool a man would be to think she
could ever be warmed into life, and taught the
118 For One Mans Pleasure.
meaning of the word passion. Ah ! if only I had
had my dear little Muriel out there on the balcony
with me, would not her dear eyes have told me a
thousand different loving tales in the moonlight.
Poor little darling, how lovely she looked when she
promised to be my friend ! Dear little one, I must
go and look her up to-morrow.'
And so thinking, Lord Nugent threaded his way
deftly among the dancers, and, passing out of the
ballroom, joined Lord Arrowdale in one of the
outer rooms.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE DAY AFTER THE BALL.
' It is not for a dead thing I am sighing ;
1 weep no vanished joys, for in my heart,
Living (or ever to me. underlying
The current of the life I live apart
From what seems more than life, there, there, undying,
Is what thou wert to me, and what thou art.'
Violet Feme.
IT was the afternoon of the day after Lady
Nugent's ball that Adrian, in coming out of the
door of his rooms in Clarges Street, almost
knocked against Muriel, who was slowly passing
at the moment.
'Why? Mademoiselle, is this really you ? How
strange to meet you in this part of the town, and
alone too ! I was just coming to pay you a visit;
but since I have had the good luck to meet you,
you must come in, see my rooms, and have some
tea.'
But Muriel shook her head as she withdrew her
hand from his eager grasp.
The Day after the Ball. 119
' Ah ! no ; I cannot do that, much as I should
like to see your rooms.'
But he only laughed, and drew her gently
through the doorway.
'Nonsense, child,' he said tenderly. 'You are
thinking it would not be proper, or some such folly
as that. No one saw you come in, and I will take
care no one sees you leave. What harm can it do
you to inspect my treasures and drink a cup of tea
in my society ?'
He had closed the door as he spoke, and was
leading her upstairs. Muriel felt it would be use-
less to make further resistance, so passively yielded
to his sovereign will, and allowed him to conduct
her to his suite of apartments.
The rooms all led into one another, separated
only by heavy curtains, in some cases draped back,
in others allowed to hang closed in thick folds to
the ground.
Ringing the bell, he went to the door and held
a whispered conversation with some unknown
person ; then closing it, he returned to Muriel's
side.
She still stood straight and tall in the centre of
the room, enveloped in some long description of
mantle that entirely concealed her figure, whilst a
thick veil covered her face and rendered her almost
unrecognisable.
' Come, take off that disguising veil, and throw
aside that heavy cloak; I want you to examine
all my pictures and other treasures,' Adrian said
gaily.
Then, as with trembling fingers she prepared
to obey him, and for the first time he caught
sight of her white face and troubled, beautiful
e\ es, he added tenderly, ' Why, my mignonne,
how pale and frightened you look! Silly little
bird, what is it you fear, do you think I keep
120 For One Man s Pleasure.
concealed here some terrible demon who will
eat you up ? See! I give you free leave to
search where you will. Do not look so uneasy.
My child, you do not know what pleasure it
gives me to see you here. Tell me, what do
you think of my rooms? I arranged them all
myself.'
His kind tones and evident distress at her ner-
vousness brought back her self-control, and enabled
her to answer in her natural manner.
' I think they are quite lovely. May I wander
about and examine everything?'
' Of course you may, and I will be showman, and
point out my most sacred treasures first.'
Muriel was not the only woman who had pro-
nounced Lord Nugent's rooms ' quite lovely.' He
was rather proud of showing them off, and con-
stantly gave delightful little teas, or still more
charming suppers, for the benefit of his lady
friends. They really were very pretty, quite a
masterpiece of artistic arrangement ; he had not
led his wandering life for so many years without
picking up many rare and valuable works of art,
until he possessed an extensive and rich collection
of old china, old cabinets, metal-work, pictures by
old masters, some very beautiful, others only pre-
cious for the name they bore, and bric-a-brac of
all kinds.
The inside of his doors were covered with crim-
son velvet, and profusely adorned with old minia-
tures. thrown into splendid relief by the rich glow
of colour behind.
The walls were hung with silk of the same shade,
admirably adapted to show off the brackets, each
holding some lovely piece of sculpture that orna-
mented them.
There were flowers and blooming plants every-
where, and the room abounded with photographs,
The Day after the Ball. 121
likenesses of all the loveliest faces in London and
Paris, duchesses and the fair beauties of the demi-
monde hanging side by side in curious confusion
of ranks. Muriel examined them one and all,
with a strange sensation of pain. Never until she
had seen him in his own rooms, surrounded thus
by the outward signs of what his inner life con-
sisted, had she so thoroughly realised how wide
apart his path through life lay from hers.
An overwhelming sense of her own unworthi-
ness swept over her. How mad she had been ever
to dream this man could feel aught for her but
friendly interest.
This was what his life was, luxury, rich colour,
the sweetness of flowers, the beauty of works of
art, and the still greater loveliness of human faces.
How could she hope that there was room left in
his already well-filled life for her to occupy?
' Ah ! ma petite, I must have one of your photos,'
he said presently, as he watched her admiring
a beautiful cabinet photograph of Lady Stella
Dacre. ' My collection would not be complete
without.'
' I have none,' she answered, rather coldly.
* But you can be taken ; and you will, to please
me, will you not?' he answered, gazing with a half
confident smile into her grave face.
' I think not. I have no one to give likenesses
ef myself to, and it would scarcely be worth while
being taken merely to give you a copy to hang
beside these pretty ballet girls.'
She spoke somewhat proudly, and Adrian heard
the change in her voice at once.
'You foolish little child,' he said, going over
to where she stood, and taking her hand in his.
' What a proud little soul it is. Do you think,
darling, I should hang your precious likeness by
the side of those painted women there? No, no!
12 2 For One Mans Pleasure.
Only have your photo taken and give me a copy,
and you shall see where its place shall be.'
But Muriel drew her hand away, and stepped
back.
' Lord Nugent, what did you promise me? ' she
asked, in a low voice. ' If you cannot treat me
with proper respect, let me go at once.' And she
moved towards the door.
But Adrian reached it first; and stood with his
back towards it.
' Muriel, my darling, listen to me,' he said
pleadingly. ' I do remember my promise, and I
am going to keep it. Do not be afraid; I am
going to behave properly, I swear. I could not
help that word slipping out. Don't be too hard
upon me; you don't know what a new thing it is
for me to struggle with my inclinations. Forgive
me, and believe I will be good for the future.'
' I do not mean to be hard,' said Muriel, with a
tremble in her sweet, soft tones.
' That is right,' responded he, with a little sigh.
'Did I tell you I had ordered tea? It will be here
presently ; but first I want you to try my piano,
and sing just once to me. if you will.'
' Certainly I will, with pleasure,' replied she
with readiness. And walking over to the piano,
she seated herself, and ran her fingers brilliantly
over the keys.
' What shall I sing ?' she asked, looking up at
him as he stood leaning on the instrument at her
side.
'Anything; I don't much care what—oh! that
VAddio a Napoli, if you are not too sick of
it.'
' I never could get sick of it,' she answered, and
a minute later her rich voice was wailing through
the room with passionate sadness.
' Now that other favourite of mine, please, Sofeal
The Day after the Ball. 123
said Adrian, as she ceased; and she instantly
complied with his request.
'Now,' she said, rising from her seat, 'it is your
turn. You have never yet fulfilled your promise of
singing to me; will you do so now?'
' I have very little voice,' he answered. ' It
would give you no pleasure to hear me sing things
that you have already heard much better sung.'
' How can ycu say so ? ' she answered earnestly.
'You have a sweet voice, I am sure; I can always
tell from a person's tone in speaking. Sing me
something that I am not likely to know ; I shall
like that best.'
He smiled, and seating himself at the piano,
began playing softly a prelude full of passionate
melody.
' Ah ! what is that ?' said Muriel eagerly. ' How
very pretty ! Pray, sing me that.'
' Do you like it. The words are French, and
run so,' said Adrian, beginning to sing:—■
' L'amour fait ici-bas la vie ;
N'oublie pas
Que j'ai trouve l'amour, ma mie,
Dans tes doux bras.
Bien d'autres vont jurer peut-etre
T'aimer toujours ;
C'est dans mon cceur que tu fais naitre
Un seul amour.'
' Oh ! how lovely !' exclaimed Muriel, ' and how
very sweet your voice. Whose music is that ?'
Adrian laughed.
' I am glad you like it,' he answered. ' It is my
own composition, it came to me the other day, and
the air seemed to go rather well to those words.
I should not have inflicted it upon you, only you
asked me for something unknown.'
'It is very, very pretty,' said Muriel. ' I like it
extremely. But sing to me again, something more
124 For One Man s Pleasure.
of your own ; have you not set other words to
music ?'
' My compositions are such weak rubbish that I
feel ashamed to worry you with them ; but since
you wish it, I will sing you a little air I composed
once to Shelley's words. I wonder if you know
them.'
And Adrian, in a sweet, true, though by no
means powerful voice, sang her—
' I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden ;
Thou needest not fear mine,—
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion ;
Thou needest not fear mine,—
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.'
' There !' he exclaimed, getting up with a laugh.
4 I have come to the end of my powers ; and here
comes the tea, now you shall see how wonderfully
I can manage a teapot.'
At this minute a man-servant entered the room
bearing a tray of delicate china tea-things, and,
placing it upon a low table, withdrew discreetly
without once glancing in the direction of his master
and his companion.
' Come and see what a clever tea-maker I am,'
said Adrian, walking over to the table and sinking
into the depths of the comfortable arm-chair that
stood immediately behind it. 4 Here is a nice
little chair that I can recommend highly for soft-
ness and general comfort,' and he drew it close to
his own as he spoke. 4 Sit down, and let me have
the pleasure of waiting upon you.'
Muriel smiled, and seated herself obediently.
4 By-the-bye,' remarked he, presently, 4 what were
you doing down in this part of the world all alone ?'
The Day after the Ball. 125
The girl's soft downcast face blushed a deep
crimson.
To own the truth was impossible. How could
she confess that nothing more or less than the
intense idea to behold even the outside walls of his
home, had been the object of her expedition !
' Business brought me over here,' she answered,
somewhat confusedly.
And Adrian, pitying her confusion, and perhaps
guessing the true cause of her coming, changed the
subject, and began questioning her as to her plans
at the end of the season.
' I have settled nothing definitely as yet,' she
replied. ' I rather want a month or two of perfect
rest and freedom, and should like to go back to
my bella Italia for my holiday, if possible. Then
later I may perhaps accept an engagement that
has been offered me in St Petersburg. But I really
hardly know yet what I shall do.'
' Have you seen much of Claude Hamilton
lately?' inquired Adrian.
' Not a great deal quite lately. He has been
busy, I fancy, and had but little time for idle
visits.'
'Do you know, child, that he loves you?' de-
manded Adrian abruptly.
The flush deepened in Muriel's face as she
answered simply,—
' I am afraid he does, and the thought makes
me very miserable at times.'
' But why ? Is not love a good thing to pos-
sess ? '
' Not if we cannot return it in kind,' she replied
softly. ' Dear old Claude, I do love him dearly and
truly, but not as he would have me love him, and
to cause him pain seems such a base return for all
his kindness. You do not know how good he was
to my mother and me when we first arrived in
126
For One Mans Pleasure.
England. He got that house for us, and saw that
all was comfortable, and took all trouble off our
hands, just as though he had been related to us.'
'No doubt it was a pleasure for him to do so,'
dryly remarked Adrian, whom even this friendly
praise annoyed.
' That does not lessen the obligation on our
side,' answered she, smiling, and rising as she
spoke. * But I must be going now ; I think Bertha
must already fancy I am lost.'
'Must you really?' in a regretful voice, and
looking at his watch as he spoke. ' It is only
six.'
' Only six ? ' echoed she ; ' I had no idea it was
so late. Oh ! yes, indeed, I must be off home now.
Thank you very much for showing me your rooms,
and giving me tea.'
She held out her hand as she spoke, having pre-
viously resumed her long mantle and tied on her
thick veil.
Adrian took the hand she held out to him, and
retained it in his own.
' Don't be in such a hurry,' he said, tenderly.
' You can't walk, would you like me to call you a
hansom ?'
' If you please, and if it is giving you no.
trouble.'
'Trouble! Nonsense! I don't know what the
word means when you are concerned. Wait a
minute, though ; perhaps the best way would be
for us to walk into Curzon Street and pick up
one there. If you will let yourself out, I will join
you in one second outside the door.'
' Very well,' she answered, and passing down
the stairs she waited, as he had desired her, in the
street below.
He did not keep her long, and hailing a hansom
that good-duck caused to be loitering about at
A Dinner at Hurlingham. 127
the time, he put her in, and bade her a tender
good-bye.
' How I wish I might come too,' he whispered ;
4 but, of course, it wouldn't do if anyone saw us,
which they would be sure to do in this part of
the town. Good-bye, I shall come and see you
very soon, if I may;' and raising his hat, he
stood and watched the hansom as it swiftly bore
his darling away from his side. Then, with a
heavy sigh, he lit a cigar, and strolled slowly
up Piccadilly, musing on the stern fate that kept
this girl from becoming his bride. With all their
faults, no Nugent had ever yet been known to
break his word, and he told himself again that
he could not be the first to7 disregard his solemn
-oath.
CHAPTER XV.
A DINNER AT HURLINGHAM.
' My friend!
What dost thou say, O little word ?
Love without passion—Trust without end,
Patience so calm, and strong, and still,
The whole wid.e world may whirl at will,
And yet I will be firm and wait,
Nor ever answer, " Thou art too late,"
To thy demands, for ever, aye !'—Meta Orred.
And what of Claude Hamilton all this time, and
how was he bearing his sorrow and disappoint-
ment? Why, with the same noble fortitude and
brave endurance with which he had always hitherto
met every trouble in his life. He was no weak
character to sit down crushed and disheartened ;
128 For One Mans Pleasure.
he knew too well from experience how labour,
both mental and manual, is the most efficacious
antidote for sorrow, and so, throwing himself heart
and soul into the work he had on hand, he strove
to subdue useless longing and to learn true re-
signation. In addition to his personal disappoint-
ment he was wracked with heavy forebodings
concerning the woman he loved. To the clear
eye of love all the difficulties surrounding her
position were alarmingly distinct, and at times
he was almost overwhelmed with fears for her
future. He was too wise ever to dream of again
warning her; it could do no good, and might
only widen the breach between them, and weaken
his already fast - decreasing influence. And so,
striving to altogether absorb himself in his art,
he continued to lead his solitary life, refusing all
invitations that would bring him in contact with
the world, who might unknowingly deepen his
wounds by careless converse about the person who
had caused them.
Therefore it was that he hesitated long before
he accepted an invitation that reached him one
morning from Lady Stella Dacre. It was a short
friendly little note she had written, asking him
to join a party she and her father had got up to
dine that evening at Hurlingham.
His first inclination had been to refuse, but on
reflection he decided to accept it. Lady Stella
was one of the few women whose society gave
him real pleasure, and he was one of the few men
of her acquaintance who saw beneath the surface
of her mere graceful charm of manner, and honoured
the true nobility of the inner woman. He felt
that to see and converse with her again would
be pleasant even in his present mood, and might do
him good ; and if only he could persuade her to
feel an interest in Muriel, he hoped her womanly
A Dinner at Hnrlingham. 129
influence might prevail over the girl, and many of
the dangers he now feared for her be averted.
The dinner was not until eight o'clock ; but a
little past six Claude jumped into a hansom, and
drove down to Hurlingham, determined to enjoy
as long as possible the cooler, fresher atmosphere
which is to be found in that pleasantest of all
pleasant retreats.
Who has not experienced the pleasure of a
dinner at Hurlingham ? Who does not know the
charm and beauty of those grounds ? the sloping
lawn, the dreamy river flowing silently below, the
old shady trees, winding secluded walks, and even
the house itself has a beauty peculiarly its own.
It was a gay and brilliant throng that awaited
Claude on his arrival. Crowds of showy, hand-
somely-dressed women, sitting about under the
trees, wandering on the grass, strolling down the
walks with their gay cavaliers in attendance, men
whose faces are well-known in Piccadilly and
Pall Mall, and about not a few of whom some
curious little tales are afloat.
If you want to know all the newest scandals,
go to Hurlingham on a summer's day, listen at-
tentively to the conversation around you, watch
keenly what men are with what women, and you
will learn pretty well which way the wind is
blowing in Belgravia and May fair.
Claude, who had not been there for some time,
was amused, though it was rather sad amusement,
to perceive the changes that had taken place in
the so-called friendships of the men and women
around him. Men whom he remembered paying
blind adoration to some particular pair of brown
eyes, now worshipped as blindly at the shrine of
azure ones. And the gay scene before him set
him meditating sadly on the state society had
arrived at morally. Here were men and women
I
130 For One Mans Pleasure.
openly parading their illicit loves, while the world
looked on with careless approval, merely giving
vent to wondering conjectures as to the length of
each liaison.
With a sigh of relief he turned away from the
light, frivolous women about him, and went for-
ward to meet Lady Stella, who, pure and chaste-
looking as some tall, white garden lily, stepped out
through the door upon the gravel-walk. She was
followed by Lord Arrowdale, three or four young
men, and one or two ladies — pretty, dashing,
married women, very much the fashion at the
time—the party making in all twelve persons.
Lord Arrowdale had selected a large table on
the lawn under the trees, and while the dinner was
preparing they strolled about, Lady Stella with
quiet tact securing Claude for her own companion.
' My reason for asking you this evening was
purely a selfish one,' she observed, in her own
bewitching, gracious manner. ' I so longed for
one congenial spirit among the party my father
had collected together. It was very good of you
to come; I know this sort of thing is not much to
your taste.'
' A quiet conversation with you is always very
much to my taste,' answered he earnestly ; ' and to
secure it I would undergo far worse things than a
good dinner in these really lovely grounds.'
' Ah ! I am afraid that is only your kind way of
putting it. Anyhow, I intend to have no scruples
in monopolising your company, so prepare yourself
for your fate. After dinner we will have a quiet
stroll and a real talk, a pleasure we have not had
for a long time.'
And now the business of the evening was com-
mencing. Men and women were assembling round
their respective tables, and gay laughter and the
hum of conversation sounded clearly in the quiet'
A Dinner at Hurlingham. 131
evening air, as the champagne passed freely round,
and bon mots were uttered with somewhat equivocal
meanings.
The Earl of Arrowdale was in excellent spirits,
and his laugh the merriest and most constant of
any present. Seated between two of the reign-
ing beauties of the day, he made his little jokes,
and indulged in a little harmless flirtation, and
his gaiety prevented his daughter's unusual silence
from being noticed.
Claude Hamilton, seated on her right hand, was
perhaps the only one present who observed how
grave at times was Lady Stella's beautiful face, and
how, when she did join in the general nonsense
going on, she did so with the greatest effort.
And the twilight deepened into dusk, and the
stars came out in the azure heavens, and all the
glories of a perfect summer's night reigned trium-
phant. To Lady Stella, sad and preoccupied, the
courses seemed interminable, and with almost envy
she watched the different parties at the neighbour-
ing tables rise and disperse two and two, every
Jack with his Jill, and she idly followed their
moving figures until the dusk hid them, and no-
thing but the red light of the men's cigars were
visible, and the faint sound of distant laughter was
wafted back to her ears, as she and her guests still
sat over their dessert.
But, thank God ! the end comes to all things,
and by-and-by, the last peach eaten, and the last
glass of champagne drunk, a general move took
place : chairs were pushed back ; congenial spirits,
who during dinner had been separated, moved
towards each other, and there was a universal
pairing off.
Men lit their cigars, women drew their lace
wraps artistically around them ; and in a few
minutes the lawn, the gay scene of so much
132 For One Mans Pleasure.
merriment a few moments previous, was deserted,
save for a solitary couple or so left seated in lazy
repose, for whom rambles in shady walks had lost
their charm.
4 Now, Mr Hamilton, let us escape for our
promised stroll. I will show you my favourite
path, which I know you will appreciate,' Lady
Stella had whispered to the artist, as they
all rose from the table, and in the general
dispersing that ensued, they strolled off unseen
and unfollowed.
4 I feel it is very selfish of me thus to monopolise
your ladyship,' Claude remarked, as he sauntered
along at her side. 4 But it is long since we had
anything like a real conversation, and it is always
such a pleasure to me to exchange thoughts with
you.'
41 am afraid my thoughts at this minute would
be a very poor exchange for any of yours. Don't
you agree with me, Mr Hamilton, in finding the
close of the season a rather depressing time ? It
seems to be a general leave-taking. People who
have been seeing each other almost daily for the
last two months, will now all separate, and probably
not meet again until next year.'
4 Ah ! that is one advantage of living such a
secluded life as mine. All seasons are pretty
much the same to me, and my friends are the
pleasures, not the necessities of my life.'
' That is because you have your art in which to
live,' replied Lady Stella sadly. 'You get so en-
grossed in your work, that you forget all else; and
yet surely mere canvas and paints are not capable
of altogether satisfying the needs of your heart.
Is there no crevice left unfilled ?'
' Every rose has a canker,' replied Claude, with
feigned lightness ; 4 therefore I cannot expect to be
an exception to the rule. Every life has its sad-
A Dinner at Hurling ham, 133
ness ; but, because that is so, one need not allow
it to absorb the brightness with which every life is
also blessed.'
They were wandering down a narrow path, the
trees interlacing above their heads. The foliage
was so thick, that it was almost impossible to see
whither they were going. Every now and again a
gap in the leafy arch overhead allowed the moon-
light to stream down upon them, and showed to
each the other's face.
Lady Stella glanced at her companion, and was
struck by the noble, patient look of resignation
depicted upon his handsome face. There was
something about this man that strangely drew
her to him. She instinctively felt he was good
and true, a friend to be relied upon in sorrow
and adversity.
With the quick instinct of wounded love, she
guessed his secret, guessed that somehow the girl
whom he had surrounded with his generous devo-
tion had repulsed his love and dealt him pain.
A strong desire to aid him in his suffering, to
give him at least the comfort of her sympathy,
seized her, and, acting upon the impulse of the
moment, she stretched out her hand and laid it
upon his.
A dangerous thing for a woman to do, a woman as
beautiful and fascinating as Lady Stella, especially
whilst strolling in so secluded a spot. But Claude,
though surprised, did not misinterpret her action,
as many another man might have done; and
whilst retaining the fair, white, jewelled hand in
his in a loose, friendly grasp, he turned towards
her with a kind look of inquiry in his eyes.
There is a good deal of talk now-a-days about
friendship, and many sentiments unworthy of the
name are designated by that much-meaning term ;
but there are few, very, very few' in the whole
134 For One Man's Pleasure.
world who rightly understand all that the word
friend means, and still fewer who are capable of
fulfilling the functions of friendship. For a man
and a woman really to be friends, and nothing
more, it is necessary that both should carry in
their heart a deep-rooted devotion for some other
man and woman.
' I beg your pardon,' said Lady Stella quickly,
as she met Claude's glance. ' Forgive me if I pain
you, but I cannot help thinking you have some
secret grief, and I want you to understand how
thoroughly I feel for you, and am sorry for your
sorrow.'
As a rule, all men hate sympathy, but the most
sensitive could not have taken offence at this so
delicately offered. Claude was touched to the
quick by the tones of her sweet voice, and his
natural reserve faded before the glance of her
lovely eyes.
' Thank you,' he said simply ; and in silence they
proceeded on their way.
Presently they reached the spot Lady Stella
wished to show him. They stood at the bottom of
what appeared to the artist in the dim light a
large meadow. A sloping bank of shrubs alone
separated them from the river flowing peacefully
on below. On the silent night air the splash of
oars came with a muffled sound, all the more
mysterious that it was too dark to discern the
boats from which it proceeded. Across the river
lights gleamed. The two who had come to gaze on
the fair scene stood perfectly still, drinking in the
beauty of the night.
Claude turned suddenly at last towards his com-
panion, and said, in a low voice of suppressed
feeling,—
' Lady Stella, would it be taking too great
an advantage of your kind friendship to solicit
A Dinner at Hurling ham. 135
your interest in a great personal friend of my
own ?'
4 Certainly not,' she answered, with ready
graciousness. 41 shall only be too pleased. Is
it about Mademoiselle Delacourt that you would
wish to speak to me ?'
4 It is. She is so young and fair, and you know,
better than I can make her realise, the many
dangers surrounding a life like hers. She is placed
in a peculiarly isolated position, and at times I
tremble for her future.'
4 But surely, with so careful and trustworthy a
guardian as yourself, your fears are needless ?'
4 It is difficult for a man always to guide a
woman, especially if she be as pure and proud as
Muriel. I regret much her want of female friends
and female society.'
4 And you would like me to go and see her, per-
haps,' interrupted Lady Stella quickly. 4 It will
give me much pleasure to do so, for I can assure
you I am already much interested in your beauti-
ful and talented ward.'
41 do not know how to thank you enough !' ex-
claimed Claude earnestly. 4 It is too kind, too
good of you.'
'Not at all. The best way to thank me is to
say no more about the matter. And now, suppose
we retrace our steps? I fear my father will be
wondering what has become of me, but I wanted
to show you this lovely spot.'
4 Thank you very much for doing so. I shall
not easily forget your kindness of to-night.'
' Hush ! nonsense,' she answered gently, 4 you
forget we are friends. True friendship knows no
obligations.'
x36 For One Mans Pleasure,
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RIVALS.
1 She seemed so gay,—I felt so sad,—
Her laugh but made me frown the more ;
For each light word of hers I had
Some sharp reply in store.'—Owen Meredith.
Lady Stella Dacre was not one of those beings
in whom the world so plenteously abounds, who,
out of the kindness of their hearts, and acting
upon the impulse of the moment, promise to do
certain things which, later, when their ardour has
somewhat cooled, they altogether forget to per-
form.
Perhaps never in her whole life had Lady Stella
allowed mere feeling to influence her actions, save
in that one instance of laying her hand upon
Claude Hamilton's in silent token of sympathy
with his private sorrow. Her acts were all acts of
much previous deliberation, she was accustomed
to view matters from every point of view before
taking any decided step.
Possibly the necessity of thinking and acting for
herself without appealing to a mother's judgment,
had fostered and strengthened the natural bent of
her mind, which was to pause before leaping.
People were always struck by the stability of Lady
Stella's character, and it gave those whom she
honoured with her friendship a blessed feeling of
assurance and trust.
But, strange to say, it was this very same assur-
ance, this perfect knowledge beforehand of what,
under certain circumstances, Lady Stella's conduct
would be, that prevented Lord Nugent from being
The Rivals.
137
carried away by her beauty and falling in love
with her.
If he could once have seen her lose her self-
control, once seen her really excited and enthu-
siastic, have known her once to act without
thought, and abandon herself to the impulse of the
moment, he would not thus so long have withstood
her many charms and fascinations. But there
were no abrupt corners, no sudden turns in her
character; she was not a creature of moods, who
one day received you with smiles and another with
frowns or careless indifference. Once you gained
her esteem, her interest, she ever received you with
the same gracious sweetness of manner.
This steady, even temperament rendered her a
most satisfactory reliable friend, but perhaps just a
little wanting in excitement to a lover.
At any rate, Lord Nugent found her so, for his
changeful, variable nature sought in others the
faithful echo to his fickle moods.
That was why Muriel, with her highly-sensitive,
poetical organisation, so exactly answered and
satisfied every craving of his heart. She was never
two days alike. At times dreamy and sad, prone
to wonder and moralise over the mysteries of life ;
at others merry and gay, with the bright, sparkling
gaiety of a child, the merriment that can only
proceed from a pure innocent mind. And yet,
with all her gaiety, all her purity, she possessed
the passionate instincts of a woman, and nothing
Adrian loved more than to watch her eyes dilate
and glow, and her beautiful lips tremble with sup-
pressed feeling while he related to her some love
tale of fiction or reality telling of woman's love and
woman's faith.
The more he saw of her the more he knew of
her, the more mad and overwhelming became his
love.
138 For One Man s Pleasure.
He was allowing her what no other woman in
his life had been allowed to do—disturb his peace
of mind, haunt his thoughts waking and sleeping,
and render him, without her, miserable. He asked
himself again and again what it was he meant
towards this girl, what course of action in the
future he intended to pursue, but he failed to
arrive at any satisfactory answer. He wanted her;
that was all he knew, that was all he felt in every
fibre of his being. Life without her was incom-
plete, and the idea of her belonging to another
intolerable.
He was literally racked with doubts and
longings.
To make her his wife was impossible. He
loved his mother too well to deal her such a
cruel blow. Besides, his creditors were only kept
quiet by the hope and chance of his making a
wealthy marriage. No ; that was not to be
thought of for a minute. But, then, would she,
dare he try and persuade her to, become anything
else ?
He had known men who had remained through
a lifetime true and faithful to women not legally
bound to them ; making them, in fact, infinitely
better husbands than many who bore that sacred
name. What others had done, surely he could do.
Abroad, where both were unknown, could they not
wander happy and content, so long as each day's
sun left and found them together?
Oh! wondrous magical word, that so many
have, in their mad passion, fancied would suffice
for so much that goes to make men and women
happy !
It is the man who ever puts it forth as the
attraction, and it is" he who first discovers its
inability to recompense him for all else he has
lost.
The Rivals.
139
There are very few men who can love well and
constantly enough for one woman's presence to
make up to them for the loss of the world's society.
Some one or two there are, perhaps ; but they
are rare, very rare !
I have said that Lady Stella did not forget
her promises ; therefore you will not be surprised
to hear that one hot afternoon saw her driving in
the direction of St John's Wood, for the express
purpose of calling upon Mademoiselle Delacourt.
Her coachman had no slight difficulty in dis-
covering the house she sought ; but, after many
stoppages and inquiries, the carriage drew up,
and -the powdered-headed flunky, with visible
contempt, rang sharply at the little unpretending
wooden door in the high brick wall which sur-
rounded Muriel's humble home.
Bertha opened it with a slight start of astonish-
ment at the handsome carriage with its well-
dressed, lovely occupant.
Mademoiselle Delacourt was at home, and Lady
Stella, with no slight interest, alighted, and followed >
the old woman into the house. It was the first
time she had ever been inside the home of a
professional celebrity, and she looked about her
with the interest and curiosity that one always
feels about all belonging to a public character.
She was ushered into the pretty old-fashioned
sitting-room, which was empty.
' I will tell my young mistress you are here, my
lady,' Bertha said, as she left the room.
Lady Stella wandered about the apartment,
admiring its arrangements and smelling the frag-
rant flowers that abounded everywhere.
Meanwhile, overhead, in her little bedroom,
Muriel was hearing with utter dissatisfaction of
the visitor awaiting her below.
Bertha had found her lying on her bed with
140 For One Man's Pleasure.
ruffled hair and swollen eyelids, telling tales of
recent tears.
Lady Stella was the last person in the whole
world at that moment that she wished to see ;
she had been thinking not a little about her
whilst lying there, crying her eyes out, poor
silly child, for what she knew could never be
hers.
' Can't you say I am asleep, Bertha ?' she asks,
sitting on the edge of the bed and disconsolately
swinging a pair of pretty little shoeless feet.
'You foolish old woman, whatever made you
admit her? You might have known I shouldn't
want to see her.'
'Now, my dearie, how was I to know you
would take on like this about a lovely young
lady like her? Go down, there's a dear. Here,
let me smooth your hair ; it's all in regular tumble.'
Muriel submitted to the brushing process in
silence.
' Now give me my shoes,' she said, slipping to
her feet.
' Oh dear! what a bore people are ! What in
the world can Lady Stella want with me?'
Very slowly she descended the stairs and en-
tered the room, but a great deal of her girlish
displeasure faded away when Lady Stella came
forward in her own pretty manner to meet
her.
' I am sorry I kept you so long,' said Muriel,
with the quiet dignity which sat so well upon her;
' but I was resting, and had to wait to make my-
self fit to be seen.'
' Oh, I am sorry; I am afraid I disturbed you.
But I wanted so much to pay you a visit, that I
came off the first opportunity I had.'
They were facing each other, each admiring,
with the ready admiration of lovely women, the
The Rivals.
141
beauty of the other. It is only your half-and-half
beauties who are so chary with their praise of
another's charms.
' It was very kind of you,' said Muriel, but
without much cordiality in her voice. She was
wondering who had put it into Lady Stella's head
to do her this honour.
'Not at all. I have heard it said that you hate
compliments, so I won't say all the admiring
things about you that I should like, for fear you
should deem me a flatterer. But you must allow
me to thank you for all the pleasure I have had
out of your voice.'
' I am glad I have pleased you. People have
been most kind to me and my voice.'
'Not kinder than you deserve. Your voice is
exquisite. How I envy you it!'
Muriel smiled.
'Your ladyship is better off as you are. The
life of a singer is not to be envied. Much as I
love my art, I am forced to own that.'
' But the excitement, the applause ! do you not
care for all that ? The feeling that you, by your
genius, have thrilled a vast audience. Oh! it
must be a grand sensation.'
' Ah yes ; we artistes like to be appreciated,
like to know by the applause that follows our
exertions, that our efforts have not been in vain.
But one cannot live upon applause and excite-
ment. After all, the hours before the footlights
are very few ; and those who applaud and admire
us there, know and care very little about the other
greater number of hours in our lives, spent in our
own homes. With all its publicity, it is a solitary
life.'
' But you have many friends? '
' Not many. One may not always with safety
accept the friendship offered to such as I. To
142 For One Man's Pleasure.
keep her name spotless, a woman must deny her-
self many things.'
'You are right,' replied Lady Stella softly ; and
the peer's daughter looked with open admiration
at the pure fair face of the young prima donna,
who spoke thus so truly in so sad a tone, and for
the first time she began to realise some of Claude's
fears about this beautiful creature.
' I saw a friend of yours the other day,' she
remarked abruptly ; ' I mean Mr Hamilton. Did
he tell you he had dined with us at Hurling-
ham ?'
'I have not seen him for some time,' was the
quiet reply : but the colour mounted to her face
in a sudden blush; then, fading away, left her
paler than before.
' I did not think him looking well,' Lady
Stella continued, with feigned carelessness ; ' but
he assured me he felt quite right. What do you
think, mademoiselle, do you not agree with me
that he spends too many hours over his canvas
and oils ?'
' I have often told him so, but he will not heed
me,' Muriel answered.
' Then pray tell him again. I think a little
anxiety on your part about his well-being would
do him more good than anything.'
41 do not understand you,' said Muriel quickly,
with a proud ring in her voice.
' Forgive me,' said Lady Stella gently; ' per-
haps I had no right to say what I did, but I
guessed his secret, and I do so long to see him
happy. He is a great, dear friend of mine; I
honour him almost beyond anyone I know. Is
there no chance of his gaining what he wishes ? '
#< Did he ask you to say all this ?'
' By no means; I expect he would be very
angry if he knew I had dared mention the subject
The Rivals.
143
to you. But I could not help just saying one word
in his defence. You are not angry, I hope? '
' No, not angry ; I thank you for thus appre-
dating one also very dear to me. But I think
such matters are best left untouched by third
persons. Claude has had my answer. Talking
about what cannot be helped is useless.'
' I quite agree with you,' said Lady Stella
quickly; and with ready tact she changed the
conversation.
For nearly an hour she sat chatting on, and
Muriel, while she answered, sat and studied her
with the painful intensity with which one woman
studies another who also loves the idol of her
heart. She could not help being charmed with
her, and more than ever was she forced to own that
she was a fitting bride for Lord Nugent. She
never guessed that under Lady Stella's gracious,
pleasant demeanour ached a heart as restless and
miserable as her own. She was less well versed in
hiding her feelings, and could not quite warm up into
friendliness. But Lady Stella could not have felt
this, or she would scarcely have paid so long a visit.
At length she arose to go, with evident regret.
4 Good-bye,' she said, holding out her hand. ' I
shall hope, on my return to town, to renew this
pleasure. And you will come and see me then,
will you not ? '
4 Thank you, I shall be pleased to do so.' And
while she spoke, Muriel inwardly wondered whether
by that time she would have become Lady Nugent.
Go and see her as Adrian's wife ? Never ! That
would be pain too great and deep. As the door
closed on her visitor, she sank back into her chair
with a heavy sigh and a half sob at the mere
thought.
4 O God!' she cried, from the depths of her
loving heart, ' send some end to this torture. I
144 For One Man's Pleasure.
could bear anything almost better than this, this
wretched uncertainty. He has never even told me
that he loves me ; and yet I love him to such dis-
traction that life without him is more than I can
bear.'
CHAPTER XVII.
the fete at chiswick.
' Since all that I can ever do for thee
Is to do nothing, may'st thou never see,
Never divine, the all that nothing costeth me.'
Owen Meredith.
There is a grand fete going on at Chiswick Gardens.
Down the long avenue that leads to the entrance
of the grounds a stream of carriages is flowing,
whilst on either side the drive crowds of people
stand watching the guests arrive.
Some more fortunate ones are sitting on wooden
benches, those who live near have brought camp-
stools and chairs. All look eagerly on as each
carriage rolls past with its freight of rank and
beauty.
The Duke of Southshire is entertaining his friends
to the sound of the Artillery Band, which is melo-
diously playing upon the lawn at the back of the
house. The gardens slope away to the front as
you step out of the small back-door, where stands
the Duke to welcome you ; and away to the left a
large tent for refreshments is erected at the bottom
of a charming lawn. Crowds of gaily-dressed
women are sitting about near the band, talking to
The Fete at Chiswick. 145
the few men who have as yet made their appear-
ance.
Now and again one comes upon some stray
family party, who, having been asked for merely
political reasons, sit herded together, knowing no-
body, and hazarding remarks as to who is who.
Presently ' God Save the Queen ' is struck up,
and one knows, though one cannot see, that Royalty
has arrived upon the scene ; and murmurs pass
round, from those in a more advantageous position,
that the Prince of Wales and his two boys are
present.
It is a lovely afternoon, and the dear old grounds
are looking their very best; but their beauty has
but little charm for one among that brilliant throng,
who is inwardly voting the whole thing an intense
bore.
Lady Stella Dacre, leaning back in her chair,
with her parasol well held down to hide her face
from passing acquaintances, and but half listening
to the conversation which is being poured into her
ears by Bertie Clairmont, is feeling supremely hot
and cross.
It is not often her ladyship allows such trifles
as being dragged off to a thing of this sort by a
friend, to ruffle her even temper, but to-day she is
thoroughly out of sorts,
She has taken up her position close to the en-
trance through which new comers must pass from
the house to the gardens, and is sitting with her
eyes fixed on the open door, while disappointed
expectancy makes sick her heart within her.
In vain Lord Clairmont and others try hard to
persuade her into a ramble, or plead to take her
to the tent for refreshments. She is firm in her
refusal to all offers which would necessitate a move
from her seat.
f I believe you are waiting for someone,' Bertie
K
146 For One Mans Pleasure.
remarked at last, in rather a fretful tone of voice.
* You never take your eyes off that wretched little
door, and have not heard one word of my conver-
sation for the last half-hour.'
'Nonsense,' she replies quickly, though her face
flushes at the accusation. ' I don't know of a single
person coming that I want to speak to. The fact
is, I hate this sort of thing, and shouldn't have
come, only little Lady Maxwell came to me almost
in tears, saying her husband wouldn't allow her to
come without some lady friend. It was purely to
please her I came.'
' And her object was to meet Captain Gordon. I
am surprised at you, Lady Stella, countenancing
such proceedings !'
' Indeed, I don't countenance them. I ask no
questions, and am, thank goodness, told no confi-
dences. I know, and wish to know, nothing. I had
110 idea even Captain Gordon was to be here.'
Meanwhile, the man whom in her heart Lady
Stella was half expecting tq see walk through
that little door, was slowly strolling up Piccadilly,
quietly smoking, when he knocked up against Lord
Arrowdale.
'Hullo! Nugent! Is that you? Why are you
not down at Chiswick ? '
' Too much of a bore,' was the tranquil reply.
1 Besides, I don't know of any special attraction to
entice me to go. Lady Stella told me only yester-
day she wasn't going.'
' But she has gone though, after all; much
against her will. But she could not stand out
against Lady Maxwell's pleadings, and she drove"
down with her an hour ago.'
'By Jove! "did she? What an awful bore for
her. I think, perhaps, I will put in an appearance
after all, if only to see how she is getting on !'
■ Do; she will be delighted to see you come
The FHe at Chiswick, 147
to the rescue,' answered the Earl, secretly well
pleased.
Lord Nugent was a great favourite of his, and,
bad match as he was in a pecuniary point of view,
he would have been glad to see his daughter made
happy by becoming his wife.
Adrian jumped into a passing hansom, and half-
an-hour later joined the gay throng at Chiswick.
As ill-luck would have it, Lady Stella had at
last yielded to Bertie's entreaties to pay the tent a
visit; and Lord Nugent had a long hunt for her.
During his wanderings he came upon Lady Max-
well and Captain Gordon, sitting in the most
secluded part of the gardens.
'Where is your charge?' he demanded of her
ladyship, halting in front of the pair.
' I really don't know,' was the reply, as though
chaperoning a young lady and then losing sight of
her was capital fun. ' I left her in Lord Clair-
mont's care, so no doubt she is all right.'
Lord Nugent passed on rather disgusted, though
he could scarcely have told you why.
Passing the tent, he looked hurriedly in, and
espied Lady Stella and Clairmont standing in
front of the long richly-laden table.
The former was toying with some grapes, the
latter bending down close over her in earnest con-
versation.
Adrian passed eagerly in, and going up to
where they stood, touched the latter lightly on the
shoulder.
' Well! old boy, how are you. Ah ! Lady Stella,
how do you do ? I thought you told me you were
not coming ?'
He was surprised and gratified to see the glad
light that shone in her eyes as she shook hands
with him and answered gaily, ' And I thought you
told me the same tale ?'
148 For One Mans Pleasure.
'No! I said very likely I shouldn't come; but
you see I have.'
'And I too, you see.'
' By-the-bye, Clairmont, Darrell said he wanted
to speak to you ; he is standing by the band ; I
promised to send you to him if 1 found you.'
' Thanks, old fellow. I will go presently.' And
he glanced at Lady Stella.
' I will take care of Lady Stella, if she will allow
me,' said Adrian, with a bright look of inquiry.
' I think you had better go, Bertie, for Darrell said
he was just off.'
'All right,' and with a frown Lord Clairmont
turned away and began to retrace his steps up the
slope.
'And now, Lady Stella, if you have quite fin-
ished those grapes, let us go for a ramble,' said
Adrian. ' I don't think Clairmont will return in a
hurry, for his search for Darrell is likely to be a
long one, he was leaving as I arrived.'
' And you told that poor boy wrong on purpose?'
' Even so. Don't be angry. I thought he had
monopolised you enough for one day.'
There was not much anger in the smiling, beau-
tiful face turned towards him.
They had left the tent behind them, and were
strolling about the more secluded walks.
' Poor Bertie !' said Adrian, smiling. ' He has
been quite a changed fellow lately. I suppose
there is no' harm in my telling you that he confided
his troubles to me long ago. May I say a word or
two in his defence, Lady Stella ?'
' As many as you please,' was the quiet answer.
Probably there are few things more trying than
to hear the praises of the man who loves you sung
by the man whom you love!
' Then I think him a thundering good fellow, a
man in every way capable of making a good hus-
The Fete at Chiswick. 149
band. He is simply devoted to you. No man
loves in that way twice, and to his dying day, I
feel assured, no other woman will win from him a
second thought. A love such as his is worth think-
ing twice about before refusing.'
' Did he ask you to plead his cause for him ?'
demanded she, coldly.
'Not exactly. But he complained bitterly how
impossible he found it to speak in his own defence.
He declares you are never serious with him when
he gets on the subject, but turn everything he says
into a jest. That is hard lines for a man, Lady
Stella.'
' Is it not the kindest thing I can do ?' she re-
plied quickly. ' If I would allow him, he would
be pleading his cause every time we met. Why
should we both go through so much pain for
nothing ? The whole thing is a farce. How can
he dream, even for a moment, I should marry a
boy like himself?'
' Boy ! Bertie is twenty-five if he is an hour.'
' And I twenty-two. After all, years go for
nothing : I might be thirty as far as feelings go ;
and if he were forty he would still, I believe, be as
much a boy as ever. Oh no, Lord Nugent ; if I
were a poor girl of no position his rank and wealth
might so far dazzle me as to persuade me to accept
him for merely what he could give me, but, as it is,
I shall only marry for what a man can be to me.
There are too many marriages for the former rea-
son for me to add even by one to their number.
The chances are I shall never marry.'
' Has matrimony, then, no charms for you ? I
can scarcely believe you are one of those indepen-
dent, strong-minded women who think they can
battle through life by themselves.'
Lady Stella laughed.
'You are right. I am not that description of
150 For One Mans Pleasure.
being. But when I look around me, and watch
the lives of my married friends, and observe what
they themselves sink to, I often wonder whether
we single women are not the better off.'
' But you must not attribute the results of such
marriages to matrimony itself. The women you
mean would sink in the same way even had they
remained single.'
' I am not quite sure of that. The whole tend-
ency of the present age is to spoil and demoralise
young married women. The same temptations are
not offered to unmarried girls.'
' There you are mistaken. I have known un-
married girls, girls, too, in our own rank of life, who
were infinitely more depraved than any married
woman I ever came across. I still hold to my
theory it is the women themselves, not the fact of
their being married or single.'
' I do not know what Society is coming to,'
observed Lady Stella presently. ' Some of the
things one sees going on openly about one are
too awful.'"
' They are indeed ; but I rather expect, could
one look back, we should find human nature has
been pretty much the same ever since man was
first created.
There was a few minutes' unbroken silence, and
then Adrian observed, ' I suppose it is useless,
then, for me to sound Bertie's praises to you ?',
' Quite ; and, to quote what was said to me the
other day when I tried to interfere in a love affair,
" I think such matters are best left untouched by
third persons."'
' Dear me! what a crushing speech. Who on
earth was bold enough to address you in that
manner? I should not have cared to have stood
in his shoes.'
' I very much doubt if you could have got into
The Fete at Chiswick. 151
the speaker's shoes,' replied Lady Stella, laughing.
4 You see, it happened to be a woman, and a very
pretty one, too.'
4 Anyone I know? You have quite excited my
curiosity.'
41 think you do know her slightly. I know you
have been introduced to her, for you told me so
yourself.'
4 Do I admire her? '
' I should fancy so, unless you are very hard to
please.'
41 think I am rather, when women are con-
cerned. Do tell me, I never guessed anything in
my life.'
4 Well, then, it was Mademoiselle Delacourt.'
It was fortunate that the sun was still so power-
ful as to oblige Lady Stella to shelter herself well
under her parasol, otherwise she could not have
failed to see the great start her companion gave
at the mention of the name.
4 Mademoiselle Delacourt!' he echoed. 4 Why,
when did you see her, and how came she to make
such a speech to you ? '
41 went to see her the other day, and was foolish
enough to plead Mr Hamilton's cause with her,
which called forth that remark on her part.'
Adrian longed to ask if he himself had been
mentioned, but he did not dare ; and it was with
no small relief that he perceived Lady Maxwell
and her 4 friend ' advancing towards them.
4 Oh, there you are! Come, dear Stella, I think
we must really be leaving ; it is getting late.'
4 Very well, I am quite ready to go.'
As they all moved in the direction of the house,
Adrian dropped behind a little with Lady Stella.
41 do not suppose I shall see you again before I
leave,' he said. 4 My yacht is all ready for her
cruise, and I am off in a day or two.'
152 For One Man's Pleasure.
' So it is really good-bye,' was her smiling answer.
' Well, I hope you will have a very pleasant time.'
'And you will not quite forget me until we meet
again ? '
' That depends upon how many years off our
meeting is,' replied she, with a gay laugh. ' I
make no rash promises.'
How little did either dream of all that would
have happened by the time they touched hands
again. Surely it is in mercy that the future is
thus veiled from our eyes !
CHAPTER XVIII.
'I LOVE YOU.'
' You may lose me in her beauty, and forget me in her smile,
And her breath may fade the picture that you cherished for awhile.
Hastening past those days of sunshine when our lives secm'd
merged in one,
From the sunshine you may hurry to the presence of the sun ;
For it may be that the moments were but wasted loving me,
Or only the foreshadowing of happier ones to be.'—Violet Fane.
All the way from Clarges Street to St John's
Wood, Lord Nugent was debating-within himself
whether or no he should leave England without
confessing his love to Muriel.
It was the day after the garden party at Chiswick,
and he was on his way to bid the woman he loved
a last farewell, for he was to start on his cruise the
next day.
The temptation to tell her of his love, to show
her the extent of his self-sacrifice in thus leaving
her, was great, but, on the other hand, he could
11 Love You.'
153
not quite determine whether it would not be truer
kindness to leave her in ignorance of his real
feelings towards her, and take merely a friend's
farewell.
His hansom drew up at the modest little door
before he had arrived at any satisfactory conclusion
to his doubts, and he alighted and dismissed his
cab, still undecided as to what course he should
pursue.
The door was opened by the woman who acted
as both cook and housemaid in Mademoiselle Dela-
court's small establishment, and who informed him
that her young mistress and Bertha were both out,
but she expected them back every minute.
' Very well, I will come in and wait,' said
Adrian ; ' I know my way.' And with a careless
nod to the woman, he wandered into Muriel's
sitting-room, and threw himself into a chair.
But he was too restless to remain there, and,
getting up again, he walked about the room,
looking at Muriel's little treasures, all of which
he knew well, and finally took to strumming on
the piano.
His powers on that instrument were not great,
but he was sufficiently skilful to be able to pick
out little easy accompaniments for his songs, or
play some popular air that took his fancy.
There was a pleasure to him in touching the
keys about which he knew her fingers had so
often lovingly lingered, and he went on playing
and humming softly to himself until Muriel
returned and unheard entered the room. When
he caught sight of her slight, lissom figure ad-
vancing towards him, he jumped up and went to
meet her. She noticed at once his excited face
and trembling hands, and inwardly wondered at
his agitation.
' Muriel,' he said, plunging at once into an ex-
154 F°r One Mans Pleasure.
planation of his visit, ' I have brought you the
photo of myself you were good enough to say you
would like, and I have come to bid you good-bye.'
' Good-bye !' she echoed, every vestige of colour
leaving her cheeks, and even her lips becoming
colourless. ' This is sudden news.'
They were still standing hand-in-hand, gazing
into each other's faces with the passionate intensity
of those about to part, perhaps for ever. Neither
dreamt of sitting down, both felt the craving to
remain thus near together, each alike dreading
any movement on the part of the other that would
separate them ever so slightly.
'Yes, I am going away,' he continued, hurriedly,
scarcely knowing what he was saying, so haunted
was he by the sudden look of anguish that had
come into her dear eyes at his words. ' I am going
yachting, and God only knows when I shall return.
It is better so ; better for you, better for me, that
we should part. Think of me sometimes,' he went
on, his voice sinking to a whisper as his feelings
grew less under his control, ' and always believe
I wish you every happiness. I shall never forget
you, never cease to bless you for all you have
done for me by your own purity and sweetness.
You have revived my faith in women, and taught
me many things are true that before I believed
to be but fables.'
He ceased, and Muriel strove to reply; but
words failed to come at her command, and she
could only press his hand and raise her eyes
to his in mute signification of granting his wishes.
Inwardly she was mad with rage at her want of
self-control. What would he think of her thus
so openly showing her sorrow at his departure ?
But there are moments in our lives when our
true feelings will have vent ; when the presence
of the whole world could not give us self-command.
'/ Love You.'
155
The love that is consuming us will give some
outward token of its existence, and the secret
cherished perhaps for years proclaims its being.
Adrian, as he stood watching Muriel's efforts
to regain her composure, drinking in for the
last time every line of her exquisite beauty,
felt his last attempts at concealment fading
away, and yielding to the overwhelming impulse
of the moment, he took her in his strong arms
and crushed her to- him in a long, passionate
embrace.
4 Muriel, my darling, my precious one,' he
whispered, as he pressed her head down upon
his shoulder and laid again and again his eager
lips on hers, ' I love you — love you with the
only pure, unselfish love my life has ever
known. I am a brute to tell you this, since
my oath to another prevents my making you
my wife; but I cannot help it, I have stifled
my feelings so long that now, now when we
are about to part for ever, I must hear you
say " I love you."' He took her face between
his two hands, and gazed down with earnest
longing to hear the dear words come forth
from her trembling lips. 'Tell me you love
me,' he pleaded. ' When people are dying all
absurd conventionalities are swept away. As
far as you are concerned this is the last day
of my life, therefore, what harm can it do any-
one for you to say the words I wish? You do
love me, don't you? Women are such actresses
by nature that it is almost impossible to know
when they are speaking and acting the truth.'
'Why do you force me to speak words which
cost me such intense shame to utter?' she asked,
her eyes drooping before the steady, passionate
gaze of his. 'You know I love you ; know that I
have always loved you, always shall love you, and
156 For One Mans Pleasure.
you only, to my dying day. And now that my
shame is complete, leave me, I beseech you, leave
me, to get over, if I ever can, the bitter humiliation
and disgrace of this hour.'
' Do not send me from you without one last
word of kindness. Tell me you forgive me for the
pain I have caused you. Promise to remember me
in the future.'
' I have nothing to forgive. The folly of loving
you is my own. To me you have only been too
kind, too generous. Did you love me as you say,
you should pray that I may not remember you ;
to forget is the kindest thing you could pray for
me. But that is impossible.'
'Will you write to me sometimes?' he asked
gently. ' Muriel, I cannot let you drift altogether
out of my life. I must hear sometimes what you
are doing, and how your days are passing. May I
not also write to tell you about myself?'
' It will be better not to do so,' she answered
sadly. ' We can be never more than friends, and
I love you too much to be that. Letters would
but increase my pain. I shall always be able to
learn from others how and where you are ; more
than that, I have no right to know. It will not
be difficult for you to learn as much about me.
No; from henceforth we shall be but names to
each other.'
' And you are content for us to be only that ?'
'How can you ask me? But I am not the first
woman who has had to suffer through her love.
What others have borne, I suppose I can bear.'
He looked at her as she stood, so fragile and
lovely in her deep distress, and the bitterness of
remorse began to eat at his heart's core.
' Lord Nugent,' she said timidly, ' there is one
thing I would wish to say before we part for ever.
There is a woman in every way fit to be your wife,
'/ Love You.'
157
and she loves you. I have been told so by others,
and I have seen her love clearly written in her
face ; but she is too proud to show it to you. Do
you know whom I mean ? '
Adrian flushed uneasily at her words.
' What do you mean, child ?' he asked ; 4 of
whom do you speak ?'
' I mean Lady Stella Dacre. I watched her
well the evening I sang at her house, and I dis-
covered her secret that night. Everyone knows
she refuses other men from love of you. Why do
you not marry her ? '
' My darling, do you know what you are saying ?
How can you, professing to love me, urge upon me
a marriage with another woman ? Besides, you
are mistaken ; Lady Stella does not love me.
She is too cold to love anyone.'
'She is not cold, she is only proud,' was the
quiet, firm reply; ' and she does love you truly.'
' I shall never marry!' exclaimed Adrian pas-
sionately, once more taking her in his arms. ' I
love you too dearly ever to put another woman
into the place which I wish to God I were free to
offer to you.'
' Ah ! you think so now,' said Muriel simply,
striving to free herself from his encircling arms ;
' but yours is not the nature to remain single all
your life for love of one woman. You will marry
some day, and it is right that you should do so.
A man in your position is looked to perpetuate his
race. You have often told me it is expedient that
your wife should be wealthy. I know you well
enough to know that to gain your love she must
also have beauty and grace of manner. You could
not, as many men do, marry a woman who offended
your eye or taste. Now, Lady Stella has wealth,
she has beauty, she is sweet in her manner, pure
and true in her character, and she loves you. With
158 For One Mans Pleasure.
her you could not fail to be happy. She would
make a loving, faithful wife, I know. Since you
must marry, I would rather it were a woman I
have seen, and felt to be worthy of you.'
' Would it make your own life happier to know
me wed to another? Even if it would, I do not
think I could be unselfish enough to marry.'
' I am not thinking of myself at all in the
matter,' she answered, with unconscious heroism,
' only of you. I have heard strange tales of your
former wildness and dissipated tastes ; and I so
dread your returning to your old ways. You will
not—will you ? If indeed I have been able to in-
fluence you for good, as you say, you will not let
my influence have been in vain ?'
' I will not, I swear,' he answered firmly. 'Your
pure love shall go with me to keep me from all
recklessness. Do not try and persuade me into
marrying. The woman I make my wife will have
first to possess my love.'
How vividly in the years to come did she recall
his words, his very look as he uttered them.
' And now I must really go, Hard and painful
as it is to say good-bye, it will only make it worse
to put off the moment of our parting. See, darling,
I have brought you my photograph. Look at it
sometimes in memory of the past, and believe that,
no matter how far or long I stray, my thoughts
and heart remain ever with you.'
He drew her tenderly towards him.
• Kiss me just once of your own accord,' he
whispered low. ' It is perhaps the last request I
shall ever make.'
Passively Muriel allowed him to place her two
arms round his neck, and as he stooped from his
proud height, until his lips wefe nearly on a level
with hers, she lifted her own obediently as a little
child, and gave the caress he crayed, lie strained
Self-surrender.
159
her to him in a last embrace; then, putting her
from him, he seized his hat and turned to go.
From the doorway he looked back to take his
farewell gaze of the woman he loved. The tears
gathered in his eyes as he observed the utter
abandonment of her grief. How earnestly he
longed to be able to return to her side, and bring
back by his endearments the smiles to that sad
face. But it could not be. His life must be lived,
at no matter what cost to himself, without her.
And hurriedly flinging the tears from his eyes, he
dashed from the room, and the next second the
sound of the closing front door told Muriel that
he was gone, and she left alone with her grief.
Starting up, she flew to the window, but he had
already disappeared out of sight, and, returning to
her seat, she flung herself down with a sobbing cry,
and, burying her face in her hands, tried by shutting
out sight to also shut out her crushing sorrow.
CHAPTER XIX.
secf-surremder.
' Oh ! forsake me g.nd forget me ; oh ! be cruel and unkind ;
J forget it—I fqrgive it, round your life my lqve is twined ;
You have made my world a heaven, you have filled my soul
with bliss,
And the thirst qf all my feing is forgotten ii> your kiss.'
Violet Fane.
Poor Muriel, who had borne up so well through
&11 her other trials, now fell utterly crushed by this
last overwhelming sorrow.. Fortunately, or perhaps,
pnfortupately, her engagement at the opera had
160 For One Mans Pleasure.
expired the previous week, so she was free to give
full vent to her grief.
Old Bertha, watching the girl with anxious,
loving eyes, began to fear she would fret herself to
death. The old woman asked no questions, but
when, on the evening of Adrian's visit, Muriel
came and laid her head on her shoulder, and lay
sobbing and crying as if her heart would break, I
think she pretty well guessed what sorrow it was
that her darling was thus giving way beneath.
The girl would lie for hours on her little bed,
the quiet tears falling from beneath her closed
eyelids, and her cheeks every day becoming paler
and paler, while her eyes seemed to grow larger
and sadder. Nothing would arouse her, nothing
would interest her. She turned from everything
and everybody save the faithful old servant. She
could not bear the sound of music, nor the sight
and smell of flowers. All that before she had
loved and cared for now seemed distasteful to
her, and she denied admittance to all, refusing
even to see Claude, when one day he called,
having schooled himself to once more enter her
presence.
'What ails her?' the artist asked anxiously,
when Bertha delivered to him her young mistress's
message.
The old woman shook her head and feigned
ignorance.
' Leave her alone, Mr Hamilton. Poor lamb!
she's tired out, that's what she is, and doesn't know
her own mind. She'll be all righf in a day or two,
and all for wanting to see you.'
Claude looked doubtful, but remarked, as he
took his leave,—
'If she should express a wish to see rue, you'll
send round at once. I shall be ready to come at
any moment.'
Self-surrender. 161
* It's not you that can cure my poor Birdie
more's the pity,' said Bertha to herself, as she
watched him depart.
' What did he say ? Has he gone?' demanded
Muriel, as the old servant returned to the side of
her bed.
' He didn't say much, Miss Muriel, only that
he was ready to come any moment as you wanted
him.'
' Did he look very disappointed ? '
* Well, dearie, I think he did, a goodish bit.
But he's not the man that would please himself
by paining another. He'd a deal rather you did
just as you felt inclined.'
' Poor fellow !' murmured Muriel. ' I know it
seems unkind, but indeed I am not fit to see any-
one. I think I am thoroughly worn out with all
my work this season,'
' And the sooner you get out of this hot, dusty
town the better, Miss Muriel.'
' Oh! don't talk about moving,' she answered,
turning her head away to the other side of the
pillow. ' I feel as if I should never care to move
again.'
And in this manner a couple of weeks passed
slowly away. Muriel would make no plans, would
settle nothing, and seemed to have no decided
wishes for the future.
Then a new fit seized her, and she grew restless
and excited. She arranged to give up the house,
gave her one other servant warning, and made a
hundred different plans for Bertha and herself.
Every day she planned some fresh route for
them, discovered some new place she wanted to
visit. She still denied herself to all callers, but
no longer shrank from music, spending, in fact,
the greater part of the day at her piano. She
looked wretchedly ill, but had lost the stunned,
L
162 For One Maris Pleasure.
dazed look that at first she had worn ; but her
hands burned, and there was a brilliancy about
her eyes and a hectic flush on her thin cheeks
that told of intense inward unrest and excitement.
She was beginning to find life more than she
could bear, and her love every day more difficult
to conquer.
Meanwhile Adrian, tossing about in the Channel
on his yacht, was also telling himself that his
sufferings were beyond his powers of endurance.
He could not forget : every second of the day,
and even in dreams at night, was Muriel present
in his thoughts, and the longing for her increased
and almost drove him mad. Never before had
he found it so impossible to shake off a woman's
memory, a woman's influence. Lying smoking
on the deck, gazing up at the blue vault above,
he was haunted by the never-ceasing craving for
her presence. Even when he landed and mingled
with others, the remembered tones of her sweet
voice made him deaf to the conversation around
him, and the recollection of her lovely eyes grow-
ing dreamy and tender with love, rendered him
blind to others! beauty. • Then the thought came
to him one day, as he sat idly watching the
sailors at work, had he not been a fool to leave
her behind him ? Was it possible for him ever to
subdue this passion that was making his life
miserable ? If he had rendered her as miserable
as himself, would it not have been kinder both to
himself and her to have yielded to his longings,
and persuaded her to give herself to him ?
Suppose she had so consented—the mere sup-
position sent him nearly crazy with delight—whom
would they have harmed by their happiness ?
She was utterly alone in the world, and if indeed
she loved him well enough to give all thus gener-
pusly and take nothing in exchange, did he not
Self-surrender. 163
love her madly enough to be able by his care and
tenderness to render her indifferent to the world's
slight ? She was too unselfish, he knew, to wish
him, for her sake, to break his oath to another.
And then he determined to go back to London,
and if possible find out, without her knowing of
his return, how things were with her. If he found
her happy and content, fairly getting over her
sorrow, he swore he would leave her in peace ;
but if he found her miserable, like himself, then
he would try what his persuasions would do. So,
much to his captain's disgust, he ordered his
yacht back to Cowes, and from there hurried
back to London. But he soon discovered that the
information he sought was not so easy to obtain
without making known his own presence. For
some days he wandered about Muriel's home, but
without catching even a glimpse of her. At last
one day, when he was loitering nqar, he saw Bertha
emerge, giving at the sume time orders to some
person in the background, which plainly bespoke
a somewhat lengthy absence. Fortunately for
him, she hurried away in the contrary direction to
where he stood, and when he had watched her out
of sight he strolled up to the little well-known
door. To his surprise he found it ajar, and,
pushing it open, he cautiously looked around. No
one was in sight ; the trick of the front-door
fastening he knew of old, and in another second,
without pausing to ask himself his intentions, he
found himself in the little hall, his hand upon the
sitting-room door. Turning the handle softly, he
entered.
In her own arm-chair sat Muriel ; her arms were
flung out clasped upon the low table near her, her
head with its wealth of burnished hair bowed upon
them, whilst convulsive sobs shook her slight
frame. His photograph lay upon the table, she
164 For One Mans Pleasure.
had evidently been gazing at it; most probably it
had given rise to this outburst of grief.
In a second he was at her side, his arm round
her, his hands striving to uplift her head.
' Muriel, my own darling!' he exclaimed, his
voice broken ;apd hoarse with passion. ' Look up,
my own ; I have come back, for I could not live
without you.'
At his words the girl raised her head, and he
could scajrce suppress a start at the change in her.
How ill she looked, how worn ! Ifad he indeed
come back to save her life ?
' My own love! Has your love cost you so
much ? Tell me that you love me too well to
refuse the request I come to ask. We have tried
to live apart, and both find it more than we can
bear. Why should we bear it? Will you give
yourself to me, once and for ever, to be my most
precious treasure, dearer than life itself? Muriel,
Muriel, do you not believe that I love you far
beyond the love ever offered to the most honoured
wife ? What is there in a name, after all ? No wife,
my darling, has ever yet been as fondly adored as I
adore you. Cannot my love and life-long devotion
suffice to make up for that oft-times mer£ sounding
title ? Only come with me, and you shall see how
I will repay you for your sacrifice. Who knows ?
perhaps, some day, I may be freed from my oath,
and then, my own, you shall be my wife ; my dear,
honoured wife, in name as well as in love. To
marry you now would be to break my most
solemn word, and to deal, perhaps, the death-blow
to my poor mother, who has nothing in the wide
world but myself to love and live for. You would
not wish me to do tfyat; would you, darling ?'
Back to her rnirjd flashed her dead mother's
words. The moment that that mother had so
dreaded for her had come. Could she disregard
Self-surrender. 165
the warnings of the dead ? Was she by selfish-
ness to likewise deal death to a parent's loving
heart? No! At no matter what cost to herself,
she would be guided by her mother's last words.
She would consider others before herself.
'No,' she exclaimed; 'you must not break
your oath ! And yet, how can I do this thing you
ask ?'
' My darling, listen to me,' he pleaded, drawing
her closer to him. ' In giving yourself to me,
whom are you harming? You have no husband
to wrong, no children to desert, no parents to
shame, no kith or kin of any sort to disgrace.
You are alone and free. It remains a matter
purely for yourself to decide, whether you love
me well enough to be willing to sacrifice your
good name for my sake.'
Long and earnestly he pleaded with her, paint-
ing in glowing colours a future spent together,
far away from slanderous tongues and disdainful
looks, where each should find their heaven in the
other's eyes, and enter paradise by the other's
touch. And his love and eloquence prevailed.
Remembering as she did her past sorrow and
misery, overcome by his sudden appearance, re-
turning his love to the full, was it strange that
she was not strong enough to dash away with
her own hand the cup of joy held to her lips by
the one she literally worshipped ? Since all that
was needed for her happiness was a self-surrender,
are you very surprised to hear that she did sur-
render, gave her all to make him she loved happy,
and to secure for herself the blessed knowledge
that never more would they part.
166 For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER XX.
CHAOS.
' I will not doubt! all's lost if love be lost—
Peace, honour, innocence—gone, gone ! all gone !
O love, you dare not cease to love me now !
We have let the world go by us. We have trusted
To ourselves only. If we fail ourselves
What shall avail us now?'—Owen Meredith.
Adrian made good his escape before Bertha's
return, but not until he had fully impressed upon
Muriel all she was to do in order to join him the
following morning. Bertha was their great diffi-
culty ; she was so accustomed to accompany her
young mistress on all occasions, that the mere
fact of Muriel not taking her with her would,
they felt sure, arouse her suspicions. But Lord
Nugent at last hit upon the following plan. The
next morning at about eleven he would send his
brougham over with a note, written in Lady
Stella's name, and requesting Muriel to spend
the day with her. He would take good care
that the servants understood sufficiently their
business to evade all questions, should any be
asked them. Muriel was then to join him at his
rooms, and they would proceed at once to Cowes,
and go on board that evening.
At Muriel's earnest entreaty he finally con-
sented to her writing a farewell letter to Claude
Hamilton, mentioning, however, no names, and
confiding to his care poor old Bertha. This letter
she was to post after she had joined Adrian, and
they had started for Cowes.
Having made all clear to her, and after lavish-
Chaos.
167
ing every caress and term of endearment in order
to banish any scruples she might be feeling about
the step she was about to take, he took his de-
parture.
' But not for long,' he whispered softly, as he
held her in his arms. ' Very soon, love, our lips
will not know how to frame the word farewell.
When I think of the future to be spent together,
how can I thank you, how repay you enough for
the sacrifice you are making for me? Tell me
again that life without me would be misery,
and that you do not shrink from any sorrow
so long as I am by your side to share it with
you.'
'You know that it is so, without my telling
you,' she answered fondly. ' You know that " with "
you and " for" you are talismans all-powerful for
me. You are my world; so long as you are
happy, so long as we are together, I am content;
nay, more than content, blessed. For myself I
have no fears ; only for you. Knowing what
your past has been, knowing your character, your
tastes so well, can you wonder that I tremble
with doubt lest you shall have mistaken the
nature of your love for me, and I prove in the
coming years inadequate for your happiness. Oh !
if j'ou should ever grow weary of me, ever regret
the step we are about to take, perhaps in your
heart even reproach me for thus yielding to your
fervent prayers, I think it would kill me. All
else I can bear, but not to lose your love.'
' Foolish, doubting child. What a naughty little
unbelieving darling it is ! What am I to say to
convince you that I never shall cease to love
you ? never shall cease to bless you for giving
yourself to me? Well, acts speak louder than
words ; in the years to come you shall sue right
humbly for pardon for your present disbelief.
168 For One Mans Pleasure.
Until then I must e'en bear with your doubts.
Why can't you believe me, my darling ? '
He asked the question with passionate force
and earnestness. He was so certain of his own
feelings, both in the present and future, that her
want of faith in his stability hurt him sorely.
We never feel so powerless as when our words
and protestations fail to awaken credulity in an-
other. It is so hard to be doubted when indeed,
indeed we are true to the heart's core. Words
are feeble in giving utterance to our passionate
feelings, and we long feverishly for opportunities
of proving by deeds the truth and constancy of
our love.
More people fail at the test of constancy than
at any other test. There are people, plenty of
them, who can love well, passionately, generously,
unselfishly, purely, but there comes a day when
the love itself goes, and only burns afresh at some
other shrine. It is but one in ten thousand, nay,
perhaps only one or two in the whole world, who
are capable of knowing but one love in a life.
Constancy is a power, or perhaps, since it oft-
times brings so much misery in its train, I might
almost call it a failing, altogether separate and
distinct from the capacity of love.
Was it strange that Muriel, loving Adrian as
she did, longing with only too great an earnest-
ness to believe his words true, should succeed in
fancying herself over-fearful, and, with almost
self-reproach for having harboured for even a mo-
ment doubts as to the sincerity of the passion he
professed, she assured him again and again with
tender caresses that she did believe in him and
would banish for ever all fears.
' But what about clothes ?' she asked, as he was
departing; ' I shall never be able to bring any
with me without Bertha seeing,'
Chaos.
169
' No, no, don't attempt to bring away any ; I
will get you some between now and to-morrow
morning. Will you trust to my taste ? And
then, darling, I think we must go to Paris for a
day or two and get you rigged out properly, and
engage a maid, and after that we will be off on
our wandering, free as the air, and happy, oh! as
happy as love and each other's dear presence can
make us.'
And Muriel smiled and shook off all sad fore-
bodings, and returned fondly his farewell kiss.
But when he had gone, when his eyes no longer
looked in hers, love-lit, when his voice was no
longer nigh to answer every fear and paint the
future in bright colours, then her heart sank a
little as she realised what it was she was about
to do. It was not that she regretted the sacri-
fice she was making; the world's opinion, good
or bad, affected her little, and, to her mind, she
was not committing any great sin after all. She
was free to give herself to whom she pleased ; in
going with Adrian she wronged no one; in be-
coming his wife she would have been the cause
of his breaking his solemn oath, and dealing his
mother bitter pain and disappointment. If she
chose to bind herself to him, knowing all the
while that he was not legally bound to her, if she
was willing to bear the world's scorn, and endure
the shame of a lost reputation, what right had
anyone to interfere with her choice ? In her
estimation, so long as they both remained true
and faithful to one another, they were as much
husband and wife as if the priest had murmured
a few words over them ; in fact, more so than
many couples she had known who, whilst possess-
ing the world's good opinion, had both been faith-
less to their marriage vows.
You see how foolish and ignorant this young
170 For One Man's Pleasure.
girl was, not to know and appreciate the licence
granted to the morality of a peeress and so justly
withheld from one of lower degree! What is
considered so 4 depraved,' so ' sad,' so 4 shock-
ing' in the poor girl who falls, from want or from
the love of her heart, is merely smiled at in the
woman of high degree, who wantonly sins from
sheer vanity, love of excitement, or desire for
notoriety. Will the day ever come when poor
and rich, high and low, will be judged by the same
standard, and treated with the same justice?
When people will consent to be guided by common
sense and practical facts, instead of holding firm
to the old senseless creeds of bye-gone years?
The needs of the present are not the needs of the
past, and the wants and cravings of this age can-
not be satisfied with the empty forms of ancient
laws.
Muriel's regret was not for herself ; it was purely
and wholly on Adrian's account. If through love
of her, if having her with him should prove the
means of ruining his career, blasting the prosperity
and renown of his future, how could she bear it ?
Had he not duties belonging to his position which
he would fail to fulfil whilst wandering with her in
foreign lands, to say nothing of his duty towards
his mother, who had ever lavished such love and
tenderness upon him, how would she bear the
lengthened absence on his part ? She could not
endure to reflect ; all was chaos. She only knew
she loved and was loved, and that from henceforth
her life was to be spent side by side with the man
she loved. She would not torture herself with
doubts as to the result of the step she had taken ;
it was too late to draw back now, even if she so
wished, and, the die being cast, she abandoned
herself to surrounding circumstances and allowed
herself to drift with the stream. In a bewildered
Chaos.
171
state of mind she sat down to write a few lines to
Claude, to bid him good-bye and solicit his care
for Bertha.
'What will he think of me?' was the thought
that was in her mind all the time she was writing.
' Poor Claude ! his love, indeed, has met with a
poor return.' And the knowledge of the pain that
would be his when he learnt of her flight, insensibly
made her letter more loving and humble than it
otherwise would have been.
' Do not think worse of me than you can possibly
help,' she wrote, after briefly stating, without men-
tioning names, the step she was taking; ' and from
henceforth blot out even my memory from your
life ; I am not worthy of a thought. To you, I
know, my conduct can but appear wicked and
thankless in the extreme ; but do not attempt to
judge me : you could not understand, even if I
could tell you, all that has decided me upon doing
as I am about to do. My one prayer is that you
may forget me, and that from this moment I may
become as the dead to you. If God has any
mercy, He will never let us meet again ; I could
not bear to read in your face all that I have sunk
to in your estimation. I thank you with my
whole heart for your past goodness ; and the re-
membrance of your never-failing kindness makes
me bold enough to make one last request. It is
that you will for the future take an interest in old
Bertha ; she is the one tie that in my new life I
have to break, and the thought of what she will
feel at my desertion nearly breaks my heart. Be
good to her for my sake, though indeed I have no
right to ask this much at your hands. God bless
you for all in the past; and may He watch over
you in the future is the prayer of—MURIEL.'
Hastily folding this epistle, without even read-
ing what she had written, she put it into an
172 For One Mans Pleasure.
envelope, and addressing it to Claude, slipped it
into her pocket ready to be posted when once she
was fairly off.
Never did Muriel forget the last night spent in
the little house that for one brief year, scarcely
that, had sheltered her during the most eventful
period of her short young life. To that house she
had come with her mother, with all the bright
hopes and aspirations of a brilliant career as yet
unfulfilled. In that home her mother had breathed
her last, and she herself had attained the high fame
of her ambition. There she had first experienced
the alternate joys and woes of a deep, passionate
love ; under that roof she had wept her maiden
tears over the crushing sorrow that she deemed
must break her heart. In that house had come
the turning-point that comes in every life, when we
make our choice once and for ever, and are obliged
or content to bear the results that proceed from
our choice.
As she lay in the still darkness of the night, with
wide-open eyes and active, thinking brain, all the
chief events of her past seemed to glide before her
in a silent procession. She saw herself again a
happy, thoughtless child, singing her careless songs
under the blue sky and bright sunshine of her
beloved Naples, spoilt pet of her proud father, and
loving companion of her gentle mother. She be-
held herself once more as a girl, first waking up
dimly to the realities of life and vaguely stirred by
the longings of her own genius. She felt again the
strengthening of her love for Art, a love so fostered
and encouraged by her doting father ; and remem-
bered, with a strange thrill, her pure, overwhelm-
ing joy when first she realised she was indeed
' artiste.' She recalled with half sad remem-
brance her girlish exultation at the knowledge, her
simple innocent dreams of a life dedicated to art, a
Chaos.
173
life that by its own purity and beauty was to
purify and exalt all those with whom she came in
contact.
Human love, beyond a devotion to her parents,
had at that time no place in her thoughts. It was
not that she was a doubter or scoffer at the sacred-
ness of human love; only that she fancied, in her
ignorance, that, to her, art was to fill the place that
husbands and children filled to other women.
Then by slow degrees she had learnt her mistake,
learnt it first frqm the glance of one man's eyes,
the tone of one man's melodious voice.
At last she had discovered that the wise man
and the fool, genius and stupidity, are alike in
this, that life without love is incomplete.
There is no Art, no matter how sublime, how
entrancing, that can be to any human being what
one loving, trusting heart can, with all its faults, all
its follies.
Love only can cause perfect happiness, perfect
satisfaction; and what man or woman would not
rather read in another's eyes, hear in another's
voice, feel in another?s caressing touch, the dear
truth that they are loved, than peruse the cleverest
book ever yet written, listen to the most sublime
melody ever yet composed, look upon the most
perfect picture ever yet painted !
Art is great, Art is powerful, it has an exalting,
a purifying influence of its own, it is a mighty
comforter, a noble sympathiser ; but Love is Life 1
Muriel loved her Art, loved it with a pure and
deep devotion, it was no light sacrifice she was
making in thus relinquishing her profession in the
very zenith of her power ; but dearer, far dearer to
her, was the man she loved. Thrilled as her heart
had been by a nation's applause, a nation's ap-
preciation, its admiration could not bring her one
half the pleasure that a single glance, a single word
174 For One Mans Pleasure.
from Adrian could ; and to hear him murmur ' I
love you,' would have repaid her for the greatest
sacrifice under the sun.
When a woman once allows a man to become
to her all that Adrian was to Muriel, her whole
individuality leaves her, and she grows but a
shadow of the man she loves. His will is hers ;
she views all things from his point of view ; she
estimates all things from his standard.
Right and wrong are irretrievably mixed, and
she acknowledges no law but the wish of his
sovereign pleasure.
CHAPTER XXL
IN SUNNY LANDS.
' They thought them bound by far more lawful ties
Than those which join'd their lips and locked their hands
And made them wander thus in sunny lands,
Led by the light in ope another's eyes.
And as she clings, a voice she seems to hear
Which says to her " Alas ! you still are two
No words that you can say—no deeds you do,
Can make you one ! Qh ! tq be still more near I"'
' AND you qre quite happy, quite content ?' Adrian
asks, as he sits hand in hand with the woman he
loves, the woman who has abandoned her all for
the pleasure of thus sitting by his side.
They are reclining lovingly together beneath
the awning on the deck of Lord Nugent's yacht
Etoile, Above them is the blue, star-studded
vault of heaven; beneath them the still bluer
In Sunny Lands.
175
waters of the Mediterranean ; and all around
the still, perfect beauty of a Southern night. As
the yacht glides smoothly on her course towards
Italy, the Levant and Constantinople, Adrian
turns tenderly towards the woman who has re-
linquished so much for his sake, and strives to
read in her lovely face and dreamy eyes a faith-
ful echo to his own perfect bliss.
'You do mot sigh for the glory and triumph of
the past, you do not regret the sacrifice you have
made, you are happy so long as we are together ?
Oh, my darling, are you sure, quite sure, you are
content, that my love, my presence, my unceas-
ing care can recompense you for what you have
given up for me ? '
At his words she draws closer to him, gazing
into his eyes, her own glowing with love.
'Ah! why cannot you believe me, Adrian?'
she murmurs, as she nestles near him. ' Can you
not understand that to a woman who loves, dearer
and more precious is the presence of the man she
loves, than all the glory and renown that awaits
her apart from him. The blessing of your love
more, far more than repays me for anything that
I have sacrificed for your sake. If only I can
feel that my being with you does not hinder you
from fulfilling your duties, does not cause grief to
another, I sha.ll be happier than I deemed it pos-
sible for anyone to be in this world.'
And as he meets the faithful light in her up-
turned face, and listens to the low caressing sound
of her voice, A.drian does believe, can no longer
doubt but that one woman at least, in the whole
world, is capable of feeling such love as could
alone satisfy the cravings of his restless heart.
There was no need for Muriel to ask if he were
happy ; his happiness was to be read in his every
look, every word, every action. His most extrava-
176 For One Mans Pleasure.
gant dreams of mutual love and mutual sympathy5
were realised, and he had not a single wish or
desire unsatisfied. He felt as if he would be
content all his life to drift thus, whither their
fancy led them, knowing no law save the in-
clination of the moment, changing the scene of
their happiness at a day's notice if so it pleased
them.
So passed the summer months away. Every
day Muriel grew dearer to him, every day he dis-
covered some beauty, some charm, some good
quality that rendered her, if possible, still more
dear, and he asked for nothing better than to
spend his days for ever listening to her gentle con-
verse, thrilled to the soul by the exquisite tone
of her melodious voice, or enjoying the silence
that sometimes falls between two who know the
bliss of perfect love, and to whom a touch, a
glance, are all-sufficient for each to read the
thoughts of the other,
After some months, Lord Nugent grew weary
of the confinement of the yacht, and suggested
sending it back empty to England, while they
wandered at will among his favourite haunts on
the Continent; and as Muriel had no wish but
his pleasure, and cared little where they were, so
long as they were together, they landed at Con-
stantinople, and commenced their wanderings on
land.
But this proved, in course of time, scarcely the
same utter bliss that the first month or two of
yachting had been. There was always the fear
of mepting friends at the well-known, much-fre-
quented Continental towns ; and Adrian, by
reason of his deep love for Muriel, was rendered
even more sensitive and quick to notice a slight
to her than she herself.
He said nothing, but she saw that many little.
In Sunny Lands. 177
things that occurred annoyed him, and she began
to dread these turnings-up of old acquaintances.
Sometimes they fell in with people that he
really cared for, and whom, under other circum-
stances, he would have liked to have seen some-
thing of; bCit he could not bring himself, as yet,
to leave her alone even for an hour, and he did
not care to bring his men friends in contact with
Muriel.
His position was a trying one at times, and he
felt this bitterly, though he would not own it, even
to himself, and fancied that he successfully con-
cealed any little irritation that he experienced,
from his companion.
But who so quick to read the feelings and even
thoughts of another as a woman that loves ? and
Muriel saw and understood everything that was
going on around her ; and from the first moment
she discovered that her presence had been the
means of causing Adrian pain, her remorse set
in.
Very gradually a change crept over her ; though
more loving, more submissive, there was a quiet
sadness about her, that sometimes caused Adrian
to wonder whether indeed she was beginning to
regret the step she had taken ; and he would
draw her passionately to him, and with tender
caresses, and warm, loving kisses, ask her if she
were still happy and content. And she would
ever smile and answer fondly, that for herself it
never could be possible to regret, but if she saw
that he were miserable or weary, then in truth
she would wish she had never consented to his
prayers. And when he saw the smile again on
her dear face, and the love-light in her eyes, he
would heave a sigh of relief, and whisper loving,
passionate words, telling of everlasting constancy
and unceasing devotion on his part.
M
178 For One Mans Pleasure.
They spent the winter at Rome, and there, on
one occasion at Muriel's own earnest request, he
consented to leave her for an evening to dine with
some old friends of his, then in that city. Muriel
turned back from watching his departure, feeling
very sad and lonely, but rejoicing at her own
unselfishness in making him accept the invitation.
Adrian had promised to return early, but that
still left her several hours to dispose of, and she
wondered what she should do to make the time
pass quickly.
Instinctively she wandered to the piano, and
began to pour out all her feelings in melody.
And as she played, her thoughts slipped back to
the little sitting-room in St John's Wood, and
her old favourite piano that she had brought all
the way from Italy to England with her.
And then that recalled Bertha and Claude to
her mind, and she wondered if by this time they
had ceased to love and regret her, and longed
to be able to let them know that she was well and
happy.
She often thought of them, though she never
mentioned them now; for aught in connection
with her old life angered Adrian, and his will and
pleasure were also hers.
And while her thoughts flew sadly back to past
times and past friends, her fingers, guided by her
feelings, were calling the most exquisite airs to
life, until those in the hotel stood about outside her
door, listening in amazement at the beauty of the
strains.
She was surprised to find, on rising from the
piano, that it was eleven ; and joyfully thinking
her period of solitude at an end, she attired herself
in her delicate white wrapper of silk and lace, and
sat down to await Adrian's return.
But the hours wore on, and still he did not
In Sunny Lands. 179
come, and at last she grew anxious, and, whilst
wandering restlessly about the luxurious suite of
apartments, conjectured a thousand awful fates for
her darling.
She had worked herself into quite a state of
feverish anxiety, when at last a stealthy step was
heard, and Adrian, stepping softly and carefully,
shading the light he carried, entered the room.
With a glad, almost hysterical cry, she rushed to
him, and flung herself into his arms.
* Oh, my darling !' she cried ; ' I thought some-
thing dreadful must have happened, you are so
late ; I have been so anxious.'
' Silly child,' he answered fondly, though secretly
scarcely pleased at her having sat up for him.
'You should have gone to bed hours ago; I ex-
pected to find you asleep.'
' Oh no, I could not go to sleep while you were
out, and I not knowing what had happened to
you ; how could I have done so ? But tell me
how you have enjoyed yourself and what made
you so late.'
' I did not mean to stay so long,' he answered,
' but we began talking after dinner, and time
slipped away without my knowing how late it was
growing; I never dreamt you would be so foolish
as to sit up for me.'
' Did they mention me ?' Muriel asked timidly,
and hiding, as she spoke, her blushing face upon
his breast.
' Of course not,' Adrian answered brusquely.
Men are always brusque when they feel most
keenly.
And Muriel said no more ; but it was just a little
disappointment to find that hours passed without
her could be so pleasant as to fly by unheeded.
She did not think she could be so regardless of
time apart from him.
180 For One Mans Pleasure.
A week or so later Adrian was again induced
to dine out with some friends who were passing
through Rome, and though he left Muriel with
the understanding that she would go to bed at her
usual hour and not be anxious, the presentiment
that again she would be restless and unhappy at
his absence caused him to hurry home at a com-
paratively early hour.
He was relieved on entering the sitting-room to
find it deserted, but on entering the bedroom he
discovered Muriel asleep in an arm-chair.
In repose her face looked marvellously delicate
and fragile, and he fancied he detected signs of
tears upon it. Had she been weeping and making
herself miserable while he had been enjoying once
more the intercouse of friends ?
Unreasonable as he felt such conduct was on
her part, the mere idea of such a thing, and the
sight of her sitting there so worn out with waiting
for him, caused him to feel a brute. If a woman
were wise she would above all things avoid making
a man feel that on her account. Nothing so
weakens her power over him as the fact of making
him, through her, dissatisfied with his conduct
towards her.
If this was how she intended to behave every
time he left her for a few hours, it simply meant
he never must leave her.
And when Muriel awoke with a glad cry to
find he had returned, he could not altogether so
conceal his irritation but that Muriel felt he was
displeased, and her self-reproach was extreme and
almost childish.
Very tenderly he reasoned with her, but she
could not forgive herself for having caused him
disappointment by her conduct; and her sorrow
increased when from that day forth he firmly and
persistently refused all such invitations. It was
In Sunny Lands. 181
the commencement of 'the little rift within the
lute.'
Adrian chafed under the very restriction he put
upon himself, and Muriel felt he did ; and vaguely
she began to feel that he was, insensibly as yet,
beginning to weary of the restraint of such a life
as theirs must of necessity be, and she looked for-
ward with unspeakable dread to the hour when
he should realise that he was weary and longing for
the freedom of his old life.
Easter found them at Paris, and there Adrian
left Muriel and ran over to England to spend a
few days with his mother.
This trip was Muriel's suggestion, and she was
most earnest in her persuasions. At first Adrian
refused, though the plan pleased him ; but finding
her firm, and really desirous for him to do so,
he finally consented, and gladdened his mother's
heart by giving her the pleasure of a few days'
visit.
Like the wise woman of the world that she was,
Lady Nugent asked no questions ; and her son
made no confidences. It was quite enough for her
that he was with her for even that short time,
loving and attentive as ever; and when he ex-
pressed his intention of resuming his rambles she
said nothing, but allowed him to depart without a
single question. The truth never for one instant
entered her head. She had never heard her son's
name coupled with Mademoiselle Delacourt's ; and
besides, the popular belief was that the beautiful
prima donna had returned to her native land, and
refusing all further engagements, had married an
old love, and quietly settled down.
182 For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER XXII.
BEAUTIFUL MONACO.
1 Ah ! then remember, when the day was fading,
And all the southern sea was flush'd and rosy,
We watch'd it hand-in-hand all loth to lose it—
The happy daylight that had shone upon us !
Half blinded with the glory of the sunset,
Its beauty drew our longing lips together,
And we forgot the sunset in our kisses !
Ah! remember !'
Violet Fane.
Once more it is January, and Monaco is full.
Monaco, beautiful, bewitching and dangerous as a
woman, and yet, like woman, so fondly loved by
many whose wealth she has pillaged, and into
whose lives she has brought but sorrow, remorse,
and despair.
Whilst in England bitter piercing winds are
blowing, and sleet and rain falling, here all is
warmth and sunshine, gaiety and pleasure. It
is little wonder that people fly to this loveliest of
all lovely spots, and, overcome by its delicious
climate and hundred and one other attractions,
remain and squander what they can never again
recover.
Amongst the many well-known faces of London
and Paris that every day gathered round the tables,
was that of Lord Nugent. He and Muriel had
been there for the last fortnight; and though
Adrian was daily losing large sums, he could not
tear himself away. He loved the excitement, the
uncertainty of gambling, it helped to pass the
time, and was a fresh amusement for his jaded
senses.
Beautiful Monaco. 183
They had spent the summer in Italy, wander-
ing at will from town to town, staying just as long
as the place pleased, and proceeding when the fancy
seized them.
The winter they spent at Nice, for Muriel was
not strong, and the climate of that place seemed
to-agree so well with her, that they lingered on ;
and it was there that she gave birth to a son, a
lovely child even at so young an age, with his
mother's beautiful eyes. No words could tell what
that baby was to Muriel. Here at last was some-
thing that was hers by right; something that no
one could deprive her of, something upon which to
lavish all the tenderness and caresses with which
she feared to weary Adrian.
Do not think that the son out-rivalled the father
in the mother's heart. With a woman who loved
as Muriel did, that is not possible. The husband
must ever stand first, nearest, dearest ; the child is
but so intensely precious for the father's sake. And
as a husband did poor Muriel ever regard Adrian.
At times she even forgot how slight in truth was
the hold that she possessed over the man for whom
she had sacrificed so much. She could not but
perceive how restive Adrian often was beneath the
chains that he had been so persistent in binding
himself about his neck. He constantly spoke of
England with open regret, of his estate going to
rack and ruin for want of proper attention on his
part, and also want of wealth, and he failed to
observe how cruelly his words wounded the loving
heart only too ready to regard herself as an en-
cumbrance and a drag upon his life. And it was
after a conversation of that sort that she would go
to her babe, and, taking him passionately in her
arms, would press him to her aching heart and pour
out in whispers all her secret griefs and doubts;
and the child would smile and coo, and clutch her
184 For One Mans Pleasure.
slender fingers between his own little chubby ones,
until, between pride at his cleverness, and de-
light in his beauty and love for herself, Muriel
would forget all for a time save that she was a
mother.
She did not much herself care for Monaco; it
was not that she was blind to its beauty, but she
saw comparatively little of Adrian.
He was all day at the tables ; and though he
would often, it is true, coax her into accompanying
him, Muriel was too delicate to stand for any length
of time the heat and crowd.
Once or twice he had yielded his own wishes to
take her for a drive ; but the knowledge that he
would have preferred being elsewhere, spoilt the
pleasure it would otherwise have been to Muriel,
and she was too unselfish to allow him to do so
often; and while he was losing at the tables con-
siderably more than he could afford, she would take
her nurse and child and go for long, solitary drhies
into the surrounding country.
In her heart she was thoroughly weary of this
ever-moving life, and longed for some settled home,
no matter how small and humble ; but this she
knew Adrian would never consent to out of
England ; he was only kept happy and content
by thus roving from place to place, and picking
up at each old acquaintances and friends.
A year and a half is a long time for two persons
to live entirely and wholly upon each other's society,
and it is a test of love that few men could success-
fully stand : they are by nature more gregarious
than women, and once the first fresh charm and
novelty has worn off from the woman they have
won, they instinctively begin, without perhaps
actual decrease of love, to long for outside things
and outside people.
But with a woman it is not so. I do not speak
Beautiful Monaco. 185
of those whose vanity is insatiable, and love of
change as great as any man's—such creatures are
not worthy of the name of Woman—but of women
who love once, give themselves once and for ever ;
to whom love and admiration from all save the one
man for whom they live, is loathsome and repulsive
in the extreme. The greatest safeguard, the great-
est charm any woman can carry through life, is a
deep, true love for some one man ; it will keep her
straight and safe through the most subtle tempta-
tions, when all else would fail and be swept away
in the strong current of contending passion.
But then, alas! men are not as women, and
perhaps the truest thing ever yet written is those
two lines by Byron,—
' Man's love is of man's life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence.'
Muriel was realising its truth every day of her
life more and more. She was sitting one bright,
warm afternoon at the open window, watching
vaguely the moving forms without, when Adrian
entered the room.
41 thought you had gone back to the tables,'
said Muriel, in surprise, as he walked over to her
and laid his hand caressingly on her shoulder.
He still had his hours of intense, passionate
tenderness ; but they were infinitely rarer than in
those old, first days of happiness upon the yacht.
It was not that his love had changed, but only that,
man like, its open expression had waned with time.
Only it is hard for a woman to believe the love is
the same, when it no longer gives the same outward
tokens.
A man grows weary and indifferent if too con-
stantly told, 41 love you,' but a woman never could
know.weariness at the dear sound. To her it is
186 For One Man's Pleasure.
as the bread of life ; and denied her, she droops and
faints beneath the weight of misgivings and doubts.
Adrian never laid his hand ever so carelessly
upon hers, never glanced ever so indifferently to-
wards her, never even entered the room where she
sat, but Muriel's heart bounded and thrilled with
the same exquisite rapture as of old.
Now, as she turned her head upwards, and
asked the simple question, a world of love was
shining in her eyes, making them appear as radi-
ant as in the old days before her life had known
a care.
' I did go,' answered Adrian, ' but my luck was
so cursed bad that I came back. The band is
playing deliciously, and, as the room is not over-
crowded, I thought you might like to go and
listen ; we can go into the gardens by-and-by, if
you find it too hot.'
Only too pleased that he should thus arrange
and solicit her company, she arose, and went to put
on her things.
Muriel's figure was even more beautiful than of
old, and her face, though at times too fragile and
care-worn, was still lovely enough to excite ad-
miration wherever she appeared, and not a few
envious glances were bestowed upon Adrian as he
strolled by her side into the concert-room.
The band was, as he had said, ' playing delici-
ously,' and at first Muriel enjoyed it immensely ;
but later on, as the crowd increased and the heat
became oppressive, Adrian noticed how tired she
looked, and observed with uneasiness the bright
crimson spot on either cheek.
' Come, darling,' he whispered, ' let us go into
the gardens for a while, the fresh air will drive away
your headache.'
He slipt her hand beneath his arm, and led her
away down the steps upon the terrace below.
Beautiful Monaco. 187"
Silently, though hand in hand, for the gardens
were deserted, they stood leaning upon the balus-
trade, watching the glories of the crimson and
purple sunset, and listening to the flow of the deep
blue waters of the Mediterranean that lay beneath
them. It was a glorious sight—a sight that, even
whilst hand in hand with one we loved, would
render us melancholy with that strange, incompre-
hensible sadness that beauty, whether in sight or
sound, never fails'to produce.
Involuntarily Adrian and Muriel drew closer to
each other, and the clasp of their hands waxed
firmer and tighter ; and as Muriel looked up in
mute, comprehensible sympathy with his inward
feelings, he stooped, and, yielding to his inclina-
tions, laid his lips on hers.
' My darling,' he murmured softly, ' how miser-
able such a sight as this would make me if I were
not standing by your side. Muriel, tell me again
that you do not repent. I am all-sufficient for your
happiness, and that so long as you possess my
' love you are happy.'
'You know it,' she answered fondly, thrilled to
her inmost soul by his words and loving anxiety.
'You are my life, dearer to me than aught you
can name. I have never repented, never shall
repent so long as you love me, so long as my
presence is necessary for your happiness.'
' And not even our child has been able to out-
rival me in your dear heart ?' he asks, for once
giving expression to the suspicion that sometimes
torments him.
' How can you ask ? Our child is but dear be-
cause he is yours; but fondly, truly as I love
him, he is not, never could be, half so much to
me as you. You have all my heart, all my love ;
when I gave myself I gave all, there is not a
scrap left for another to share.'
188 For One Mans Pleasure.
Adrian pressed tighter the little clinging hand
he held in his.
' My precious one, how few women can love as
you do.'
She smiled rather sadly.
' The power to love well is rather a doubtful
talent, it is only when we love that we learn how
great are our capacities for suffering.. Still, no
matter, I do not shrink from the latter. I do not
care what the future may hold for me, it cannot
deprive me of the happiness I have experienced,
cannot rob me of having once known the utter
bliss of your love. And for that I thank God.'
'Do not speak so sadly,' he answered; ' my
love can never be a thing of the past, it is yours
now and for ever. No woman could ever be to
me what you are. You are the one love of my
life.' He led her back homewards as he spoke;
for daylight was fading, and he feared the night
air for her. He left her at the door of their hotel.
'I must just have a smoke before dinner,' he re-
marked, ' and shall look in for a minute at the
tables, I want to know how Markham has sue-
ceeded with his new system ; I sha'n't be long, my
dear one.'
'Very well,' she answered, and, mounting the
stairs, sought the room where slept her little one,
whilst Adrian retraced his steps towards the
gambling-house.
An Unexpected Meeting. 189
CHAPTER XXIII.
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
' I that have slept awake, and you
Sleep, who last year were well awake.
Though love do all that love can do,
My heart will never ache or break
For your heart's sake.'—Swinburne.
A QUICK but keen glance round the rooms as-
sured Adrian that his friend had already taken
his departure, and so, lighting a cigar, he strolled
into the gardens to enjoy the fresh evening air
and the pleasure of a quiet smoke, before return-
ing to the hotel to dress for dinner. But his
thoughts were not altogether agreeable ones, he
could not hide from himself how much time and
money he had wasted during the last eighteen
months, and in a vague way he found himself
wondering how it would all end, and whether in-
deed the remainder of his life would thus be spent
in roving about the Continent in a semi state of
hiding. He would not acknowledge to himself
that he was growing restless under the existing
state of affairs, and beginning seriously to pine
for England and the freedom of the past.
No man cares to confess to his own heart that
he is a brute, and it was as such that Adrian felt
whenever he experienced the least bit of weari-
ness of his present life. It was tantamount to
owning that he was growing tired of Muriel, and
regretful of the step they had taken. He forgot
that he was a Nugent, and that for long centuries
love of change and fickleness of heart had been
the characteristics of his ancestors. He could no
more change his nature than a leopard could-
190 For One Man's Pleasure.
change his skin ; and constancy did not form a
part of his constitution. At times, it is true, he
still felt how deeply he loved her, how absolutely
necessary for his happiness she had become, but
at others he chafed a little at the restraint her
presence put upon him, and wished that she
were either his wife, or less sensitive about her
position.
Only that very day he had received letters
from home, telling how important for his interests
it was that he should dwell in England, And
this, added to the knowledge that he had lost
at the tables infinitely more than it was con-
venient for him to pay, rendered his meditations
far from pleasant.
He was strolling moodily along, his hat tilted
far down over his eyes, gravely puffing away at
his cigar, when his wanderings brought him close
to the spot where he and Muriel had stood earlier
in the evening, watching the beauty of the sunset.
The sight brought back the remembrance of the
loving words, the fond glances, the tender hand-
clasps they had exchanged, and he sighed heavily
as he leant alone upon the balustrade and realised
how blank without her would be his life. She
had become part of his very being, part and
parcel of his life. He had said truly no woman
could ever fill her place to him—and yet, at
times, he was almost tempted to regret! What
strange, incomprehensible beings men are. How
much patience, how much forbearance, how much
forgiveness a woman need have who loves one
of these curious creatures. A man will brook no
flaw, no stain in his idol,—unless she be all he
thought her, he will banish her out of sight, out
of his life ; but a woman, even when she discovers
the true nature of the man she loves, will only
hug her treasure closer to her loving heart, and
An Unexpected Meeting. 191
so strive to hide, even from herself, the defects
that it has cost her so much to perceive.
As Adrian turned to retrace his steps, he ob-
served a couple coming towards him, and some-
thing in the grace of movement in the woman
and the outline of figure in the man striking him
as familiar, he purposely passed close beside them,
and in the dusky light recognised Lady Stella
Dacre and Lord Clairmont.
The three had never met since that day, now
nearly two years ago, at Chiswick.
The recognition was mutual, and in a second
hands were stretched out and warmly clasped,
and mutual words of welcome exchanged.
Lady Stella was outwardly the most self-corn-
po^ed, but that was only because women are more
skilful in hiding their inward feelings than men.
Adrian could not fail to observe, even in that
dim light, how little time had been able to rob
her of her beauty, and how, in truth, she was
lovelier than ever.
' The last person I should have expected to
meet!' he exclaimed, as, still holding her hand,
he gazed earnestly into her face. (Are you
staying in this place ? And Bertie, too, what
is he doing here ?'
Lady Stella quietly but gently withdrew her
hand from his clasp.
' We came over from Nice this afternoon, and
sleep the night, that is all. Are you staying here
yourself ?'
' Yes, and have been for the last fortnight,
worse luck for me, as I lose every time I go near
those wretched tables. But is it a case for con-
gratulations ? I have so long been out of the
world that you must forgive me for not being
up in its doings.' He looked from one to the
other as he spoke, as though for explanation of
192 For One Mail s Pleasure.
their being thus alone together, and repeated,
' Forgive me, but what do you mean by " we " ? '
Lady Stella blushed crimson, but with great
self-control, answered gaily,—
' Keep your congratulations until they are
required, Lord Nugent ; by we, I mean, of course,
my father and myself. We have been spending
the last week or so at Nice, and could not return
to England without paying this celebrated place
a visit. To-day was our only chance, as, having
many friends at Nice, our time is much occupied ;
the day after to-morrow we take our departure
once more for England.'
' And what brought you in the first instance to
Nice ? ' inquired Adrian.
' I was not over-strong, and my doctor suggested
a change,' replied Lady Stella brightly. ' I was
quite well, really, only very glad for a good excuse;
to quit the land of fog and rain.'
' Do not abuse England,' he answered earnestly.
'You do not know how home-sick I get some-
times ; there is no place like it after all.'
He was speaking from out of the fulness of his
heart, almost forgetting that to Lady Stella he
was free to go and stay as the fancy seized him.
She was ignorant of aught that could necessi-
tate a permanent stay against his will in foreign
lands,
' Why do you not return then ?' she asked,
simply. ' There are many at home who regret
your lengthy absence, and wish for your reappear-
ance among them.'
Adrian was saved a reply by Lord Arrowdale
joining them at that moment, and a warm greeting
passed between them.
Not any one of the three guessed of Muriel's
being with Adrian, and Lord Arrowdale at once,
with his ready hospitality, insisted upon Lord
An Unexpected Meeting. 193
Nugent making one of their party at dinner
that night.
' You must come, old fellow, I won't take a
refusal, so there! Besides, afterwards you can
do the honours of the place, you know; we are
all strangers here.'
Adrian felt all excuses were useless, and might
only raise suspicions ; so he yielded with as good
a grace as he., could, and went home to dress
and break the news to Muriel.
She was sitting in the twilight softly singing
to her wakeful babe. She did not move as he
came in, but, looking up, called him to her.
'Look, Adrian, is he not beautiful, our little
treasure ? Did you ever see so lovely a child ?'
She held him up towards his father as she spoke,
and Adrian, to please her, stooped .and kissed
the soft baby face.
' Muriel,' he said abruptly, as he watched her
lay her little one back into his cot, ' Lord
Arrowdale is here, and has just asked me to
dine with him ; I tried hard to get out of it,
but he insisted, and I feared to arouse his
suspicions. It is a great bore, but, thank good-
ness, he goes to-morrow back to Nice, and
the next day to England. Shall you very much
mind my going, darling ?'
Do what he would, his voice sounded unnatural,
and he felt himself growing red as Muriel turned
and looked earnestly at him.
'No, I do not mind,' she answered, in her low
soft tones. ' But what is Lord Arrowdale doing
alone over here, where is Lady Stella ?'
' She is here too,' Adrian replied ; ' I met her
just now in the gardens with Lord Clairmont. I
fancy they are engaged.'
The last sentence came out jerkily; he knew he
was uttering a lie, but he thought it would soothe
N
194 F°r One Man s Pleasure.
Muriel. She said nothing, but moved towards the
door. He followed her and took her in his arms,
with a sort of remorseful passionateness.
' I hate leaving you, my dear one ; would you
rather I stayed ? I will send an excuse directly,
if you wish. Shall I say I have a headache and
must go to bed ? Anything to avoid giving my
darling pain.'
She looked lortg and mournfully into his face ;
she was striving—oh, how earnestly !—to read his
real feelings and wishes.
'No, darling,' she said at last; 'I am pleased
for you to go, it will be a pleasant change. Do
not think of me ; I shall not feel lonely, left for a
few hours.'
' I shall not stay late,' he said, ' the whole thing
is an infernal bore. I wish to God these people
had chosen to go anywhere but here.'
And Muriel smiled and agreed, but all the while
she guessed that in his heart Adrian was not al-
together displeased at the meeting with his old
friends ; and she felt strangely sad and depressed
when once he had departed to join their party.
Never to Adrian had Lady Stella appeared
more lovely and charming. She was in high
spirits, telling him all the news about old mutual
friends, recalling vividly old days when he, too,
had been equally well up in the doings and
sayings of Mayfair. It was a relief to once more
be able to speak out the thoughts that arose ; for
with poor Muriel there were so many topics that
would have caused pain, and she knew so little
about his past life and former friends, that the
pleasure of even discussing old times was denied
him. He determined to drive all care from him
for that one evening, and yield himself up to the
fascination of the hour.
Dinner over, they sought the tables, and Lord
An Unexpected Meeting. 195
Arrowdale and Bertie Clairmont were speedily
engrossed in the excitement of trying their luck.
Lord Nugent remained at Lady Stella's side,
pointing to her the celebrities of different nations,
all gathered together by a mutual love for play,
and intensely wrapped up in their own pro-
ceedings.
Brilliant and full of life, excitement, and colour-
ing as the scene was. it was not altogether a
pleasing sight; one felt instinctively that one was
surrounded with the tragedies of life, and some
of the faces, wild and crazed-looking with anxiety,
were terrible to contemplate.
Lady Stella soon grew weary and disgusted, and
Adrian was not slow to perceive it.
4 This is dull work for you,' he remarked, bend-
ing towards her, ' and one scarcely fitting for you.
May I take you for a stroll in the gardens? I
think you would find them pleasantly cool after
this stifling atmosphere.'
She assented, and after acquainting Lord Arrow-
dale with her intention, she allowed Adrian to
draw her hand through his arm, and lead her out
into the fresh night air.
' What a lovely night!' she observed, glancing
upwards to the star-studded heavens.
She made the remark partly to break the silence
between them. Since the very first moment they
had met, her heart had been in a strange state of
disturbance. She had not yet had time quietly to
discover the true state of her feelings at thus so
abruptly coming across the man that she still so
fondly loved.
Adrian allowed her remark about the beauty of
the night to remain unanswered ; in truth, he had
not h^.rd her words, for his thoughts were busy
with another matter.
' Why is Bertie Clairmont with you ? What
196 For One Mans Pleasure.
right has he to follow you from England ? ' he
asked, half angrily.
'Right? No right beyond the knowledge that
his presence gives us pleasure.'
' The world will say that his constancy is about
to be rewarded ; that you are engaged.'
'And what matter if it does ? It will not be the
first time that it has told untruths.'
' But is it an untruth ? No woman can for ever
continue to refuse the honest, loyal love of a true
heart like Bertie's.'
He spoke almost fiercely, and bent down to look
into her eyes as he asked the question. Lady
Stella was gazing far away across the blue expanse
of water, with a troubled expression on her lovely
face.
' Poor foolish, faithful boy !' she said, speaking
softly. ' I am unworthy of the love he bears me.
He deems me far different to what in reality I am.
I am afraid in the years to come he would not
thank me if I yielded now to his prayers ; and yet,
I confess, it is a temptation at times to accept his
love and care.'
' And why do you not, then ? Why resist, if you
love him ?' was the angry reply.
' Because I do not love him with the love a
woman ought to bear towards the man to whom
she dedicates her whole life. But my life at pre-
sent is so useless and purposeless, that, knowing
what I am and might be to him, I feel almost
inclined at times to become his wife, and trust to
the deep, true affection I feel for him being suffi-
cient to render both him and myself happy.'
' Marry a man when you do not love him ?
Never! You shall not! Promise me you will
not. You do not know, child, what misery
would be yours; it would be more than you
could bear.'
An Unexpected Meeting. 197
He pressed the little hand that rested on his arm
vehemently in his earnestness.
' Promise me,' he reiterated. ' I have seen too
many lives so wrecked to calmly see yours so
destroyed.'
' Have I not just told you that I do not intend
to give myself to him? I would not, for his
sake as much as mine. It would simply mean
wretchedness for us both.'
She drew her hand from his as she spoke, and,
slipping away from him, stood unsupported, with
the moonlight falling full upon her earnest, pen-
sive face.
•' Why did you make me speak of myself?' she
continued presently. ' It is altogether contrary
to my rule to mention my own feelings. No
outside person can help us bear our sorrows, and
I am not one of those who think that to discuss
matters makes them easier to bear. Come, tell
me about yourself; that will interest me far more.
I saw your mother just before 1 left England,
and she spoke so sadly, though resignedly,
about your long absence. I think it is a sore
trial to her.'
' My poor mother! I daresay you fancy me
indifferent to her sufferings, but I am not so. I
constantly think of her, and regret that I cannot
oftener cheer her with a sight of my good-for-
nothing self. Perhaps this spring I may run
over for a week or so. I shall try my best to
do so.'
' Lord Nugent,' Lady Stella said, coming closer
and speaking softly, ' why do you lead this
roving life ? Why are you so restless, so un-
settled? Your duties all lie in England. Why
do not you return and live among your own
people and fulfil them ? Surely this rambling
existence of idle pleasure and self-indulgence
198 For One Mans Pleasure.
cannot really satisfy ? There must be moments
when recollections of home and home duties recur
to your mind and make you feel how much pre-
cious time you are' wasting.'
' Would to God I could return !'
The words burst from his lips involuntarily.
The next second he would havg recalled them if
he could, for Muriel's face rose before him, and
he conjured up the wounded expression that would
have troubled the soft depths of her eyes could she
have overheard his exclamation.
Lady Stella started.
' Of course,' she said hurriedly, * I am speak-
ing about what I do not know, and have no
right to strive to learn. It seemed to me that
your duties were at home, but I have no right
to dictate. Pray, forgive rr^e for my interfer-
ence.'
He laid his hand upon her slender arm, and
coming closer in the moonlight, answered,—
' On the contrary, I. thank you heartily for
your kind interest in my life. But you do not
understand, and I am not free to tell you all. You
are right, I have duties in England, but I have also
duties more pressing th^t bind me to a wandering
life abroad. I make no complaints ; the life was
one of my own seeking, and it is only at times
that I grow restless ijnder its chains. More
than this I cannot tell you ; only do not judge
me too harshly in your ignorance of the true state
of the case.'
He ceased, and gazed anxiously at her, await-
ing her reply. She was woman enough of the
world, he knew, to guess rightly what he meant,
and he looked eagerly for the contempt and
repulsion that he expected to appear on her face.
But Lady Stella only looked infinitely sad and
grieved. He little guessed the extent of her
An Unexpected Meeting. 199
inward sufferings at the mere idea his words
suggested.
'I shall not attempt to judge you or your
actions,' she said simply. ' I believe we each
know best where our duty lies, though we are not
all brave enough to pursue the road. It is im-
possible for others to preach to us, No one
can quite enter into the sentiments that prompt
us to act as we oft-times do. I believe still
you will be true to the nobility in you, and
I shall, come what may, always remain your
friend.'
She stretched out her hand as she spoke,
and he took it tenderly but reverently, took it
in the same pure friendly way in which it was
extended.
' Ah ! Lady Stella, what a help and blessing you
will be to some man. Why have not all women
your generous forbearance and sympathy ?'
' What man or woman does not need such
themselves ?' was her sad reply. ' But come,
Lord Nugent, will you take me back? I am
tired, and our train leaves early to-morrow
morning. I shall hope, then, to see you in the
spring ?'
' I hope so,' he answered, as he led her back;
' but it is impossible to say with any certainty what
I shall do, so far on ahead.'
He took her back to Lord Arrowdale's side, and
then bade them all three good-night and good-
bye. As he walked home, Adrian strove to realise
his own feelings. Was he falling in love with this
woman whom when he was free to wed, he had so
persistently avoided? He felt that in all honour
no woman save Muriel ought ever to be his wife,
and yet he half wished he were free once more to
woo and wed if so he pleased. He felt miserable
and unsettled as he walked home in the starlight,
200
For One Mans Pleasure.
and shrank from Muriel's possible questions about
his evening's amusement
To his relief she was asleep, and, as he gazed
down on her pale care-worn face, his heart smote
him for his recent wishes. Was it possible that
he could be ungrateful and forgetful of all that
this woman had sacrificed for him? Could he
ever sink so low as thus basely to requite such
devotion on her part? Surely not. And leaning
down, he kissed the once bright smiling lips.
And Muriel awoke, and stretching out her arms
lovingly, welcomed him back with smiles and fond
words, and with womanly tact avoided asking one
single question about his evening. So did she
once more win him back for her own !
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
' If you leave me, can I blame you ? shall I hunger for you less ?
No forsaking makes forgetting ! In my haunted loneliness,
I shall bow before the Power that reclaims what has been given,
And live upon his memory who made the earth seem heaven.'
Violet Fane.
To Lord Nugent's infinite relief Muriel made
no further inquiries as to his enjoyment of the
previous evening. When the next morning, as
they sat at breakfast, a twisted note was handed
to him, and proved to be from Lady Stella, he
flushed a little ; but after uneasily skimming
through the few lines, he tossed it with a sigh of
relief across the table to his companion.
The Beginning of the End. 201
Muriel took the slip of paper with beating heart
and trembling hands, and read,—
'Dear Lord Nugent,—We are off too early
for us to bid you farewell. I shall hope to see
you some time during your stay in England in
the'spring. Until then, addio.—Yours truly,
' Stella Dacre.'
' Are you going to England in the spring,
Adrian ?' calmly demanded Muriel.
There was no annoyance, no reproach in either
her face or tone ; she merely asked the question,
waiting quietly for his answer, and noting with
sharp pain his evident confusion.
'Well, I am afraid I shall have to,' he answered
at length. ' I don't much like the accounts of
my mother. She is fretting a good deal about
me, I fear, and I daresay a week of my company
would brighten her up and make her content
to go on for another year or so. Do you see,
darling ?'
He walked over to her side whilst speaking, and
now, placing his hand beneath her chin, he turned
her face upwards until her eyes met his.
She looked up with all her fond, faithful love
shining in their soft depths.
'Just as you please, my own, of course. Your
pleasure is all I live for, and I should be the last
to seek to estrange you more than necessary from
your mother.'
His heart reproached him, and he stooped and
kissed her lips, parted with their patient smile.
Nothing more was said on the subject, and pre-
sently Adrian departed for his usual morning's
trial of luck at the tables.
Then she flung wide the flood-gates of her
passion, and in her solitude gave free vent to
2 02 For One Man s Pleasure.
the sorrow that was slowly but surely inch by
inch killing the life within her. Conceal it from
herself as she would, there were moments when
she was forced to own her misery was greater
than she knew how to bear, Day by day she
saw more plainly how Adrian's love for her was
fading away ; how week by week he grew more
irritable, more difficult to please, more wistful for
his former life and former liberty.
If her love, her presence, her entire devotion
could have satisfied him, and rendered him in-
different to the many little drawbacks that always
attend such a life as theirs, she would have been
perfectly happy, perfectly content, and never have
known the shadow of remorse, or the gnawing
pain of regret; but she was too sensitive, too
loving, not to perceive at once that Adrian was
growing weary beneath the weight of the chains
he had been so eager to bind about his neck, and
with that knowledge, she drooped and faded like
a fragile flower upon whom the dew had forgotten
to fall. Now that she no longer was refreshed
by the dew of his love and caressing tenderness,
she lacked the power to raise her head and boldly
face the storm of sorrow at his daily decreasing
love.
But Muriel was no woman to weary by com-
plaints and reproaches the man into whose hands
she had confided her all, and who was now so
cruelly dealing with her life. She knew too well
that reproaches and open expressions of disap-
pointment but serve to hasten the departure of
the once fervent, loving passion. There is nothing
so hard, so impossible to fan back into warmth
and brightness as the dying embers of an ex-
hausted passion. Every wise woman knows this,
and if she cannot win back the devotion once hers,
she will silently bear her lot, and save herself
The Beginning of the End. 203
the humiliation of pleading for what will not be
given her.
Muriel knew that a man hates nothing so much
as a scene, and she never treated Adrian to one.
She never flew into a passioq, or sulked, or went
into hysterics, and by floods of tears gained the
day. She bore without a. word, a look, an action
of reproach, "whatsoever it pleased her lord and
master to inflict upon her, and it was not long
before Adrian grew into deeming her patient resig-
nation the calmness of indifference.
Thus it is a man misunderstands the woman
who only lives in his smile and finds fler heaven
in his presence. All women know that the happi-
ness or misery of their lives depends upon their
power of retaining the love of the man they idol-
ise, and each woman sets about achieving this in
her own fashion and according to the natural bent
of her nature.
One woman, knowing that a man grows weary
of too openly expressed love, and that he cannot
brook opposition, so cloaks the one and desists
from the other, and allows her lover to feel so
perfectly certain of her faithfulness and perfect
acquiescence in his wishes and behaviour, that
he goes his own way, takes no trouble to keep
alive the love he knows exists for him, and deems
her too passionless to feel jealous. So does that
woman reap the reward of her faithfulness, patience,
and unselfishness.
Another woman, having oft been told that a man
ever prizes highest that which he has had the most
difficulty to obtain, who has observed how men
ever crave and hunger after that which is denied
them, forgetting and neglecting that which falls
too readily into their outstretched hand, pursues a
different course of conduct towards the man she
loves. She is uncertain, wayward, capricious, hard
204 For One Mans Pleasure.
to please, exacting for devotion on his side, yield-
ing but little on her own, making much of every
little concession on her part, and feigning an in-
terest and affection for others, hoping thus by
jealousy, uncertainty, and love of rivalry, to fan
the flames of the love offered her into ever-increas-
ing height and brilliancy. But, alas 1 the man
grows weary of pleading for what is so persistently
denied ; he is too vain to care to be ranked
amongst others, he must have all or nothing. If
this woman can care—thus it is he puts it while
thinking it over in solitude—if she can care for the
admiration and love of others, once having known
the unspeakable blessing of his devotion, she is un-
worthy of his worship ; and leaving her to her own
devices, he goes to others less hard to move, and
readier with their smiles.
Will no one ever discover the golden means to
bind for ever the fickle, inconsistent heart of man—
a love passionate enough to know jealousy, but not
exacting enough to weary and disgust ? At
present a woman had need be half angel, half devil,
to satisfy and content the wants of man.
Poor Muriel! her very unselfishness and patience
were turned against her and mistaken for coldness
and indifference. And yet she was correct in
thinking that Adrian, before all men, would have
been the first to tire of a jealous, exacting mistress ;
he would have wearied of his life long ere this had
she treated him as some women in her position
would have done.
It was bitter pain to her to find Adrian had so
far seriously contemplated a second visit to England
as to speak of it as a settled intention to another,
when he had never mentioned the subject to her.
It was not that she begrudged him a week or so of
liberty, it was not even the fact that he could bear
to leave her alone ; it was his want of openness.
The Beginning of the End. 205
When had she ever murmured or complained at
his doings ? Surely her forbearance merited the
reward of thorough confidence on his part. But
she said nothing, and Adrian grew uncomfortable
at her silence. He wished she would speak of it
and open up the way for him to say something
that he wished to.
But Muriel held her peace, and a few more days
passed slowly away, ajnd Adrian lost several more
hundreds at the tables.
One afternoon when, for a wonder, they were
driving together, he felt the time had arrived when
something must be said, and since she would not
begin he must.
' Muriel,' he said, turning to her and taking her
hand, ' shall you mind moving on from here ? I
am daily losing more money than I can afford,
and as long as we remain in the place I shall
never be able to keep away from those wretched
tables.' ;
'I am quite ready to go to-morrow if you
please ; I have thought often it would be better
for us to leave. Where did you think of going
to?' "
' Ah! that is the point. I have been thinking
much and seriously lately about our future, darling.
It is impossible that we can for ever lead this
roving life. Everyone sooner or later feels the
want of a settled home ; that want has come to me
at last. You, I know, have only thus patiently
borne with this wandering because you fancied I
cared for it. But it cannot continue. I wonder
will you like what I have planned ? I thought a
pretty little house just outside Paris would suit
perfectly ; far enough in the country to be pleasant,
near enough to allow of our joining in such gaiety
as we cared to, and so convenient for London.
It would be nothing for me to run over to my
206 For One Maris Pleasure.
mother for a night or two, and look after my
affairs. I believe everything is in a dreadful
state.'
Muriel's heart sank, but she did not allow her
companion to guess that she felt anything but
pleasure at the picture he had drawn. She saw
plainly what the future meant. Herself comfort-
ably settled in a little home, Adrian would feel
freer to leave her than at present, and she foresaw
that very speedily London would be his place of
abode, Paris but his residence when he wanted
change.
Could she bear it ? could she see his love going,
his fancy straying to another, without giving one
sign, one cry that her misery was too great for her
strength? Yes, a woman who loves can do any-
thing, endure anything, so long as she can spare
the man she loves from similar pain.
Muriel smiled in Adrian's face, discussed furniture
and servants with him as outwardly happy as if
the future held out to her nought but the most
intense enjoyment.
Men are so blind, so blind ! They cannot read
beneath the smiles, the gay laugh, the ready jest.
They think a woman wears her heart on her sleeve,
for all the world to peck at; and take it for
granted that since she shows no sign of grief, there
can be no inward sorrow. How little they know,
how much they have to learn, before they can
understand and read aright all the secret workings
of a true woman's heart.
Two months later, Muriel was settled in her new
home, surrounded with every comfort, every luxury
that love could suggest and money procure, but
bereft of the one thing in the whole world
necessary for her happiness — Adrian was in
England. He had stayed long enough to arrange
all comfortably, had waited until every ornament,
The Beginning of the End. 207
every picture was in its place, and all pretty and
worthy of its owner, and then he had left her,
left her with fond kisses and passionate words
of regret, fervent promises of a speedy return,
loving instructions for her happiness and well-
being during his absence. Still he had left her,
and Muriel felt indeed alone. He had intended
to stay away but a week, but already two had
passed, and still he came not. He wrote often, but
at no great length, telling little of his doings
beyond that he was entirely engrossed with his
affairs, which were worse than he had feared,
and needed still for a little his personal superin-
tendence.
. Muriel waited and hoped, and subdued her
longings, wrote loving, little, unselfish letters
in answer to his hasty scrawls. Then even his
scrawls ceased, and the post brought nothing for
her; days passed, weeks passed, it became a
month since last she had heard from him. Still
he neither wrote nor came, and Muriel felt her
faith and trust fading away before this proof
positive of his faithlessness, and began to realise
she was deserted. Had he intended to desert,
or was he ill ? Still her loving heart strove to
bear up bravely, finding ready excuses for his
conduct. The woman who loves cannot bear
to doubt. To lose faith in one's idol is to kill
half the life within us. Better lose all else, better
put down to a hard fate and unkind circumstances
the cause of our sorrow, than know that our pain
has voluntarily been dealt us by the hand we
love, whose blows even are sweeter than another's
caresses. For to such folly as that can love
attain, love that is alike the blessing and curse
of our existence!
Two more days' grace Muriel gave ; then, if
still he was silent, for her child's sake she must
208 For One Mans Pleasure.
go to London and find out the truth, learn for
herself the future that lay before her. But for
two more days she would continue to hope and
believe.
CHAPTER XXV.
* FOR MY SAKE.'
' " Oh ! stay with me ! Oh ! live to be again
My chosen friend ! Ah ! do not go away,
I love you more than life—come back to me! "
She threw her hopeless arms about his neck,
For o'er his face a death-like pallor spread ;
Some change seem'd working in him—all her soul
Looked out upon him from her haggard eyes.'
Violet Fane.
When Lord Nugent arrived in London from
Paris, he honestly meant to return at the expira-
tion of a week ; but a close and thorough investi-
gation of his affairs, added to the entreaties of
his mother and man of business, induced him
to remain a short time longer. At first he felt
lonely in his old rooms in Clarges Street, and
longed for the sight and sound of Muriel, and
missed the merry cooing of his little son. But
a day or two is all-sufficient to efface the habits
of years, and in an incredibly short time he had
completely settled back into his former ways
and doings. His friends received him back into
their circle with open arms and gushing warmth ;
he was looked upon as the repentant sinner, and
all society rejoiced accordingly, and killed the
fatted calf to do him due honour. Married
women were all ready to claim him as their
'For my sake' 209
friend, unmarried girls felt once more hope
spring up within their virgin bosoms. The
cry that he must marry for money circulated
widely, and unknown heiresses with large
fortunes and plain faces, and worse figures,
were constantly being invited to meet him, by
kind friends who, already caught themselves in
the toils of matrimony, were naturally anxious
for the welfare of the rest of mankind. But
matron and maid who strove to excite admiration
or interest in Lord Nugent met alike with dis-
appointment. Whether or no Adrian still loved
Muriel as passionately as of yore, her pure in-
fluence was ever with him, and he shrank from
idle flirtations and senseless intrigues. The only
woman whose society he sought, whose beauty
pleased and whose conversation charmed him, was
Lady Stella.
Lady Nugent, looking on, noting how her
son's face would brighten and his voice lose
its dejected tone when she entered the room,
told herself that at last her hopes were about
to be realised. But could she have overheard
their conversations, and known how entirely com-
monplace they were, perhaps her hopes might
somewhat have sunk.
Adrian began to feel an intense (desire to
shake Lady Stella's calm self-possession, to
awake some passion in her, and to see her
once moved by the passion of loye. When
he saw her so courted, so eagerly sought and
hopelessly worshipped by others, this vain man's
heart was all astir at the memory of his mother's
words in the past, that this woman, so cold to
all the world, was inwardly consumed with love
for him. Was it true ? Could it indeed be so ?
Was that the reason of her still remaining
single in preference to linking her life \vitfi
0
2io For One Mans Pleasure.
some of the highest in the land ? He must
know, he must discover! He forgot that to
do so he must be false to the woman who
had sacrificed her all for his pleasure and at
his earnest entreaty.
Such is ever , the reward given to those who
are blind fools enough to yield up all for
another's happiness. And yet there is no perfect
love without self-surrender, and there is a pleas-
ure in the act of resigning at another's pleading,
that no after neglect and forgetfulness can al-
together obliterate.
' Adrian, my darling, you simply must marry,
and marry for money, too,' his mother would
say to him, after he had been discussing with
her the dreadful state of his affairs; and he
would laugh and ever answer,—
' Easy talking, mother mine, but where is this
convenient young maiden to come from ? '
'You know, Adrian, as well as I, where beauty
and goodness and wealth all wait ready to be
had for the asking. Why cannot you ask ? '
And he would shake his head and get up and
leave her, for at first the idea was hateful to him,
but each time she spoke upon the subject the
plan seemed more feasible—if only there were no
Muriel. And as the days went on, and he still
lingered in England, making business his plea
for delaying his return, he began to wonder how
Muriel would feel and act if he were ever to
marry. He had no fixed intention of doing so at
present, but he wondered from sheer curiosity, so
he told himself, when he felt remorseful for even
thinking qf such things.
How would she bear it? Would she continue
friends with him, or would she leave him once
and for ever? He could quite imagine the former;
she was so unselfish, so reasonable, he could quite
iFor my sake/
2 I I
fancy her seeing the necessity of his marrying,
and meekly sacrificing herself for his advantage.
It was impossible she could altogether break with
him, for how could she live? He knew her well
enough to know that to him, treat her as he
would, she would ever remain faithful. Fqr the
sake of their child she would agree to be sup-
ported by him, allow him still to visit her, and
he was wise enough to know that the man who
supports a sensitive-minded woman possesses a
hold over her very difficult to break free from.
But, of course, he had no intention of marrying,
so such conjectures were mere waste of time.
Even supposing he cared sufficiently for Lady
Stella to woo her and her fortune, it would be
in vain: she did not know what love meant, and
he was in no humour to teach her.
So the c|ays passed, and he weakly tarried and
put off his return to Muriel. He was not feeling
well ; he had caught cold crossing over, and
seemed to lack strength to throw it off. His
hands were alternately cold and burning, and he
had violent headaches, which made him pleased
to stay quietly in his mother's dark drawing-
room, and allow her to pet and make much of
him.
One evening, when he rose to depart after hav-
ing dined and spent the evening in Hill Street
alone with her, he felt so weak and giddy, that
Lady Nugent, alarmed and anxious, insisted upon
his sleeping there that night. Too ill to dispute,
he consented, and the next morning he was in
a burning fever, and later on delirious. It was
the commencement of a long, tedious illness.
Day after day he lay tossing wearily on his
bed, rambling on about bygone days and bygone
people, and his almost heart-broken mother, as
she leant over him, seeking to give him rest ancj
212 For One Mans Pleasure.
cessation from pain, listened and wondered ever
what woman this was whom he appealed to so
passionately, addressed so lovingly, cried for so
persistently. And his faithful servant, hovering
near, would grow pale as he listened, for fear his
master should reveal his secret.
But, strange to say, Adrian did not. Never
once by name did he call for Muriel, though in
truth it was of her he was talking. Once his
mother, bending down near, caught the word
' wife,' and she trembled and turned sick with
fear at what might be about to be revealed to
her; but as she leant down closer she grew
calmer, though her pity increased.
' My darling!' he was murmuring, 4 my pure
unselfish little darling, are you quite happy—do
you never repent ?' Is my love all-sufficient ?
No wife was ever more fondly loved than I love
you. If you were my wife, could you be rqore to
me ? Ah, no! Oh, my own ! how can I thank
you—how repay you ?'
And he would stretch out his arms longingly
and grasp the empty air, and turn away with a
restless sigh. The doctors came, shook their
heads, and spoke of low fever, fast habits, mental
anxiety ; they did what they could for him, but
the man seemed beyond hope, he was so weak.
But Adrian's time had not come, not yet for
him ' the end of all, the poppied sleep.' There
was still work for him to do, pleasure to be en-
joyed, sorrow to be endured. And slowly, very
slowly, with many relapses, he struggled back to
health and strength. As soon as he could lie
and be talked to, his mother regaled him with
accounts of the world's grief at his illness in gen-
eral, and Lady Stella's distress in particular;
told how every day she had come to inquire,
how she had even insisted upon her own splendid
'For my sake?
213
cook making some of his famous soup for the in-
valid, repeated her kind messages, told how white
and worried she looked ; and Adrian would listen
and smile with weak gratification that another
should grieve over him.
He often thought of Muriel, and longed to
let her know how he was, but it was impossible.
He was too weak to write himself, and he had
no opportunity, even if he had cared, to dictate
a letter to his servant. He was ignorant of how
long he had been ill, and still felt too weak to
worry much about anything. He knew she would
trust and believe in him through all, and she
would forgive everything when she learnt the
truth.
After a time he grew strong enough to be
partly dressed and carried into his mother's bou-
doir. There he would lie for hours, in that half-
insensible, half-dozing state so common in ex-
treme weakness.
One afternoon, whilst his mother had gone for
a short drive, he ordered himself to be dressed
and carried down. He had been downstairs about
an hour, and had fallen into a semi-unconscious
state, when he was aroused by the soft murmur
of a woman's voice, and felt the soft touch of a
woman's hands.
' Oh, my own darling, live if only for my sake !'
someone whispered. ' I cannot bear my life if
you go. Get well and strong—O God, save
him !'
His whole heart thrilled and answered to the
tones. He had been dreaming of Muriel, and
thinking it was her who bent over him, he gazed
into the face so near his own with dazed, un-
seeing eyes, and murmured,—
' So you have come at last, my own. Ah ! how
I have wearied for you.'
214 F°r One Man s Pleasure.
He made an effort to stretch out his arms, but
they fell powerless, and he fainted away.
Lady Stella, for it was she he had addressed,
flew to the bell. A servant, Adrian's own, an-
swered the summons. He had only left the apart-
ment a few minutes, and wondered how his master
had reached the bell.
' His lordship looks in a faint,' Lady Stella said
hurriedly. ' I came in here to write to her lady-
ship, and found him in that state. Can you do
nothing for him ?'
In a moment the servant was at'his side apply-
ing remedies, and Lady Stella, seeing him recover-
ing, took her departure. She longed for quiet in
which to reflect upon what had passed. Never for
one moment did she doubt that Adrian had recog-
nised her.
' He said he had wearied for me,' she said to
herself, as she drove home. ' Can he indeed have
loved me all these years, and been kept from me
by circumstances over which he had no control?
Ah ! I care not what his sins in the past, I love
him, ay, well enough to forgive all needing for-
giveness.'
And those who saw Lady Stella that night
observed a new beatity in voice and face, and
wondered what had brought it. For the world
is wise, and knows well that there is no beautifier
so clever or so powerful as a happy love.
For Evermore. 215
CHAPTER XXVI.
for evermore.
' Death withdrew himself, and life
Woke up, and found that it was folded fast
Drawn to another life for evermore. ''—Jean Ingleton.
LORD Nugent's first question on recovering con-
sciousness was to ask for Muriel. The faithful
servant, in consternation, began to explain and
soothe the sick man. His lordship had been ill
and was in England, madame was in Paris; should
he write to her and acquaint her with his lordship's
illness ?
* Raymond, I tell you madame was here herself
one minute before I fainted,' Adrian answered
impatiently, trying to rise. ' She must have grown
anxious and followed me over; you must seek
her at once, never rest until you discover her
address.'
' Ah ! my lord, you mistake ; you have been
dreaming. Madame is in Paris ; she has not been
here ; it is impossible.'
' I tell you I heard her, felt her, and spoke to
her; when I opened my eyes to look at her, every-
thing swam before me, but as I fainted I saw that
it was a woman bending over me. Raymond,' his
eyes glowing with feverish earnestness, ' you are
not deceiving me? She has not commanded you
to keep her being here a secret? Tell me the
truth ; was she not with me when you came to
me ?'
Raymond flushed crimson at some secret thought,
but answered firmly,—
216 For One Mans Pleasure.
i No, my lord, there was no one here with her
ladyship ; that I can swear.'
' Her ladyship ! Was my mother with me when
I fainted?'
' No, my lord, no one was present save Lady
Stella Dacre.'
' Lady Stella Dacre ! O my God !'
And Adrian sank back exhausted at the mere
idea, and spoke no more, whilst Raymond, fully as
ill at ease as his master, retired to the other end of
the room. He was deeply attached to Muriel,
and debated long within himself whether he would
not on his own responsibility write and inform her
of Adrian's illness. It was a daily trouble to him,
the thought of what she must be going through,
and he longed to somewhat relieve her anxiety.
After must reflection, he sat down and wrote :—
' MADAME,—His lordship has had a long and
dangerous illness, but, thank God, he is much
better now.—Your obedient servant,
' T. Raymond.'
It was wofully brief, but would, he knew, convince
her that she was not deserted, and he felt a little
more at rest when once he had safely dropped his
letter into the pillar-box.
Meanwhile Adrian was tormented and wracked
With curiosity, wonder, and a strange joy of
triumph, and a sense of being plunged deeper and
deeper into a state of perplexity. Could it really
have been Lady Stella who had thus, deeming him
insensible, given way to the passion of her feelings,
and flung herself upon his neck with whispered
words of love and tender caresses ? His heart
thrilled again at the mere remembrance of how
his whole being had vibrated and answered to her
voice and touch. Had he been wrong, and all the
For Evermore.
217
world right, in declaring that this woman, cold as
ice as she was to others, could for him warm and
glow with the passion of love? He would never
rest now until he had seen her, and read in her
face whether indeed it were a dream. He too had
spoken words of love to her, thinking her another !
What those words had been he forgot, but he
flushed as he recollected how she would interpret
them as spoken to herself. If indeed all had
passed that he fancied had taken place, then there
was no drawing back, he must go on and marry
this woman who had so long and faithfully loved
him.
His mother, when she returned from her drive,
thought him much flushed and excited.
4 Lady Stella has been here during my absence,'
she said, holding out a note towards him; 4 she
left these few lines to inquire after you.'
He turned his head restlessly away.
4 My eyes are too weak to read, but I wish to see
Lady Stella ; will you ask her to pay me a visit,
I have something to say to her.'
Lady Nugent looked at him earnestly.
4 You love her at last, my son, is it not so?'
4 No, mother,' he answered, smiling slightly at
his own answer ; 4 but if she loves me I will marry
her.'
And with that Lady Nugent was fain to be
contented.
The next afternoon she said briefly to her son,—
4 Lady Stella will be here at five ;' and he smiled
and thanked her.
He was down in his mother's boudoir, looking
more like his old self, but surprised at his own
calmness and restful feeling. It was as though the
end of all his perplexities was at hand, and in his
selfishness he forgot that it might be but the com-
mencement of sorrow for another.
218 For One Mans Pleasure.
Raymond had told his master of the step he
had taken, and Adrian had answered quietly,—
'That was right, and very thoughtful of you,
Raymond ; madame's mind will be at rest now.'
Even now he thought lovingly of Muriel, whilst
waiting to deal her so cruel a blow. His love for
her still existed, and he felt so sure she would
forgive and fall in with his plans.
Lady Stella's money would soon set right his
affairs, and his marriage would regild his some-
what tarnished reputation.
He was lying dreaming his little dreams, and
complacently planning out the future, when the
door slowly opened and Lady Stella came in.
The proudest, most self-possessed woman grows
shy and timid when once the object of her love
learns her secret. Whilst a woman is being wooed,
while yet her secret is her own, she is a queen;
but the moment she allows the fact, ' I love you,'
to be known to her wooer, she becomes a slave.
But then, how gladly does she step down from
her exalted throne and don the chains of slave-
dom ! For every true woman acknowledges in
her secret heart that stately grandeur is solitary
work, and that she was born, not to rule, but to
be ruled. And it is hard, very hard, when, as is
so often the case, the man prefers the crown to
the chains, and in the loving, faithful, obedient
slave seeks in vain for the charms that so fascinated
him in the stately queen ! Many a woman has
dashed her crown of honour to the ground in order
to gratify and please the man she loved, only to
learn when it was too late that without it sparkling
upon her brow she lacked the power to charm.
Lady Stella glided into the room with a new
shyness of step and manner born with the know-
ledge that her secret, so long cherished, had passed
into another's keeping. As she came and stood
For Evermore.
219
ieside his sofa, Adrian stretched out his hand,
•nee so strong and sunburnt, now almost as white
.nd delicate-looking as her own, and took hold
>f hers.
' Thank you for coming,' he said, looking up at
ler averted eyes and trembling lips.with a keen
lense of delightful mastery ; ' I have had a dream,
md I want you to interpret it for me.'
' I did not know you were superstitious, Lord
Nugent,' she answered, trying to speak naturally,
and I fear I am sadly wanting in dream lore.'
' But will you try and tell me what my dream
neans ? Listen. I dreamt that as I lay sleep-
ng here, soft arms were folded close about me,
varm lips touched mine, and cL passionate, loving
/oice bade me live. Stella,' he continued eagerly,
ior he read in her face that all was true, ' does
:hat mean that you love me ? Does it mean
:hat my worthless existence is necessary for your
happiness ? Tell me, darling, let me hear the
dear truth from your own lips.'
He drew her down towards him and slipt his
arms around her. For the moment he really
fancied life-long happiness or misery hung upon
tier answer. He was overpowered by her beauty,
flattered by her preference, and revelling in once
more wooing with all the excitement of a new
passion. It is the old, old cry for something new,
something unexperienced before.
Lady Stella lying there, feeling beneath her
the rapid beat of his heart, meeting the loving
gaze of his eyes, murmured her answer on his
breast, and allowed his. lips to be pressed to hers.
' Ah! my darling, I am all unworthy of the
love of such a being as yourself,' he whispered
presently, as she sat beside him, her hand clasped
in his.
That is a favourite saying with men, and they
220 For One Man's Pleasure.
know well the throb of delight it gives a woman
to hear them say it. It makes her at once so
humble and so proud. Would it not be infinitely
more for the future happiness of both if the
man, instead of so complacently acknowledging
the sad fact, would strive more earnestly to render
himself worthy of the love lavished upon him!
A woman would appreciate that effort, even more
than she does his delightful candour about him-
self.
' Adrian,' Lady Stella said presently, with down-
cast eyes and blushing cheeks, ' do you remember
our talk at Monaco that night. Are you free, love,
to seek my love ?'
' My dearest, how can yoii ask ? Do you think
I would deal you such an insult ? Promise me
one thing, never in any way allude to the past.
The shadow of it, I swear, shall never fall upon
your path in life. Ask me no questions, accept
my love as freely as it is offered, and make me all
that I feel by your side it is possible for .me to
become.'
And with many tender caresses and loving
words she promised, promised gladly, for to her
there was shame in even stirring the muddy waters
of the past by thus mentioning them. Only too
eager was she that it should be a closed and
sealed ..book, and earnestly did she pray that the
new leaves might be bright and free from any sort
of stain.
' You will not make me wait long for my happi-
ness,' he said, as she rose at last to depart. ' Now
that I know you love me, I shall quickly grow
strong and well When will you give yourself to
me ?'
She smiled a bright happy smile of content and
new-born happiness.
' As soon as you are strong enough to care to
Burning Traces.
221
have me,' she answered. ' Only let us have a very
quiet wedding, darling ; I should so hate a fuss,
and your recent severe illness will be sufficient ex-
cuse for the world.'
He assented. A quiet wedding was what he
wished. Left alone to his own reflections, his
thoughts flew to Muriel. How should he break
the news to her! Must he tell her at once ?
Could he not contrive that she should learn it
gradually for herself. He felt too weak to think
the matter out. It was enough she knew he
was ill; he would let things be for a little, and
drift with the tide. He was too selfish to be true,
too loving by nature to delight in giving pain ; and
yet it is the selfish loving heart that is ever the most
cruel to the one who loyes it.
CHAPTER XXVII.
BURNING TRACES.
' Qh ! words that have been warm'd with kisses !
Oh ! words that have been wet with tears !
Oh ! words that have been bless'd and cherish'd,
What will remain when ye have perish'd,
To light me in the coming years?
How shall I know my darling loved me,
Oh ! by what sign, since kisses die ?
Since lips grown silent, and cold faces
Learn to forget the burning traces
Of love which hag been long put by !'— Violet Fane.
Two mornings after Lord Nugent's proposal to
Lady Stella, Raymond entered his master's room
with a letter in his hand.
222
For One Mans Pleasure.
'It came, my lord, enclosed in one to me; I
was to give it to you if your lordship was well
enough to read it for yourself; if not, I was to
destroy it,' he said, as he handed it to Adrian.
' Thanks,' was all Adrian answered, and as
Raymond lingered in the room, tidying and set-
tling things, he lay with the unopened letter beside
him and gazed at the well-known writing. He
felt ashamed to touch it ; and yet the mere
sight of it gave him a thrill of pleasure, seemed
to assure him of IVfuriel's present love and future
forgiveness. By-and-by, when he was left alone,
he broke the seal and read the tender, loving
epistle. It was not of great length, but every
line breathed of tender love, sorrow at his ab-
sence and illness, anxiety for his perfect recovery.
She begged to be allowed to come and nurse him,
if he felt that her presence would in any way
hasten his convalescence ; and then, with the sen-
sitiveness that accompanies all great love, she con-
fessed that she had allowed herself to doubt and
think hardly of him during his silence, and begged
his forgiveness for her want of faith. Adrian laid
the letter down with a heavy sigh. In what words
was he to break the truth to her ?
■ Poor Muriel! She loves me so much, that
she will consent to anything rather than that I
should altogether pass from out of her life,' he
said, to console hirnself. ' When she understands
how it is Lady Stella's money even more than
herself that has forced me into matrimony, and
learns that my love is still her own, she will for-
give and be lenient. A woman that loves as she
does is the easiest thing in the world to manage.'
After all, it was no very unheard-of thing that
h,e was about to do. Many a njan had so acted'
before hjp. Hpd he not known men, men in
his own rank, who, when pressing circumstances
Burning Traces.
223
had forced them into marriage, had expected, and
not in vain, that their mistresses, women of equal
position to themselves, should still receive them
with loving words and smiles of welcome. What,
without him, would Muriel's life be. Her very love
for him would force her to yield to his wishes,
and in the end he knew she would consent. He
would write to her, write that very day, and tell
all. There was a sense of comfort in this desire
for perfect candour. He told himself that some
men would have married first and confessed aftef,
and persuaded himself that he was not really such
a bad fellow. Neither was he, but he was selfish,
that was all. Selfishness is no great wickedness,
no great crime ; it does not kill, nor thieve, nor
treat with cruelty, it often indeed accompanies a
loving heart, a nature most averse to dealing others
pain. But it is like the speck in the centre of the
rose ; it does not spoil the perfume of the petals,
but it eats out the heart's core. Adrian wrote
many letters, and tore them up one after the
other. It is so easy to persuade oneself that one
is not so bad after all, but it is more difficult in
the face of existing facts to blind another to one's
failings.
' Why, Adrian, how hot you look'!' said Lady
Nugent, entering the room. 'Ah! I cannot have
you worry yourself yet with correspondence. Here
is Lady Stella come to talk to you.'
And Adrian, no way displeased to postpone
the evil hour of confession, threw his papers aside,
and yielded himself to the pleasures of love-making.
He was oft-times reminded of Muriel's words
in the past, when, speaking of Lady Stella, she
had declared she was not cold, only proud. He
could scarcely recognise in this loving, caressing
woman the dignified, stately Lady Stella of old ;
and when he told her so, with loving words and
224 For One Mans Pleasure.
soft kisses, she smiled, and whispered how at last
she had found her master.
Meanwhile, across the water, Muriel, in her
bright, luxurious home, was dragging through thev
weary, anxious days as best she could. Ray-
mond's letter had arrived just in time to prevent
her going to England; and though well - nigh
heart-broken at its contents, it was a relief to1
have arrived at some solution to the mystery of
Adrian's silence. Her whole heart went forth to'
him in his illness, and she hated herself with a
fierce hatred for having harboured for a second
one doubt as to his faithfulness.
With her remorse full upon her, she sat down
and poured out her heart's feelings to the man
she loved, in the blessed certainty that he would
understand and forgive alike her doubts- and self-
reproach.
For the answer to that epistle she waited and
looked with feverish impatience. The days passed,
and she received nought. Could he be worse ?
No. Raymond would in that case, she felt sure,
write and inform her. Well, she would have
patience. There was some good reason for this
second silence, she felt convinced; not again
would she yield to doubts and fears.
' We shall hear to-morrow, little one,' she would'
whisper to her babe each night, as she lay down
beside its little cot to rest.
But with each fresh'day came fresh disappoint-
ment. Her servants, who loved her, regarded
her with wistful eyes. Madame was in trouble,
madame was ill; that was sufficient for their
faithful hearts, and they overwhelmed her with
well-meant attentions.
Muriel was indeed ill, and none knew it better
than herself. She had long felt that she was
daily growing weaker, and at first the knowledge
Burning Traces.
225
had brought her sharp, bitter pain. Was she to
fade away out of the world, while still her heart
clung to its love and pleasantness? She had felt
as if she could not die, as though Death and she
would have a long close struggle ere she sank
beneath his power and was borne away. And
she would take her child in her slender arms,
and, pressing him passionately to her, pray to be
spared, if only for her little one's sake. But now
that trouble and sorrow seemed pressing her in
on every side • now that her life, do what she
would, was shadowed by strange, incomprehensible
forebodings for the future, she began to feel that
for herself Death had lost his terrors.
So she dragged on through the long spring
weather, blind alike to the brightness of its days,
the soft splendour of its warm nights ; all the
beauty and perfume and melody about her brought
her but increase of pain, since that one presence
was wanting which alone could render her sensible
to beauty either of sight or sound.
Then one morning the letter came that told
her all ! It caught her eye the moment she
entered the pretty dining-room, and she flew to
it with a glad cry that made her boy look up at
her from where he crawled on the floor, She
tore it open, sank into the nearest chair, and
read breathlessly on ; on through the many sheets
that told the tale of man's selfishness, weakness,
and want of gratitude. Learnt the sad truth at
last, discovered how her idol was but human
after all, and how little her own love and self-
sacrifice had availed her after the first burst of
passion was over. Had any hand but his written
her such a tale, she would have dashed the paper
to the ground in angry indignation and righteous
incredulity. But what he himself told her she
was forced to accept as truth.
P
226 For One Mans Pleasure.
It was a loving, self-accusing, self-reproaching,
letter, such as only a selfish, loving man like
Adrian could write. Full of pity for himself, for
her, and yet weakly abiding by existing circum-
stances. He told of his absolute ruin, the absolute
necessity for a wealthy marriage, told the story of
Lady Stella's devotion during his illness, with
many little additions and touchings-up, until really
the picture did not look amiss ; related, with a few
more additions, the account of her betrayal of love
for himself, represented himself as in danger of
being regarded as a brute did he draw back from
the marriage; and then finished by weakly shifting
the whole business upon Muriel's shoulders and
bidding her choose for him. He could love none
as he did her ; if she bade him, he would even
now break off his engagement, and proclaim
his connection with herself; anything rather than
pain her, and let her go altogether out of his
life.
Adrian had not without much reflection thus
thrown himself upon Muriel's mercy. He knew
perfectly how safe it was to depend upon her
unselfishness, and congratulated himself that all
would yet be well. She loved so much, she would
be sure to forgive, for her own sake and for the
sake of the child.
Yes, he was right: Muriel could—Muriel did
forgive : but there is one thing that no woman,
no matter how much she loves—nay, because she
so loves—can ever consent to, and that is to
share the man she loves with another. She for-
gave, but never more could he be aught to her so
long as they two lived. Her.determination never
once wavered. She read between the lines of his
letter, as only a woman that loves can read, his
wish for freedom, his longing for liberty. He was
too loving to leave her, she would therefore leave
Burning Traces. 227
him. He should have no cause for self-reproach
in the new life that lay before him, the life in
which she was to play no part ; she would free
him, she herself would cut the chains that bound
him to her, ay, even if to do so broke her heart
and crushed out the life within her.
By that same* day's post she sent the answer
he craved, J\ short but loving letter, every word
so studied a§ to avoid giving cause for pain. She
wished him all happiness in his new life, forgave
him all that he felt required forgiveness, and bade
him feel no sorrow on her account.
'You say you will have returned from your
marriage trip by the 1st May,' she wrote. ' On
that day a letter from me will await you at the
Marlboro' Club, telling you of my wishes for the
future. They will, for the sake of the past, be
sacred to you, I know. Until then, good-bye;
and may God bless you for ever, is the one prayer
of my heart.'
Adrian, when he read that letter, declared half-
angrily that she had never loved him ; no woman
could, under the circumstances, write so, that
loved a man. So judged he from out of his own
narrow, selfish heart.
Muriel was not long in forming her plans. She
would go away with her child, and, living in
secret, work for her bread. Her voice, though by
no means what it had once been, was still sweet
and powerful enough for her to have returned
to the stage, had she so desired. But she did
not. In the first place, the publicity would not
have now suited her; in the second, she shrank
from the life. Nod she would give lessons, and
so support herself and boy. She would remain
until Adrian's wedding-day in her present abode ;
then she would go forth and be for ever lost, she
and her child.
228 For One Mans Pleasure.
She pushed the hair from off her forehead as
she so arranged; its weight seemed to oppress
her, and she wondered if this that she felt was
madness. Could it be true? Adrian untrue to
her? About to marry another? She herself
determining to drift away for ever from out of
his life ? Again she read his letter through, re-
called all that she had written in answer, and
realised the truth. Verily was she reaping the
reward of what the world would term her sin.
All that day she was busy with a restless,
feverish activity, dividing and sorting her numer-
ous belongings. Everything that Adrian had
ever given her, save the plain gold band that so
oft had been mistaken for her wedding-ring, she
laid aside to be later packed into a parcel, and
left addressed to himself. What she had possessed
before her flight with him, she decided to take
with her. Some of the more valuable jewels,
once her mother's, would sell for large sums,
which would go to keep her and the child until
she had obtained employment.
Quickly her things were divided into two
heaps, the one to be taken with her, the other
left. Nought remained but a bundle of Adrian's
letters. Sitting down, she read them one and all,
in the order in which they had been written. She
had preserved every scrap he had ever written,
from those first few pencilled lines begging her
to wear the flowers he sent her at the opera that
night, to his last letter full of his money difficul-
ties, penned only the day of his being taken ill.
Her heart thrilled anew at each loving phrase,
each fond term of endearment, and often did she
pause to press the paper to her lips and wipe away
the hot tears that would come rolling down her
thin cheeks.
There is a tendency in every woman to hoard
Burning Traces. 229
up her love-letters ; it is a weakness in some cases
fraught with much danger to both writer and reader,
and one that some find themselves unable to
resist.
There is a strange fascination in reading again
and again the dear, precious words that tell us that
our love is understood and returned ; there is such
intense pleasure in gazing upon and touching what
that other's dear hand has traced ; it is, in fact,
almost as though in absence we still retained a
portion of him with us to comfort and cheer in
our darkest, most depressing hours,—that it is
well-nigh impossible to destroy with our own hand
what is so precious. But if men and women are
wise, they will never hesitate about depriving them-
selves of this pleasure. Leafn the letters by heart
if you will, but burn the actual letter itself; things
in black and white are awkward to deal with at
times, and many a man afid woman has lived to
deplore the weakness that induced them to pre-
serve these relics of a happy past.
Muriel felt sorely tempted to retain these sweet
proofs of Adrian's once warm, passionate love.
What, if she destroyed them, would she have left
to convince her, in the dreary future stretching
out before her, that her past happiness was not a
dream ? Could she part with them, voluntarily
consign them to the burning flames, her one remain-
ing solace in her heavy grief? Yes! for Muriel,
with all her love, was a wise woman, and she knew
well the risk she ran in keeping proofs of her past
connection with Adrian. How could she tell, in
the event of her sudden death, to what purpose
they might not be twisted ? how could she be
assured that they might not, in some unloving
hand, be converted into weapons with which to
wound the very man for whom she had suffered
and sacrificed so much ! Besides, her own desire
230 For One Mans Pleasure.
was that her boy should never feel shame for his
mother's sake, never know who was his father.
Yes, though they were unspeakably precious, im-
measurably dear, they must perish, lest in the years
to come they should cause mischief to the two
beings she so fondly loved. Gathering them all
passionately into her hands, she pressed them again
and again to her lips ; then, placing them in the
grate, she struck a match, and with a steady hand
held it to the pile of papers until they were reduced
to a useless, powerless heap of ashes. With a
sigh of relief she arose from her knees. Her last
comfort was gone, but at least she had rendered
it impossible for others to work mischief and cause
grief and shame by the aid of what had given her
such intense pleasure in days gone by. She could
remember only too vividly her past happiness with-
out the help of written words! Nothing and no
one could rob her of her past, and for that she
thanked God.
It is something, a great something, once to have
known perfect happiness ; and we would not forfeit
it for all the sorrow that it brings in after years.
As Man to Man.
231
CHAPTER XXVIII.
AS MAN TO MAN.
' There will no man do for your sake, I think,
What I would have done for the least word said.
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink,
Broken it up for your daily bread.
Body to body and blood for blood,
As the flow of the full sea risen to flood,
That yearns and trembles before it sink,
I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead.'
Swinburne.
If you have ever, dear reader, suddenly discovered
some entirely new trait in a person's character
whose every mental bend and twist you thought
you knew by heart, and can remember the shock
the revelation was to you, can recall how that
single discovery seemed to affect and change your
views and feelings about everything, you will be
able to enter into the state of mind into which
Claude Hamilton was thrown at the time of Muriel's
flight.
I think when we reflect how we by our actions
can change the face of the universe itself to some
fellow-being, we ought to be made very careful,
very faithful, very true by the thought. There
is something awful in the idea that we, any one
of us, can by our conduct render such words as
love, purity, truth, and constancy mere empty
lies or grand existing facts. It rests with us,
either to nourish or kill all the noble God-
implanted faith that is to be found in every
human soul.
Surely the man or woman who, giving vent
to their passions, strikes and kills the being who
has dealt them wrong, is less cruel, less wicked
232 For One Mans Pleasure.
than one who by wanton heartlessness crushes in
another all faith and belief in the great and noble
things of life. And yet the world punishes the
murderer in the one case, and allows him in the
other to go free.
No words could describe the state of Claude's
feelings on receipt of Muriel's farewell letter.
Never in his darkest hours of sad foreboding for
her future had he dreamed of such a fate as this
that she had voluntarily chosen. There was
additional suffering even in the knowledge of
how great must have been Muriel's love ere she
could have acted as she had done. It made no
difference in his own love for her, only—he had
not thought that the child he had played with,
the girl by whom he had been fascinated, the
woman whom he adored, could so have acted.
Any hope or wild dream that by sheer persist-
ence of love he might one day teach her the
value of such a love as his, died at once and for
ever. The future held nothing for him beyond
professional fame, and none knew better than he
how inadequate that is to satisfy the natural
cravings of a man's heart. He loved his art
with a tender, reverent love, ever regarding his
genius as a gift straight from God ; but it could
not take the place of human love in his solitary
life. And he was not one of those men, and there
are very, very many of them in the world, who,
finding one woman out of their reach, turn their
attention to another more attainable. Since
Muriel could not, neither should any other woman
become his wife. He regarded Bertha as a sacred
charge, accepted her as a parting gift from the
woman he loved, and right loyally did he fulfil his
trust. He welcomed her warmly beneath his
roof, and with true delicacy of feeling established
her as housekeeper in his modest little household,
As Man to Man.
233
and so prevented her from feeling humbled by his
charity, and at the same time gave her legitimate
employment in which to drown useless thought.
And honestly and faithfully did the old woman
return Claude's kindness towards herself, and
many a penny did she save him by her careful
supervision. But work as hard as she would she
could not drown remembrance. The young go
forth to fight the battle of life, but the old sit by
the fireside at home and cannot forget. The past
was ever before her, and she longed with cruel,
ceaseless longing once more to see her darling, to
learn for a certainty that the child that she had
nursed in her faithful arms was happy, and her life
untainted by regret.
' Only to see her, just to see her once more,' she
used to moan.
And Claude would make answer in his grave,
sad tones,—
' Ah! Bertha, be content; so long as we do
not hear, she is happy! In her sorrow she will
seek us.'
And so he believed.
But Bertha would shake her head uncon-
vinced.
' Not she, dear lamb. In her sorrow she will be
yet more lost to us; she was always such a
proud child.'
Sometimes when Claude glanced up at the two
portraits he had painted of her, and thought that
the day might yet come when she would look
as he had depicted her in the second picture, he
cursed in his heart with a bitter curse the man
who had broken in upon her innocence and taught
her the fierce joys and consuming woes of a
passionate love. Could he not have left this one
pure flower untainted by his soulless scorching
breath of idle desire ?. Would it have cost him so
234 For One Mans Pleasure.
very much to have left her in peace, and sought
distraction and amusement in others ? He felt
that if fate ever brought him in contact with this
man he would be forced to speak out plainly
his true mind and utter contempt. He lived
a more retired, lonely life than ever ; all society
was hateful to him, and he felt quite unable
to enter into its idle pleasures. The power
to create seemed dead within him, and though
he painted arduously, his pictures now were
mostly portraits, a work once most distasteful to
him.
The world wondered, and talked much ; but it
never guessed .his secret, though it gave many
false reasons for his love of retirement.
One only, of all who knew him, connected
Muriel with his sadness, and that was Lady
Stella. Once only since Muriel's flight had they
met, and then it was by accident.
Lady Stella had, with much delicacy, alluded
to the current report of Mademoiselle Delacourt's
marriage with an old love, and asked him if it
were true. He did not contradict, neither did he
authenticate the rumour.
' Do not mention her,' he had answered. 4 It
is true she is with the man she loves—happy, I
pray with my whole heart.' And she, with ready
tact, seeing how it distressed him to hear her even
mentioned, changed the subject, and spoke of
other things.
It so chanced that at the time of Lord Nu-
gent's engagement to Lady Stella, Claude was
away. He had not been well, and the doctor
advised rest and change of air, so he had packed
his portmanteau and gone off for a breath of
mountain air in Switzerland. Thus it was that
no rumour of the approaching marriage in high
life reached his ears, and he wandered on at
As Man to Man. 235
will, unconscious of passing events that would
influence the whole of his after life.
One evening, at Geneva, it so chanced, that
while waiting for his dinner he took out of his
pocket an English paper that a fellow-traveller
had offered him earlier in the day. It was a
week old, but he thought to skim through its
contents would serve to while away the time
until his meal was ready.
The paper proved to be a back number of the
Morning Post, and contained a full account of
the marriage of Lord Nugent with Lady Stella
Dacre.
The words literally danced before his eyes.
Had he gone mad, was he drunk, or dreaming?
No! there lay the printed facts. He read on,
scarcely comprehending what he read. How
beautiful had looked the bride, how magnificent
had been her attire, how priceless her diamonds.
Then followed a long list of handsome presents,
and the announcement that the happy pair were
to spend their honeymoon at one of Lord Arrow-
dale's smaller country seats in Kent.
His first thought was for Muriel. Where was
she? How was she feeling? How would she
take such conduct on the part of the man she
loved? Then came the hideous thought—per-
haps she was dead! No, he did not feel as if
that were so. Something told him that she still
lived. In a second his resolution was taken. He
would return at once and seek her address at
Adrian's hands ; he would make him responsible
for her well-being and happiness.
That night he left Geneva, and, without once
stopping, travelled back, arriving one morning at
his home, much to Bertha's astonishment.
4 Have you heard ? ' he asked her breathlessly.
The old woman shook her head. She had
236 For One Man s Pleasure.
A
heard nothing, and thought her master must have
lost his head. \ / f~
' He is married !' wa& dll he said ; but Bertha
understood. " y-
' Oh, my poor lamb ! may. the good God pun-
ish him for his wickedness !/ she replied, with
vehemence ; then presently she' asked whom he
had married. /
' Lady Stella Dacre,' was the brief reply.
They were standing in the hall still ; but
Claude now passed on into his stu'dio, and Bertha
followed, half-stunned at the news. Irle paced
the room for some minutes in silence, then he
spoke again. /
' I am going to bring her back,. I^ertha. Her
home, now that he has deserted Mier^must be
with me. My poor darling! how she'must be
suffering.' v.
Bertha wiped away her tears with trembli|ng
hands. Vv '
' Do you know where she be, sir ?' she asked
anxiously.
' Not yet; but I will, before I am many hours
older.' , f /
' How, sir ? I do not understand.'
41 shall demand her address from the^ifr'\$ho
has deserted her,' he answered passionately. Vtf
she be beholden to him for a penny, I will r*6-
lease her from her debt. She shall no longer
lead a life of humiliation and shame.' 1 ^
His first impulse had been to start off at once
in search of Lord Nugent, but a little reflection
showed him that this was at least unadvisable.
He and his bride were still in the country, and
for him to appear on the scene would arouse
Lady Stella's suspicions, if, indeed, she did not
discover the true cause of his visit.
Now, he felt a real affection for her, and his
As Man to Man. 237
wish was. to save her Ipain. ,He knew her well
enough to fe£t\ tham the mere fact of her marry-
ing Lord Nugent prowed^mat she was in ignor-
ance of his connection with Muriel. She was
the last woman <pri the face of the earth to take
her own fyappi icssm at the expense of another ;
and, since! acquainting her with the true state
of affairs now benefit Muriel, he was
anxious to/spa^jner unnecessary pain.
There was nanelp for it; he must wait patiently
for the 4 happyYpair's ' return to town, and con-
tent himyeM with writing to Lord Nugent, and
desiring hmVto fix an early date for meeting him
on urgent tmsYiess.
Adrian guessed well enough what that meant
when he reaawthe letter, and his sense of shame
was greajTemough to mar the happiness of the
first days/ oMvedded bliss. If, indeed, Muriel had
been a v ndictive, unforgiving woman, it would
ha\ffe c^sm^fd her to have known how persistently
herumage yi.aunted the man who had wronged her,
^nd^ibwNdo what he would, he could not forget,
<^)uld\nOT cease to love her. Fickle as he had
eyteV beefy he could not drive Muriel out of his
hamflL ajid constantly he awoke with her name
un»on^y\lips, and trembled with fear lest in his
sl^apxpe should have uttered it aloud.
/He "could not blind himself to the fact that he
shrank\from coming in contact with the artist.
In imagination he could see the flash of righteous
contempt that would illumine those deep eyes,
could see the curl of repulsion about those firm-
cut lips. The weak and vacillating ever shrink
from the strong, and Adrian knew well how im-
measurably his superior was Claude Hamilton.
Still, he could not refuse a meeting, so he wrote
and fixed the day after that on which he knew he
should receive Muriel's letter. When once he had
23S For One Maris Pleasure.
learnt her views, he felt it would be easier to do
battle with this interfering man ; and until that
date he strove to banish the whole matter from
his mind, and give himself up to the pleasures of a
beautiful, adoring wife.
Lady Stella noticed the cloud that so often
hung over him, but, true to her promise, she made
no remark, asked no questions, only strove by
additional tenderness and attention to drive it
away. He had told her he was free to wed, and
most desirous of forgetting the past. She would
believe, and do her best to help him drown re-
membrance.
To Claude it appeared as though the day of
meeting would never come. He so yearned to
confront this map, who for idle pleasure had
worked so much ruin in more lives than one, and
to pour out to his face some of the bitter things
he felt.
Adrian had Risked that the meeting might take
place at Claude's own house ; and when at last
the day arrived, the artist awaited his arrival in
the studio. He felt it would strengthen him in
what he had to say, if before him hung the por-
traits of the womq.n whose cause he was going
to defend. He wondered how Adrian would
feel when he looked at the contrast between the
happy thoughtless girl at her wheel, and the de.-
serted, scoffed-at woman in the market-place.
When at last Lord Nugent stood before him,
he started at the change in the once handsome,
debonair man. Thin and worn from illness,
harassed and care-worn from anxiety and the
first pangs of self-reproach, he was a totally
.changed man, and involuntarily Claude's heart
softened within him. If he had caused suffering,
he at least had been made-himself to suffer, and
-the-evident tokens of inward grief rendered ft more
As Man to Man. 239
difficult to upbraid him for his conduct than Claude
had ever fancied it could be.
Half his anger died away within him as he
gazed ; but when Adrian extended his hand in
greeting, he did not stretch out his own.
' No,' he said firmly ; ' after what has passed,
we can never clasp hands in friendship again.
I sought this interview but for one reason, merely
to ask you one question : Where is Muriel ?'
' What is that to you ?' was the fierce reply.
'If she wished you to know her whereabouts,
would she not acquaint you with her address,
without your seeking it ? What is Muriel to
you, that you should strive to interfere in her
affairs ?'
' Simply this : the woman I love, the only
woman I have ever loved. Apart from that, I
have known her from a child, and was, in fact,
made her guardian at her father's death. I did
my best to save her from the fate I saw you pre-
paring for her, but in vain. You had gained her
love ; to reason with a woman who has already
yielded her heart, is ever hopeless, useless work.'
'You strove to win her for yourself; you did
your utmost to win her love,' interrupted Adrian
scornfully. 'You depreciated me to exalt your-
self; you cannot deny it.'
'You are right,' answered Claude quietly, grow-
ing pale with suppressed feelings, ' I did try to
persuade her to become my wife, in order to
prevent her being your mistress. Had she yielded
to my prayers she would have been tenderly
cherished, lovingly guarded to her dying day.
Look what you have brought her to,' he continued
passionately. ' O God ! it fnakes my blood boil
to think of it. For your selfish pleasure you
dragged her down from het 'high .position.; for
you she gave up all,' home and friends, .reputation
240 For One Mans Pleasure.
and fame. And what return have you made her ?
Deserted her after two years' time, or perhaps,
worse still, expect her to fill second place in your
future life. It shall not be ; it shall never be, I
swear. Since you have chosen to marry, you shall
be forced to give her up, give her back to those
who still love and honour her, and who will cherish
her in the hour of her humiliation.'
' And console yourself with another's leavings !'
retorted Adrian, with a sneer. ' Well, I have
never yet molested a woman with unwished-for
attentions. What if Muriel prefer to remain under
my - protection, even though I have married ?
Who ever said she was deserted ? How (1° y°u
know I did not marry at her own wish and desire ?
I can tell you this,' speaking with intense pas-
sion and emphasis, ' you will never be more to
her in the future than you are now. Her love
for me is such that she would die sooner than
that another man should touch her hand even in
love.'
There was a ring of triumph in his voice, and
his eyes glowed with the remembrance of the love
he had inspired.
Claude could have found it in his heart to strike
him to the ground for his proud boasting, which
all unwillingly he felt was not untrue.
It was not as a woman to be wooed that he
sought for Muriel, but rather as a .dearly-loved
child who had strayed and erred, and who was
yet infinitely dear even in her downfall.
The two men stood facing one another, the heart
of each burning with rage and loye.
' Givfe me her address,' demanded Claude, in low
but cornmanding voice ; ' and go out of my sight
for ever.'
' I will never give you her address ; you, I am
sure, are the last man she would wish to see.'
As Man to Man. 241
At that bitter taunt, all the more bitter because
there was some truth in it, Claude lost his self-
control for the first time.
4 You dishonourable coward, to seduce a woman
and then leave her ; you shall give me her address,
or I will proclaim your conduct to the whole world,
and let Lady Stella learn her husband's true
character.'
4 And much you would gain by that ; only make
Muriel's name notorious and yourself pitied as a
disappointed lover.'
4 Will you give me her address ?'
4 Never.'
4 Why ?'
4 For the simple reason that I don't know it my-
self. You have spoken at some length about my
desertion of her ; let me inform you it was the
other way—she left met
41 don't believe it.'
Adrian took a letter from his pocket, and care-
fully folding it so that only one passage was read-
able, he held it before Claude's eyes.
4 Read for yourself; that is her writing, as no
doubt you can see for yourself.'
The other made no reply, but read,—4 Do not
grieve at my desertion of you ; I feel assured it is
for the future happiness of us both.'
With an air of triumph Adrian refolded the letter
and restored it to his pocket.
4 Do you still disbelieve ?' he asked sneeringly.
4 When was that letter written ? '
Adrian hesitated, and Claude continued rapidly,—
4After your marriage ; that I would safely swear.
Good God ! what is there in you that you should
have won the love of such a woman as that ?'
4 You are complimentary! I would satisfy
your curiosity if I could, but I am in ignorance
myself.'
Q
242 For One Mans Pleasure.
He took up his hat as he spoke, and turned
towards the door.
Claude followed him.
' Can you swear to me, as man to man, that
you do not know where Muriel is to be found ?'
' I can.'
Claude looked at him, satisfied himself that he
was speaking the truth, and allowed him to depart
without further questioning.
Bertha entered the studio as soon as Adrian had
departed. She was trembling with excitement, and
unable to frame in words the questions that her
eyes asked.
Claude shook his head sorrowfully and took her
wrinkled hand in his.
' I have learnt nothing from him, Bertha; he
knows as little as we.'
And briefly he repeated all that had just
passed.
' And what shall you do ?' she said, as he con-
eluded.
' Seek her until I find her,' he answered,
with a cheerfulness of tone that his heart by
no means felt. 'Never fear, Bertha; the day
will come, sure enough, when I shall bring our
darling back to know once more happiness and
peace.'
' God grant it may be so,' the old woman
murmured.
And Claude, releasing her hand, turned away
to hide his emotion.
The Weary Quest. 243
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE WEARY QUEST.
' I know not, for I cannot see,
So far from mine your pathway lies ;
In vain I strain my weary eyes,
Your life is lived away from me.
Ah ! " All things come to those who wait"—
(I say those words to make me glad)
But something answers soft and' sad,
" They come, but often come too late I " '
The following day Claude began his weary search.
Never was there a more hopeless one! Without
the faintest clue or guide as to what country
even the woman he sought was in, he set out
on his travels, with a brave heart and a firm
determination to triumph over every difficulty
and obstacle.
Bertha had wept at his departure; for she had
grown to love him dearly, and would fain have
been allowed to accompany him, but this Claude
would not allow.
4 She may return of her own free will,' he said,
4 and then there would be none to welcome her.
Besides, I can travel easier alone. You are too old
and weak to bear the life that must now be mine
until I find her.'
And he had left her and gone forth on his
hopeless quest. But to a heart full of love, a
mind all engrossed with one object, one desire,
a life only lived through another's existence, there
is no such thing as failure. The very strength
of our love renders it insensible to all hindrances
and drawbacks.
244 F°r One Man's Pleasure.
Claude had taken up the idea that Muriel
would return to the home of her childhood, and
it was in Naples that he first sought for tidings of
her.
But in vain.
He visited the manager of the opera house,
obtained introduction to all those who were
capable of benefiting one in Muriel's position,
and satisfied himself that she had not re-visited
that city.
It was a disappointment to him, and a great one,
for the hopelessness of the task he had set himself
only began fully to dawn upon him with the first
sense of failure. He had felt so sure of discovering
her in Naples.
But, nothing daunted, he passed on to other
towns, where a voice like Muriel's would be
eagerly welcomed. He never doubted but that
she would return to the stage ; for he knew Muriel
too well to think for one minute that she had
deserted Adrian for any reason but a pure, unself-
ish one.
It was in May that he set out on his travels,
and Christmas still found him wandering. All
through the hot summer, the golden autumn, and
cold winter, he persevered in his undertaking, and
never once lost heart. He had many disappoint-
ments, and visited many cities, with high hopes
that at last he had got upon her track, hopes that
were ever cruelly blighted.
The rumour that a new prima donna had ap-
peared, or was about to make her appearance in
any particular town, sent his blood tingling all
through his veins with joyous excitement. But
the town reached, and the prima donna seen, he
realised once more that he was as far from attain-
ing his object as when first he set out on his
travels.
The Weary Quest. 245
Once he posted off to St Petersburg, quite cer-
tain that at last he had found Muriel; for the
description of the new singer, the accounts of her
beauty, her wondrous voice, and a word or two
darkly hinting at some mystery or sorrow in the
young debutante's life, all made him feel perfectly
sure that this was indeed she.
But, alas ! once more he was doomed to find but
disappointment. The prima donna was beautiful,
her voice was enchanting, she had a mystery in
the shape of a tyrannical husband who was kept
in the background, but she was not Muriel. Once
or twice he was half tempted to give up, declare
himself conquered, and return home to his quiet,
studious life.
The excitement, the constant travelling, the re-
peated disappointments, were all telling upon him,
and at times he felt so physically and mentally
overcome that he-was almost beaten by overwhelm-
ing circumstances. But he was not a man to
weakly succumb without a struggle, and he never
gave in.
Apart from his intense desire to know of Muriel's
welfare, the extreme longing to have her once more
under his own care, there was the strong dislike
of .owning himself conquered, and the thought of
Adrian's triumph.
He put carefully-worded advertisements, full of
love and forgiveness, in all the English, French,
and Italian papers that he thought Muriel was
likely to see ; but none were ever answered.
Muriel, in her humble home in the hot, close
streets of Paris, never looked into a newspaper of
any sort or description, and most assuredly would
not have disclosed her whereabouts, even if her
affection for Claude had led her into answering
his messages.
Adrian had said truly that, above and before all
246 For One Man s Pleasure.
men, Claude was the one she would least wish to
see. Not, as he had basely insinuated, from want
of love for him, but rather because she loved him,
loved him well enough to shrink from reading in
his face the disappointment she had caused him.
She knew perfectly that his thoughts would be
with her so soon as he learnt of Adrian's marriage,
but she never supposed he would seek her. She
had been very ill after first she had left the home
where Adrian had placed her, but she had struggled
back into something like renewed strength, though
at times she was too weak to drag herself out to
give her singing lessons.
She had, with the utmost difficulty, and with the
assistance of the good, kind-hearted little woman
with whom she lodged, obtained a few pupils; but
these she feared she must soon give up, as she
was too delicate to stand the risk of going out in
all weathers, and at all hours. Some of her pupils
were only able to have their lessons in the evening,
and the walking to and from their houses in the
sharp night air affected Muriel's cough, and at
times deprived her of her voice.
I think, if she had no child to live and work
for, if another's life had not depended upon her
exertions for its daily food, if no baby arms had
ever been clasped round her neck, no pouting,
laughing lips been pressed to hers, she would have
sunk down, overcome by ill-health and sorrow, and
calmly passed away.
But life is hard to kill when the desire to live
is strong ! And for her babe's sake Muriel did
cling to life with a wondrous longing, and right
valiantly did she struggle, and for a time kept at
bay her enemy Death.
But she felt the struggle could not endure
much longer, and the knowledge smote her with
a passionate agony.
The Weary Quest. 247
Every day her child grew more lovable, de-
veloped some new charm, exhibited greater love
for herself; and the thought of leaving him, en-
trusting her precious treasure, her sole link with
the past, to another's keeping, made her cry and
pray for length of life.
Sometimes she reproached herself for selfishness
in thus separating her darling from his father. In
the years to come, when his erring mother should
be but a memory at best, perhaps nought but a
name, would he not blame her for thus severing
all connection between parent and child. And
when this thought struck her, she would fall on
her knees and pray that in after years, should her
son ever learn the true history of his birth, he
might judge her actions aright, and deem her still,
in spite of all, worthy of his love and respect.
' Oh, my darling, my little treasure, will they
one day teach you to scorn and loathe your
mother ?' she would whisper, as she held the
boy in her arms, and pressed his laughing face
against her own pale, thin cheeks. And the child
would laugh and caress her with his dimpled hands
as though in tender denial.
Muriel had long intended to appeal on her
little one's behalf to Claude's love and mercy.
In the event of her death, her child would be
left utterly desolate and friendless, and her great
wish was that he should never fall into his father's
hands.
She loved Adrian still, as truly and passion-
ately as of yore, but she was no longer blind to
his true character, and she shrank from her boy
being brought up in his father's footsteps, and
becoming, in his turn, an idle, selfish profli-
gate.
She hoped earnestly that a strong love for art
might be born in him, and even now she strove
248 For One Mans Pleasure.
to educate his liking for music. She would play
the piano with him on her lap for hours together,
watching earnestly the baby face the while, and
observing with delight his pleasure at the sounds.
He was more than a year old now, and a fine,
handsome boy, strong as a young lion, and as
mischievous as a kitten. He and music were
Muriel's two pleasures, the two things that in the
first burst of her sorrow had saved her from mad-
ness. In wild snatches of melody, she had played
out from beneath her fingers all bitterness from
her grief, in the grand strain of others' outpour-
ings, she had found consolation and soothing com-
fort.
She had yielded up the first pureness of her
maiden's heart, she had dedicated the first sweet
years of womanhood, she had expended all the
rich powers of her genius on music; and in the
after years of sorrow and humility music had
not deserted her, but had alone had power to
bring calmness and peace to her soul.
How can we poor suffering, sinning mortals
ever thank God enough for this blessed gift of
His to man—this rich entrancing harmony of
sound!
CHAPTER XXX.
found!
' If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee ?
With silence and tears.'—Byron.
SPRING had come once more, and decked the
earth in her brightest, gayest dress. But the
Found !
249
song of birds, the perfume of flowers, the warm
sunlight, awoke no -answering throb of happiness
and renewal of life in Muriel's breast.
Nature has oft-times been called the great con-
soler ; but is it a true epithet to apply to her ?
Is she not rather a large mirror, which reflects
the faces that gaze at her? Does the rippling
brook babble the same tale to any two persons,
or do the birds warble the same song to all ?
Is not even the fragrance of the flowers fraught
with different memories, and therefore transformed
into a different perfume for each ?
So great, so innate is our egotism, that we carry
our individual sorrows and joys even into the great
Temple of Nature herself.
Perhaps of all. seasons spring is the most trying
to both mind and body. She is so beautiful, so
fragile in her loveliness, that like all pure beauty,
whether of form or sound, she is fraught with
pain.
One must be as innocent, as guileless as a little
child, to pass through the spring with feelings of
joy only. The past must be without reproach or
regret, the present happy, and the future unclouded
by gloomy fears or intense desires.
Those who have known sorrow in the past, who
are bowed down with care or vain regret over past
bliss in the present, and to whom the future is a
blank, what have they in common with bright
sunshine, song of birds, and the sweet scent of
flowers ? The eyes that are red and weary with
weeping are dazzled rather than gladdened by
the sun's bright rays, and the sight of renewed
beautified life all around is painful in the extreme
to the heart almost crushed with disappointment
and unrealised longings.
It is in spring, bright joyous spring, that the
old sorrow wakes up ; the lost love is most bitterly
250 For One Mans Pleasure.
mourned, and the weary cry for peace and rest is
uttered with most passionate longing.
Claude was in Vienna, still pursuing his in-
quiries, when the brightness and beauty all around
told him that winter had departed, and yielded
the sceptre to spring. It was now nearly a year
since he had left England, full of hope, to start
upon his travels. Sadly he asked himself this
question, What had he gained or achieved by
this year of roaming? Was he one bit >nearer
the object of his desire ? Sorrowfully was he
forced to answer, No! Could he, ought he, to
continue this hopeless search ? Was he not rather
kept firm to his determination by the dread of
Adrian's triumph did he return, abandoning the
search and acknowledging himself beaten ? While
he thus lingered, wavering in his decision, a sum-
mons from a dying fellow-artist called him to
Paris. It was a friend of his boyhood ; one who
had battled through life's early warfare by his
side, and to whom he had poured out many a
happy dream, confessed many a lofty aspiration,
with whom he had spent many a bright day of
pleasure in times gone by, when life to both
seemed fair and full of promise. Though of late
years they had drifted somewhat apart, they still
retained a keen interest in one another's lives, and
Claude did not delay one unnecessary hour in
answering the summons.
It was evening when he reached Paris, and as
he drove along the crowded streets, bright with
the last rays of sunlight, on his way to his friend,
after having left his portmanteau at a hotel, a con-
viction—one of those strange, incomprehensible
convictions that do steal over some of us at
critical periods in our lives—stole over him, and
seemed to whisper to his soul that his wanderings
were o'er, and the woman he loved and had so
Found !
251
unweariedly sought, close at hand. A great peace
fell upon him; a steady belief sprang up in his
heart that his troubles were about to cease.
Gladly he yielded himself to the feeling. Eagerly
he scanned the passing crowds, in the hope of
seeing the one dear face that could alone bring
him rest; but in vain.
But that Muriel was in Paris he felt convinced ;
and he inwardly registered a vow not to leave
that city until he had met her. But a week
passed, and though he spent the hours not de-
voted to his sick friend in unceasing search and
constant inquiry, he learnt nothing to authenticate
his conviction. But he did not despair; still that
something whispered to him of patience, and
seemed to promise that yet all things should
come to pass as he wished.
One evening, when he was strolling about the
quieter part of the town, wrapt up in his jqwn
thoughts and regardless of the beauty of the gold
and crimson sky, his eye fell upon the form of a
woman who was walking very very, slowly before
him. Her slender, graceful figure clearly be-
tokened youth, though the extreme feebleness of
her gait might have led one to suppose her far
advanced in years. Unconsciously his interest was
excited,' and he followed in her footsteps, medi-
tating the while on what manner of woman this
was, who, still so young, was clearly grievously
weak. Her black dress of cheap material was
simply and neatly made: her whole air was that
of a lady, though her wandering thus alone in
that locality proclaimed that her means were
small. His pity was aroused; all weak and
suffering things appealed strongly to this artist's
kind heart, and his thoughts flew to Muriel.
Perhaps she too was thus solitarily and in
poverty threading her way through similar streets.
252 For One Man s Pleasure.
The woman stopped before the entrance of a
small house, and, taking out a key from her
pocket, proceeded to open the door.
Claude paused to watch her movements. Had
she passed in, her face would have remained un-
seen to him, but she paused a moment on the
threshold as though to recover breath, or perhaps
to take one last look at the glorious sky, drink
in one last breath of cool air. Anyhow, be her
reason what it may, she paused, and turned her
face upwards with a long-drawn sigh.
The next instant she would have entered, but
that Claude, recognising her, sprang forward and
seized the hand that was hanging languidly down
at her side.
' Muriel!'
At his sudden touch, at the sound of her long
unheard name, the woman turned with a great
start, and Claude began to fear she would faint.
But she did not; only stood quite still, her hand
still clasped in his, her face white with a death-
like whiteness, her beautiful eyes dilated with sur-
prise, fixed upon his own. ' Muriel !' he repeated,
very quietly, for he feared to startle her, she looked
so strange standing there speechless in the dusky
light.
' I have found you at last, my poor darling.
I have searched for you so long, and have met
with so many disappointments, that I began to
fear I never should find you. Why did you hide
yourself thus, child ? Did you not know that
under my roof there would ever await you a
hearty welcome and a safe shelter. If you wished
to be lost to all the world, why did not you con-
fide in me ? Your secret would have been so safe.'
Still she did not speak, only her breathing
came more gently, and her cheeks lost their
strange pallor.
Found !
253
'I have so mourned for you,' he continued, in
the soothing tones in which he would have ad-
dressed a timid, frightened child. 'And old Bertha
too. Poor, faithful old soul! She has so longed
to see you again.'
At the old familiar name, Muriel seemed to re-
gain self-control.
' Come in,' she said faintly ; and still holding his
hand drew him after her into her humble room.
She led him into her tiny sitting-room, which was
on the ground-floor.
A pretty-looking Frenchwoman was standing at
the window, with a handsome merry baby-boy
in her arms. She turned round as the door opened,
and the child, recognising the in-comers, sprang
almost out of the woman's grasp with a cry of
delight.
Muriel took him into her own arms, and, sinking
down into the nearest chair, signed to the woman
to leave the room.
Claude still stood by her side, waiting for her to
speak. He was gazing down upon her as she sat,
her head bent down until it rested on her boy's
golden curls, all his love and intense pity plainly
visible in his eyes. He could not help noticing
how the imperious manner of old seemed to come
back with all its pretty charm of grace, now that
she held her child in her arms. The sight of that
little one had given him a great shock ; he had
never once in all his imaginings pictured Muriel
as a mother. Here was a living link with the
hateful past, the past which he so longed to bury,
that never while Muriel lived could be severed.
'Why did you seek me, Claude?' she said at
last; and he noticed how weak and trembling were
her tones. ' I have prayed so often that I might
never see you again. I can but be a hateful sight
to you ; nothing but a bitter memory. I fancied
254 For One Mans Pleasure.
that were I dead you might perhaps not refuse to
guard over my child, if I could manage to leave a
little money for him ; but living I hoped never
more to trouble your existence.'
Her words, gently as they were uttered, smote
him with a sharp pain.
4 Child, child !' he answered earnestly, 4 do not
speak so. I cannot bear to listen to such words
from your lips. Can you not understand, do you
not believe in, a love too great and true and deep
for anything in the wide world to shake or change ?
Do you think that I could dwell on peacefully in
my home, knowing that you were wretched and
perhaps in want? I sought you because I loved
you, because you are dearer to me now than even
of yore. Muriel, do not misunderstand me,' he
continued rapidly, in answer to something he saw
in her face, 41 did not come here to pour out un-
wished-for love-words. I sought you for but one
reason—to offer you a shelter and a home', nothing
more than that. This life is killing you ; you are
not strong enough physically to struggle with the
world. Come back to me and Bertha, and enjoy
beneath my roof the peace and rest of which you
stand in so great need.'
The tears were rolling quietly down her thin
cheeks as she raised her large pathetic eyes sadly
to his kind face, and shook her head.
4 Dear, kind, generous, forgiving friend,' she said
earnestly, 41 thank you from my very soul for
your goodness, but it cannot be. Your home must
not be burdened with my tainted presence, neither
must your life be saddened by the sight of me and
my child. Since you have sought so earnestly
and untiringly for me, I promise you that never
again will I leave you in ignorance of my address ;
and, if I may, I will beg you keep your offered
generosity until I have passed away and left my
Found !
255
recious little one alone in the world. If you will
efriend him in his hour of need, I shall not know
how sufficiently to bless and thank you. Ah !
Claude, you were always infinitely too good to me.
Do you remember how—'
4 Hush, child! do not speak of the past, I im-
plore you. You must listen to reason. Recol-
lect, your father left you under my care. Now that
that cur has deserted you—'
4 Be silent! Do not take his name between your
lips,' interrupted Muriel in her turn. Her eyes
flashed with sudden anger, and her whole form ex-
panded with wounded pride. 4 Your thoughts, of
course, I am powerless to control \ but in my
presence remember ever he of whom you speak is
the man I love, and if you must mention him, do
so with proper respect,'
4 Muriel, Muriel!' said Claude, half bitterly,
(what strange infatuation he possesses for you.
Why can you not see him in his true character,
an idle, selfish man of pleasure, recognising no
law save the desire of his senses, and sacrificing
all to his cravings. Remember his conduct towards
yourself. Could any man of honour have thus
left you and your child ?'
4 He never left me ; who says so tells a wicked
lie. I left him. Whatever of cruelty there be in
such conduct is mine.'
4 Ah! Muriel, you know as well as I, that, had
he remained true to you, you would never have
left him.'
At his words Muriel's face contracted with inward
agony; he was opening afresh the old wound,
irritating the old sore.
41 forbid you ever to mention his name to me !'
she cried. 4 What right have yon to judge between
him and me ? Why do you come awakening old
pain by your questions ? You do not understand
256 For One Mans Pleasure.
—you never could, if you lived to be a hundred.
You have said I cannot comprehend a love great
enough to forgive all, and I tell you, in reply,
that my love is greater, goes still further, for it
sees no need for forgiveness. You persist in re-
garding me as a wretched, cruelly-used woman. I
tell you that I am the happiest and proudest
woman in the world. I have experienced happi-
ness in the past so intense, that its memory is
sufficient to brighten any length of future ; and I
am proud beyond all words of having possessed
the love of the only man I ever loved. You would
say that he loves me no longer, since he has made
another woman his wife ; but to that I reply he
had good reasons for his marriage, and that I am
satisfied with the love he still bears me. If I am
content, who has right to complain ? Who dare
say he has treated me ill ? To me his conduct
has ever been noble and good in the extreme. I
might have been his wife had I chosen, but I did
not choose. You think, perhaps, all the worse
of me for that, but I do not care; I loved him
too well to sacrifice his whole career for my
sake, and I am glad he has won a wife worthy of
him.'
She ceased, ahd leaned back in her chair, ex-
hausted by her own vehemence. Anything like
reproach to the man she still idolised excited her
beyond all control, and she would have boldly
defended him before the whole world. All the
more because in her inmost soul she detected the
flaws in her idol, did she praise and uphold him
to others. The world should only smell the
delicious fragrance of the rose, none should be
allowed to discover the speck at the heart's core.
Instinctively she felt that to Claude, before every-
one, Adrian's conduct appeared dishonourable and
despicable in the extreme; and for that very
Found !
257
reason to him, beyond all others, was she most
fervent in her defence.
While she had been speaking her cheeks had
flushed and her eyes glowed with her earnestness;
but as she ceased and leant back, she became
deathly pale, and her breath came in short gasps.
Claude was alarmed, but remained silently
standing by her side, waiting for her to recover
her composure. Presently she stretched out her
hand to him with one of her old sweet smiles.
' Forgive me ! ' she said softly. ' Have a little
patience with me, and do not let us speak of the
past; we can never think alike on some things,
and I cannot bear to quarrel with my only friend.
It would have been better for you, I cannot help
thinking, if you could have let me altogether drift
out of your life; but since you have sought me, I
am grateful for the love that prompted you to seek
me. Ah ! tell me something about my dear Bertha.
Is she well and strong? You have been good to
her, I know. I thank you with my whole soul for
your kindness to that old, faithful woman. Oh!
what would I not give to see you quite happy in
your life. Claude, can it never be—am I doomed
to bear for the rest of my days the burden of your
spoilt life ? I have even interfered with your Art.
You have wasted the time that should have been
spent in increasing your fame in searching for
me.'
He looked down on her with a fond smile, and
retained her wasted hand in his.
' Muriel, do you really wish for my happiness ?
Do you honestly long to throw the burden you
speak of from off your shoulders ? If so, do what
I ask. Come back with me, let my home be yours,
give me the pleasure and happiness of sheltering
you and your child beneath my roof. Stop! let me
explain clearly that the sole reward I wish for in
R
258 For One Mans Pleasure.
return is your friendship. With you for my friend,
living in your presence, I know- I can achieve a
greatness undreamt of by me before.'
' That cannot be, dear Claude. Do not pain me
by asking it again.'
He did not press the matter, only pressed her
hand tenderly in both of his.
'We will not talk about it any more now,' he
said kindly. ' I shall be in Paris for some little
while yet. Think the matter over quietly, and
remember your child as well as yourself whilst
deciding. Good-bye! you are fatigued by the
excitement of my sudden appearance, and need
rest.'
He stooped down over the boy on her lap and
kissed the soft baby-face turned up in wonder at
the stranger, then went without further speech ;
and Muriel knew by that caress that he had taken
her little one into the safe shelter of his loyal
heart, and that from henceforth her child was,
equally with herself, bound up in the artist's life.
CHAPTER XXXI.
PERSUADED.
' O my lost Past !
That I, all mournfully
Sit, with mine aching eyes
Regarding wistfully.
O Past ! so sweet, so bitter, and so dread !
Ah ! would to God that thou and I were dead.'
Meta Orred.
The following day when Claude, released for
awhile from the arduous duties of nursing, once
Perstiaded.
259
more sought Muriel's abode, he was denied admit-
tance, and learnt that Muriel had been seriously ill
the previous night. The kind-hearted little French-
woman, holding in her arms Muriel's boy, told with
tears in her eyes how she had been summoned
during the night by Madame, and had only
reached her just in time to support her in a dead
faint, which had lasted some hours. Her husband
had called in a doctor to see Madame in the early
morning, and he had given them strict injunctions
to keep her quiet, and had himself kindly promised
to acquaint her few remaining pupils with her
illness.
Claude listened sadly, with a weary aching in
his heart. One feels so maddeningly helpless in
cases of sickness with those we love.
' But she is better to-day ?' he demanded
anxiously. 'You will tell her I came and was
grieved at her illness; she must send for me as
soon as she is well enough to see me. And you—
you will make her as comfortable as you can, and
I will repay all additional expense.'
He was bending down over the child while he
spoke, and trying by signs to coax him into his
own arms. But the little fellow clung tightly
round the woman's neck, whilst with large
pathetic eyes, exactly like his mother's, he
regarded the stranger with serious curiosity.
Claude turned away slightly disappointed; as
a rule, all children learnt quickly to love him, and
he felt pained that Muriel's child should refuse
to come to him. ' By-and-by he will learn to
love me,' he said, as he walked away through
the noisy, crowded, sun-lit streets. And the long-
ing to at once remove Muriel to his English home
was strong within his breast. There was a great
unacknowledged dread in his heart, lest Death
should prove too strong an adversary for him,
260 For One Man's Pleasure.
and upset all his dreams for the future, by carry-
ing the woman he loved once and for ever beyond
his reach.
That evening a note was brought him from
Muriel ; it ran thus :—
' I was grieved, dear friend, not to see you to-
day. To-morrow I trust to be strong enough to
rise from my bed. Will you come and talk to me
when your sick friend can spare you for a little ?
—Yours, Muriel.'
Once more he felt cheered ; to-morrow he would
again urge his plan, nor leave her until she had
consented to his wishes. Surely this illness would
aid his persuasions, and force her to see the truth
of his argument that she was unable to support
herself? He would not lose heart, but listen to
the voice within that whispered that yet all would
be well, and Muriel and her little one safe beneath
the shelter of his roof.
He went to her the following day, laden with
flowers and fruit, and toys for the child.
Muriel received him in her little sitting-room.
She was leaning back against some pillows in
her hard arm-chair, the only one the room con-
tained, looking wofully white and pulled down
from her one day's illness. At her feet, on the
carpet, her boy crawled, dragging himself now
and again into a standing position by holding,
with a cry of delight at his own cleverness, to her
knees. She did not attempt to rise as Claude
entered, only held out her hand with a bright
smile.
He came and stood beside her silently, struck
dumb by her looks.
' How kind and generous of you !' she exclaimed
as she perceived the things he had brought.
Persuaded.
261
' How beautiful those flowers are ! I have missed
their presence as much as anything in my poverty.
Ah! yes, that is right, give them to me here into
my own hands; I love even to touch them.5
He placed them in her lap, and smiled sadly as
he watched her almost childish rapture over each.
He was at a loss to account for the way in which
she allowed some red clove carnations to drop
from between her slender fingers with almost a
shrinking of horror or dislike, and then the next
minute re-handled them tenderly with a strange
smile on,her pale face, and finally placed them in
the bosom of her dress.
' I am so fond of them,' she said, turning her
face up to him with the old trick he knew so well
of old.
But he let her little remark pass unanswered,
for different and weightier matters occupied his
brain.
' Muriel,5 he said imploringly, ' you will yield
now, will you not, dear, to my wishes? See how
weak you are, you can no longer give your lessons.
Do not be so proud, child ; think of your boy, and
give him the comfortable, healthy home you are
so loth to accept for yourself. This street is
hot and close, no wonder you feel faint; but in
my home, sitting beneath the shady trees in my
quiet little garden, you would feel tenfold stronger
than you do now. Let me take you away from
here, at once—oh ! do not refuse me the one thing
that can atone for the pain that you say grieves
you to think you have caused me.5
He ceased, and Muriel, stretching out her
hand, laid it on his. There were tears in her
eyes as she turned them wistfully towards him,
but outwardly she was the more composed of the
two.
' Help me,5 she said entreatingly ; ' I want, God
262 For One Man s Pleasure.
knows I want to do all things for the best. If I
yielded to your wishes and my own desires—for I
do not attempt to conceal from you that the
picture you draw tempts me greatly—if it be self-
ish to wish to burden your life so, I am sorry ;
but it will not be for long, and I would fain, if
possible, teach my boy myself to love you and
appreciate your noble character. But I hesitate
because of him. If he heard, what would he
think ? Would it not hurt him that you, of all
men, should support and succour his child—the
child that I, whether rightly or wrongly I know
not, have kept from him. Help me to judge
aright.'
Claude moved restlessly in his chair.
' Him ! it is always of him you think. Must he
ever be thus first, Muriel ? Can you never forget,
and carve out a new life for yourself, a life of
happiness and peace ? '
'A new life? A life of happiness and peace
apart from him ?' she answered, while a strange,
radiant smile lit up her thin face. ' No, Claude!
that could never be. I thank God that my days
cannot be many, so that the past may never run
the risk of becoming less vivid "and dear to me
than at present. We all have but one life, and I
lived mine so swiftly ; still its memory is dearer
than any happiness that could now be offered me.
Can you not understand how it is so ? Will you
have patience with me if, in spite of all your
goodness, I cannot wish to live ? '
Almost he could find it in his heart to envy
her! He, poor man, had ho past even on the
memory of which to live. Verily it is better, in-
finitely better, to have once known the joys of
being loved, than never to have been loved at all.
Another man in self-pity might have given his
thoughts speech and solicited her sympathy, but
Persuaded.
2 63
not Claude; not by one iota would he willingly
add to her pain and sorrow.
' Put yourself in his place,' she continued, ' and
view things as he will be likely to view them.
Would you—I know you will speak honestly—
would you like me to do this thing you ask ? '
' I think I should ; honestly, I think I should,
Muriel. If I could bring myself to voluntarily
resign you and marry another, I do not think I
should object to know that a man who was your
guardian, and who knew you from your birth
upwards, was keeping you and your child in com-
fort, and sparing you all trouble and anxiety.'
Muriel was silent, and he continued rapidly,—
'The chances are he will never know you are
with me. You wished yourself that I should be-
come guardian to your boy; why not, as you
said just now, teach him yourself to know and
like me ?'
Still Muriel hesitated. It was so awful to be
beholden for so much to the very man whose
life she had wrecked, even though she had not
wrecked it willingly and intentionally. Her eyes
fell on her boy, who, happy with his new toys,
played at her feet. What at her death was to
become of him ! Save for Claude, she was utterly
friendless. If, then, he was going to take upon
himself the burden of her child, ought she not
during her life-time make him such return as lay
in her power and was compatible with her love
for Adrian? If in truth her friendship and her
presence in his home at all atoned, to Claude
for what was past, ought she not to yield to his
wishes ?
Claude, watching her, read her thoughts in her
mobile face.
' If indeed you have any pity, for my life,' he
said earnestly, 'you will consent to what I wish.
264 For One Man's Pleasure.
Once more, for your child's sake and your own,
I ask you, will you come ?'
Muriel met his gaze steadily, though her lips
trembled as she answered slowly, 'Yes! since it
is for your happiness, I will come!'
Then a great silence fell between them. Claude
was speechless with rapturous joy, she silent with
swift remorse. Already she regretted having con-
sented. To go back with him to his home seemed
to her to be raising a high barrier between her-
self and that past to which she still so passion-
ately clung. Had she not rashly promised more
than lay in her to perform ?
' Claude,' she said, speaking with something of
her old impulsiveness, ' you are quite sure to
have us with you is for your happiness? The
sight of me and my boy will not add to your
trouble ?'
'Child, child, have I not told you again and
again it is the one thing that can give me happi-
ness ! Do not draw back from your promise now
that you have given it.'
' I will not,' she answered, with a half sigh. ' I
will come with you since you wish it so earnestly.
Only, if I find that our presence is marring your
life, you will let me depart again ?'
' Certainly,' was his joyous answer. ' To-morrow,
nay! to-night, I will seek your doctor and speak
with him about the moving. You will never feel
better until you are out of this hot city.'
Muriel smiled, but inwardly she knew that no
place could now make her strong, and she was
glad. With decrease of physical strength she
shrank from a long future.
Two days later she bade farewell to the kind
little Frenchwoman, who had shown so much
affection for herself and child.
Claude was anxious to engage a nurse, but
Persuaded. 265
Muriel would not allow him. ' I can do every-
thing for him, and Bertha can help me. I could
not bear to part with him more than necessary.'
' But he used to have a nurse,' Claude urged,
in reply.
4 Yes, long ago. But that was different. Now
he is my all in all, and I have so little longer to
be with him, I could not bear to spare one atom
of his heart to a stranger.'
And so the child travelled for the first time to
the land of his father, in his mother's arms, and
leant against his mother's aching breast.
Claude tried often to coax him away, but the
boy would not go.
4 Never mind,' Muriel said once, when she saw
that Claude was vexed that the child did not
more readily take to him, ' by-and-by he will
love you dearly. Think how many years he will
have to grow fond of you, and do not begrudge
me his entire love now.'
Except for her baby, I think at the last moment
Muriel would have broken her promise, so great
was her shrinking from returning to England.
How well she remembered her departure from it.
But in it she would be nearer the man she loved,
and, strange as. it may appear, that thought com-
forted her. In love so many things are strange
and utterly beyond all explanation.
Muriel looked like the ghost of her old self,
Claude thought, as he glanced furtively at her as
she drove by his side in the cab that was con-
veying them from the station to St John's Wood.
Her boy was upon her lap, and over his curly
head her sad eyes, more dreamy in expression
than even of yore, were gazing on the passing
crowds.
The cab stopped at the well-remembered door
of the artist's house.
266 For One Mans Pleasure.
How near was that other little house, in which
so much had happened! With a sort of shiver
she allowed Claude to help her to alight, and
passed on, her child in her arms.
At the threshold stood old Bertha, her eyes
already dim with tears. At the sight of her
familiar face and kind loving eyes old memories
of childhood awoke, and with a bitter cry Muriel
stepped towards her and laid her little one in the
faithful arms that had in her own infancy so often
fondled her.
Bertha encircled both mother and child in her
embrace, and drew them into an adjoining room
out of the sight and sound of other servants.
But not for long did Muriel lose her self-con-
trol, and the sight of her boy's frightened face
subdued her emotion, and soon she was able to
talk quietly to Bertha.
Claude, entering the room, could scarce believe
his eyes. Muriel and her child in his house, and
Bertha, with loving solicitude, hovering over both!
He came up, and taking her two hands, bade her
welcome.
' You are tired from your journey, and need rest,'
he said, seeing how unstrung she still appeared.
' Bertha will nurse you, and you must feel perfectly
free to act as you please. It will be enough for
me to know that you are near.'
He raised her hands, and kissed them gently;
after which Bertha led her away passive as a
little child.
So Near and yet so Far.
267
CHAPTER XXXII.
SO NEAR AND YET SO FAR.
' Oh, love ! oh, life! will it be always so,
Through my whole life, and wheresoe'er I go?
Oh ! howso fair the sights that I may see,
What will they profit me ? Thou art not here !
And ever, ever ringing in mine ear
I seem to hear, in accents sad and low,
The words, " I live my life away from thee."'
Violet Fane.
FOR several days Claude saw but little of Muriel.
She was greatly fatigued by the journey, and
shrank from the sight of all old familiar things,
thus making her health her excuse for remaining
in the solitude of her own bedroom, the room
that had for so many years been Claude's, but
which, with all its pretty luxuries, he now allotted
to her.
Muriel, however, knew nothing of his sacrifice,
for he had bidden Bertha keep silent on the sub-
ject, and thus her enjoyment of his generosity was
not marred by the knowledge that she was depriv-
ing him of a favourite haunt.
Never was man more generous, more tender
than he ! It was his true wish, his earnest desire,
that Muriel should know such happiness as was
possible under the circumstances; and if her feel-
ings prompted her to do things that personally
pained him, he was too unselfish to allow her to
become cognisant of the fact. He might have
preferred, perhaps, that she should sooner have
accustomed herself to the sight of well-remembered
rooms, and repaid his kindness by greater efforts
for cheerfulness ; but not for worlds would he own
this even to himself, and he spoke the truth when
268 For One Maris Pleasure.
he declared that the mere knowledge of her
presence in his home made him a happier man.
He felt the glad change the moment he crossed
the threshold, and the distant sound of a child's
merry crow was sufficient to illumine his grave face
with a brilliant smile, and he would stand listening
until the sounds ceased, or the little one was
brought to him for his daily play. It did not take
long to make them great friends ; and Claude's
heart would thrill with a rapture he had thought
never to know again, when the boy would bound
out of Bertha's arms into his own with a shout of
delight.
It was a new life for this world-wearied, sorrow-
weighted man, to watch this young existence
unfolding before his eyes, and working its way
into the innermost recesses of his heart.
' Ah! how patient he is, how good,' Muriel
would say sometimes to Bertha ; and her heart
would smite her that she was selfish thus to deny
him the one thing he craved most, she knew—her
own presence. And so one day, when something
had arisen that awoke in her fresh admiration of
his noble character, she determined to indulge
her feelings no longer, and, taking her boy in her
arms, she descended the stairs. At every step she
took old memories arose and crowded upon her;
but, nothing daunted, she wandered on, visiting
each room in turn ; and ever at her side there
seemed to glide the ghost of her old self.
Claude was in his studio, she knew, and she
passed through the conservatory on her way to
joining him there. As she parted the heavy
velvet curtains that divided the two, Claude
looked up from his work, scarcely crediting his
eyesight.
In the opening stood Muriel, her boy in her
arms. Oh ! what a contrast to the young girl
So Near and yet so Far. 269
who used, in days of yore, to part those curtains
with a merry smile and joyous word of greeting.
This pale, wasted woman, with her large, pathetic
eyes, seemed a being from a different world. She
stood still one minute, looking in ; the next,
Claude had gone forward to meet her.
i Shall we disturb you, Claude ?' she asked,
in her low, soft tones. ' We have been making
a tour of the house, and left this room to the
last.'
41 have finished work for to-day ; besides, you
could never disturb. Ha ! youngster, what do you
think of so many pictures ? '
And he took the boy from Muriel, and began
tossing him about in play.
' How well you understand children,' said Muriel,
looking smilingly on from the seat in which Claude
had placed her. ' He is growing already to love
you dearly.'
Above her hung the two portraits of herself.
Claude could not bear to look up at them, she had
become so cruelly like the one.
' There is something different in this room, but
I cannot yet tell where the change lies,' she
remarked presently. She had been gazing about
her with a sad smile of recognition. ' Ah ! I see
now ; it is the piano. Have you taken up music,
Claude, lately ?'
She had risen as she spoke, and approached the
instrument. Something in its aspect struck her
as being familiar, and before he could reply, she
exclaimed, in an agitated tone,—
' Oh, Claude !' and turned towards him.
'Yes, dear,' he answered gently, as he took
her hand and returned her earnest gaze; ' you
are right, it is your old piano. I could not bear
that it should pass into others' hands, and so I
brought it here. It was my pet dream that some
2jo For One Mans Pleasure.
day ere I died I should once more see you seated
at it.'
He drew her towards it as he spoke, but she
shrank back with a frightened gesture.
' Not now, Claude—not to-day,' she said hur-
riedly, with tears in her eyes. 4 Oh! dear, kind
friend, how can I thank you for thus treasuring
my precious old piano ? Some day you shall
have your wish. I will play to you upon it, but
I do not dare touch its notes just yet. They
would awaken too many bitter, painful memories
in my breast.'
She bent down and laid her trembling lips to
the keys. What a flood of recollection came rush-
ing upon her at the sight of those bits of ivory!
Could this heart-broken, despairing woman be
indeed the same as the innocent girl who had
poured out her fanciful dreams and aspirations
on those notes in melody? From that day she
spent her time chiefly in the drawing-room, striv-
ing honestly to once more take an interest in sur-
rounding things, and rendering that apartment no
longer merely a pretty room, but a comfortable,
snug abode.
There Claude would come to her, ask her
advice, appeal to her taste on some subject
connected with his picture, or enjoy a few
minutes' rest and purposeless talk, and a romp
with the little one. Freed from anxiety that
had well - nigh driven him mad, Claude had
once more returned with enthusiasm to his Art
and was absorbed in the creation of another
picture.
' See how much good already you have done me,'
he said sometimes to Muriel. ' Once I feared I
never could originate again, but you have brought
me back my power increased in strength.'
And she would smile her sweet, sad smile in
So Near and yet so Far. 271
answer, and exert herself to discuss the subject
with him. Any stranger looking in would have
thought how peaceful and full of beauty was their
life; only they themselves could tell how bitter
and turbulent were the waters that flowed be-
neath the surface. To Muriel this life of quiet
rest and dull routine was almost maddening;
and in the dead of night she would pace her
chamber, and wring her hands, and cry out in
great agony,—
' How much longer, O God, must I endure
this torment? Shall I never, never be able to
forget ?'
Little wonder that, after such nights, her face
was worn and pale, and her eyes sunken. It was
not that she was ungrateful to Claude for his
kindness. She appreciated to the full his noble
generosity; only that the contrast between the
past and the present was too great. If only she
could have ceased to remember so vividly, left
off longing for what could never again be hers,
life would not have seemed so unbearable to
this suffering woman. But in a great love like
Muriel's there is, there can be, no forgetfulness ;
the past is ever present, more real, in truth, than
existing facts. In Muriel's life Adrian played a
greater part than Claude, who lived beneath the
same roof, fed at the same table. There are
many, many lives being lived side by side, by
those whose bodies are far separated. Love can
stretch across any distance, and those whose
thoughts, desires, hopes and longings are the
same, walk through life hand-in-hand, and fight
its battles side-by-side, even though the hands
and lips of each cannot touch in human contact.
There is a union of soul that no division of body
can harm or disunite. Thank God that it is so!
Thank God that those distant are yet near, nearer
2J2 For One Mans Pleasure.
than those whose hands we clasp and whose voices
we hear, and in whose presence our outward life is
lived. It is the only blessing left for many an ach-
ing heart, the only consolation left to many a weary
soul.
But poor Muriel did not enjoy this blessing to
its fullest extent, since she was in ignorance as to
Adrian's present feelings towards her. Sometimes
it seemed impossible to pass away for ever with-
out once more looking upon his face, once more
hearing his beloved voice, once more feeling the
caressing clasp of his hand. She had not thought
in Paris that her hold upon life was so strong; it
was weary work dying by inches.
She was thinking thus one morning as she sat
at work in the drawing-room. Claude was in his
studio, and a lady with him, a lady of rank and
fashion, one of the beauties of the time, whose
portrait he was painting. Muriel could hear the
murmur of their voices as they came in subdued
tones through the velvet curtains. She had laid
aside her work in the intensity of her feelings,
and now she glanced round the apartment in
search of fresh employment and fresh thoughts.
Her eye fell on the vases filled with fast-dying
flowers placed in various parts of the room. She
would replenish them with fresh ones from the
conservatory. It was a task after her own heart,
and congenial to her present feelings. The cur-
tains being drawn before the studio entrance, left
her free to wander at will safe from observation.
She advanced boldly towards them, intent upon
gathering her flowers, when the utterance of a
name from the other side of the curtains held
her spell-bound, and the hand uplifted to gather
dropped heavily to her side.
'You know the Nugents, don't you, Mr Hamilton ?
Yes! I thought so. I always say Lady Nugent
So Near and yet so Far. 2 73
is the loveliest and most fascinating woman of the
time. Quite thrown away on that profligate hus-
band of hers. However, they say she is quite
satisfied, so I suppose it is all right. I am going
to the opera with them to-night.'
What answer Claude made to this speech, or
whether he answered at all, Muriel never knew ;
her whole head seemed to whirl. She staggered
back to her chair, and sat lost in thought. Was
this how the world thought and talked about
the man she still so madly idolised ? Was he
happy in the life he had chosen? Was he still
content with the choice he had made? How
she longed to know. If only she could see him,
she herself unseen, how quickly she would be
able to read in his face how things fared with
him.
Going to the opera! That simple phrase
seemed to open her eyes to the true state of
things between them. There was he, leading his
usual life; he and his wife were joining in all
the gaieties and dissipations of the time, there was
no outward sign of his inward feelings. While
she! What was she doing, poor creature ? Eat-
ing out her very heart in useless longing, spend-
ing her days and nights in one bitter regret. The
sin had been mutual, but the punishment fell but
upon one. In this world it is the woman who
suffers, the man who goes scot-free. Would she
have had it otherwise? Did she wish him to
share the burden that was crushing her? No!
but it was hard. There is much in life that is
hard, much that we can never understand, but
we would not have it otherwise even if we
could.
S
274
For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER XXXIII.
A CHOICE OF GRIEFS.
' I have brought my mind of late to think of this
That since your life is spoilt (not willingly,
My God, not willingly by me), 'twere well
To give you choice of griefs.
Then—do not answer with too sudden words ;
It matters much to you, not much, not much
To me,—then I will die your wife ;
I will marry you.'—Owen Meredith.
That same evening Muriel had a recurrence of
the fainting fit that had so weakened her previous
to her departure from Paris. The morrow found
her wasted and more ghost-like than ever, and
Claude, in alarm, summoned to her side one of
the ablest and most famous men of the day.
Muriel was lying pale and exhausted upon a
sofa in the drawing-room when the physician
arrived. It was somewhat late in the afternoon,
and, as he felt her pulse and put a few simple
questions to her, he pushed aside the curtains
that shaded the window, and allowed the last
beams of daylight to fall full upon her wan
features. He said but little, but she read his
true opinion in his grave face ; and as he left the
room for a few minutes' private conversation with
Claude, she sank back upon her cushions with
a sigh of relief. Not much longer, she felt cer-
tain, had she to carry the burden of life.
When Claude returned to her side, looking grave
and sad in spite of every effort to appear other-
wise, she took his hand in her wasted one, and
A Choice of Griefs. 275
looked up into his troubled eyes with a searching
glance of inquiry.
' Dear, do not grieve,' she said, very softly ; ' if
you only knew how glad I am to go, how earnestly
I long for the hour of release, you would be pleased
for my sake that my days are not many.'
' Hush, child ! do not speak so,' he answered
brokenly. 4 God grant you have much happiness
yet before you die.'
' Ah, dear Claude, how could that be possible ? '
she said, with a little sigh. ' Happiness ? happiness
is not for me. We have said adieu to each other
for ever. If I lived for a hundred years, I could
never be other than I am now. Can you not
fancy, then, the comfort if is to me to know that
my sufferings are well-nigh over? Tell me hon-
estly, my ever kind friend, how much longer does
the doctor give me to live ? '
' Muriel, Muriel!' he murmured, sinking down
on his knees beside her sofa and hiding his face
on the hand that clasped hers. ' For God's sake
leave off questioning me; it breaks my heart to
hear you speak so. Have you no sympathy for
what my feelings are at the thought of losing you
for ever ?'
' Have I, then, so short a time to remain ?' she
answered, half dreamily. 'Nay, do not weep thus,
Claude,' she added, as the artist raised his head
and disclosed a pale, drawn face, and eyes filled
with tears. 'You have your art to live for, and
in which to find comfort. Do you think I should
ever have consented to accept the shelter of your
home had I not felt for a certainty that I should
not tax your noble generosity long? Is it not
the truest kindness I can show you — to pass
away ? I have wrought you enough misery in
my life ; I pray God my death may bring you
consolation for your sufferings. To your care I
276 For One Mans Pleasure.
confide my one precious treasure ; to you is left
the bringing up of my little one. May he, by his
love and devotion, atone for his mother's failings
towards you.'
'His mother alone can atone for her own
failings,' said Claude, his tender voice passion-
shaken. ' Muriel, my darling, listen to me; it
is useless to hide the truth from you, you are
right, your days are numbered. If it were not so,
I swear the words I am now about to utter should
never pass my lips. But, as it is, I pray you
listen to me, and grant the prayer I make. I
must speak, or I shall go mad, Child, you know
how I have loved you, you always and you only.
If, indeed, you feel I have been good and gener-
ous as you say, make me this one reward—be
my wife.'
He raised his head and met the half frightened
gaze of Muriel's eyes.
'You do not know what you are saying, Claude,'
she answered, drawing her hand away from his
eager grasp. ' It is impossible that you can
mean you wish to make such a woman as I your
wife.'
' Why not ? ' he interrupted her hastily ; ' to me
you will ever be the woman I love and honour
most in the whole world.'
' This is infatuation,' she replied, rather coldly.
' I am unworthy of your honour, and love with-
out it is of little worth, Do not let us speak of
this again. My time with you is short; let us
remain friends.'
There was a tremble in her voice as she spoke
the last sentence, and she laid her hand again
within his.
' Muriel, why cannot you believe?' he pleaded ;
' God knows I mean what I say. Be my wife,
dearest; give me a legal right over your child
A Choice of Griefs. 277
and reward my years of hopeless devotion by a
few weeks of happiness. Is it so very impossible
to love me ? Ah ! darling, I would be content
with so very little; will you not try to return my
love ? '
But Muriel turned away from his outstretched
arms with a shudder.
' Claude, dear, kind Claude, do not say such
things, I implore,' she said entreatingly. 'You
have been, you are, so good that I cannot bear
to return your kindness with repulsion; but if
you speak to me of love I must shrink from you
with loathing. Let us forget all that has passed.
You cannot win love from me, because I have
none left to win, he has it all.'
Something like a muttered, curse broke from
Claude's lips, and he sprang to his feet upright
and angry.
' The faithless cur! how could God allow him
to inspire such a love as yours ? '
Muriel's eyes flashed angrily and she half rose
from her reclining position.
' Remember, I love him,' she said, in a low,
passionate voice. 'To abuse him is not the way
to win my affections. Faithless, you say? If so,
would that excuse faithlessness on my part ?
Know, then, that I love him with such force and
strength that sometimes I fancy even after death
my soul will cling to him. I can imagine no state
of existence when he will cease to be my first
thought waking, my last ere falling asleep. My
love for him is such that love-words from another
are rendered loathsome in my ear, and I would
rather die the most painful death ever heard of
than allow another to touch my lips in love. What
he has for ever made sacred in my eyes by his
touch none shall desecrate. Knowing this, would
you still wish me for your wife? No, no! For-
278 For One Maris Pleasure.
give me if I pain you, it is best that you should
know the truth.'
She sank back exhausted by her own passion,
and her face grew deadly white. Claude would
have summoned Bertha, but she put out her hand
to stop him.
' I am not faint,' she said ; ' let me lie in peace.'
Then she added, 'And we are friends? If my
presence pains you, be honest, tell me so, and I
and my child can go forth and dwell elsewhere
for the little while that remains for me to live.'
' Your presence is my greatest joy, and you know
it,' he answered earnestly.
She smiled sadly, and took his hand. ' Kind
and unselfish to the very last,' she murmured, and
turned her face away.
A few days after that she got better, and was
able to sit in the studio with Claude as usual.
Some days, indeed, she looked so marvellously
well that those about her would feign have per-
suaded themselves that still there was hope of a
perfect recovery. But the physician had prepared
Claude for this very change apparently for the
better, and begged him not to be deceived by it.
' It will not be permanent,' he had said ; x in
fact, nothing more than a last flash before going
out for ever.'
Claude's heart, therefore, rather sank when he
saw Muriel moving about the house looking more
like her old self than she had yet done.
One day when she sat with him playing with
her boy upon her knee, he came and stood
silently by her side, gazing down on both with
sad earnestness.
' How you love him,' he said, half regretfully,
half reproachfully. ' You would do anything
that was for his ultimate good, would you not ? '
' How grave you look,' she answered, looking
A Choice of Griefs. 279
up, startled out of her own reflections. ' Of
course I love him. Is that so very strange ?
Was ever any child yet to any mother what
he has been to me ? Do you know there are
times when, eager as I am for eternal rest, I
shrink from leaving him for ever. And yet,
perhaps, it is best that thy mother should be
but a memory to thee,' she added softly, and
pressing her lips to the boy's golden curls.
4 Poor, little one, how soon now wilt thou be
left without a parent.'
' Muriel,' said Claude, very low, and in a
trembling voice, ' do you love your boy enough
to give him a parent, to guard him in the
future ?'
4 What do you mean ? I do not understand
you ?'
' Will you give him to me, dear ?'
' Have I not done so already, Claude ? Have
you not promised to be his guardian ?
' But I wish, darling, to be more; something
nearer and dearer than guardian. Will you not
make me his father ?'
Muriel drew the boy closer to her, and gazed
over his „ curly head into Claude's agitated face
in silence. In her own a silent anger, a certain
impatience, was gathering. Could this man never
be made to understand that his love only awoke
in her feelings of utter repulsion !
' Listen to me,' urged Claude, encouraged by
her silence. ' I know what you would say. Do
not think I have forgotten what you said the
other day. I am not now, as then, offering you
my love, but merely my name. There is a vast
difference between the two gifts, as you will own.
Be my wife, but my wife in name only. I swear
that your feelings shall be held sacred by me, and
that our lives shall in no way be altered. ■ I will
280 For One Man s Pleasure.
not so much as touch your lips or your hands
against your will. I do not ask you this out of
pity for myself, but for your little one. The day
will come when he will ask questions of me which
I shall find difficulty in answering. As a man, he
will naturally want to know something of his
parents ; will wish to visit his mother's grave.
What would he think to see naught but " Muriel "
engraved upon it? Would not his curiosity be
easily silenced if I could tell him that his mother
was my dear and honoured wife, and that he bore
my name in obedience to her wishes ? Oh, Muriel,
if you have no pity for me, have some pity for your
child ! Remember how hard life is made for those
who bear a stain upon their name. As my step-
son, who shall dare question his birth? Do not
answer now at once ; reflect a little, and give me
my answer a week hence, if it please you. Hush !
What mean these tears ? I did not mean again
to grieve and pain you, Muriel!'
' I cannot help crying,' she answered brokenly.
' Ah ! Claude, what a treasure your love might
have been could you but have bestowed it on
some woman free to return it. I hardly know
how to answer you. Do you really mean that
merely making me your wife in name would at
all atone for all you have suffered on my account ?
The bargain is so unfair that I doubt if you would
have strength to carry it out. Do not decide too
hastily. Remember, every word I said the other
day I meant, and mean still. If I consent to your
wishes, and become your wife, our position towards
each other would in no way be changed. We
could never be more than we are now. My boy
alone would benefit by our marriage, you would
gain nothing by it.'
' I know, I know,' he returned hastily. ' But
what matter ? If I am satisfied with my bargain,
A Choice of Griefs. 281
why need anyone care ? I am content; perfectly
so. I would rather, infinitely rather, that you
were thus my wife, than any other who could
return my love in full. I will keep my word to
you, I swear. You shall be as free as air. I will
not even intrude into your presence against your
wish. Only give me the right to shelter you, the
right to defend your good name against the whole
world.'
' Claude, I consent; but on one condition,'
said Muriel timidly. ' Let our marriage be very
quiet, and kept from everyone's knowledge ; but
if ever by chance he should hear of it, and you
should know that he knows, promise me to en-
lighten him as to our true position towards one
another. Do not suffer him for a moment,
even if it be years after you have laid me in
my grave, to suppose I was ever unfaithful to
him.'
' Unfaithful to him !' echoed Claude, with ill-
concealed impatience. ' How can you be unfaith-
ful to a man who, by the law, is nothing to you ?
Legally, you are free as air.'
Muriel smiled a sad, curious smile. ' Ah! you
will never understand. It is not a question of
law, but of feelings. We are true or false not by
what the law allows us to do or not to do, but
by what our own hearts dictate or shrink from.
If you can solemnly promise that he shall never
misjudge me, then I consent; I will become your
wife.'
41 do promise,' he answered with eager firmness.
4 And oh 1 Muriel, never shall you regret what
you are now about to do.'
She suffered him to raise the hand he held to
his lips, then drew it quietly from his grasp, and
bent her head over her child.
'For your sake, my blessing,' she murmured
282 For One Mans Pleasure.
low ; but not so low but that Claude heard her, and
turned aside to hide his annoyance.
That night there was a heavy storm ; and as
Muriel, sleepless and restless, stood at her open
window, watching the fast-descending rain, and
listening to the dull roll of distant thunder, the
elements seemed in harmony with her spirits.
What was this she had promised! What new
duty was this she had taken upon her already
over-burdened shoulders ! To her it almost seemed
as though in truth she was putting her cherished
past out of her reach by her own act. She felt
tempted to turn back, and declare at the last
moment that she could not even bear the name of
another man. But her eye fell upon the peaceful
face of her sleeping babe. Was not this sacrifice
of feeling for him ? Would not his future, be im-
proved by her marriage? Falling on her knees
beside her bed, she buried her face in her hands,
and prayed for strength to bear her sufferings
patiently to the end. Calmed and soothed she
arose, and, creeping into bed, iaid herself down
beside her child, and slept the sleep of utter ex-
haustion, until the bright sunbeams awoke her
to the fact that another weary day had commenced.
His Wife.
283
CHAPTER XXXIV
HIS WIFE.
' In the gloaming, oh ! my darling,
Think not bitterly of me,
Though I pass'd away in silence,
Left you lonely, set you free.
For my heart was crush'd with longing,
What had been could never be :
It was best to leave you thus, dear ;
Best for you, and best for me.'—Meta Orred,
The next morning, when they met, Claude looked
half wistfully into Muriel's face and said,—
'You have not repented of your promise, dear,
you are still willing to be my wife on the terms I
mentioned ?'
And she met his gaze frankly, though her voice
faltered slightly as she answered,—
' No, I have not repented. I will be your
wife, if indeed my being so can render you
happy.'
' There is no need for delay, is there ?' he con-
tinued, half-nervously ; ' you will not make me
wait long for my happiness, Muriel ? '
And she, reading his earnestness in his open,
truthful face, and knowing well how frail and un-
certain was her hold on life, acquiesced in his
wishes ; and a few days later they were married in
the parish church.
Such a strange, quiet wedding! The officiating
clergyman, as he studied their faces, wondered
not a little about the past of these two persons
met before him to be joined together in holy wed-
lock, and speculated as to what romance this was
whose termination he was thus assisting to com-
284 For One Man's Pleasure.
plete. To Muriel the whole ceremony was a
dream, through which she moved unconscious of
surrounding facts. Even the solemn well-known
words failed to awake her to a full realisation of
what she was doing, and therefore she was saved
what poor Claude felt so cruelly—namely, the
utter bitter mockery of the whole situation. But
he went bravely through the ordeal, caring com-
paratively little what he suffered, so long as Muriel
and hers reaped the benefit of his unselfishness.
Bertha and the child were present, and Muriel's
first impulse at the conclusion of the ceremony
was to go to him, and in his baby caresses find
consolation for the step she had just taken ; but
something in Claude's patient face restrained her,
and she slipped her hand through his arm in-
stead, and suffered him to lead her away to the
fly which was waiting outside. Bertha followed,
and silently they drove home.
Muriel walked- mechanically into the drawing-
room ; Claude followed her, and Bertha bore the
little Adrian upstairs. She Was standing at the
window lost in thought, when her husband en-
tered and came and lingered by her side. What
a storm of passion was raging within him ! but
he put an iron curb upon his feelings, and regu-
lated even his looks to suit her mood. How in-
tensely he longed to fold her in his arms and
whisper the dear and sacred name of ' wife' into
her ear ; but such pleasures were not for him,
and to indulge in such thoughts was not the
wisest way of carrying out his bargain. She
looked so beautiful standing there, one blue-veined
hand holding back the crimson drapery from the
window; her beauty was so fragile, so spiritual,
that it seemed-scarcely earthly, and involuntarily
he sighed as he gazed. At Bertha's earnest per-
suasions she had laid aside her black clothing,
His Wife.
and stood robed in a dress of some soft clinging"
material, of a pale grey lavender tint. It was
simply and plainly made, and fell in heavy classical
folds round her slight graceful figure.
Claude's sigh aroused her from her painful re-
flections, and she dropped the curtain and turned
slowly towards him. Words of passionate en-
dearment rose to his lips and longed for utter-
ance ; but he refrained from speaking them, fear-
ful of wounding Muriel by thqs so quickly avail-
ing himself of the change in their position to one
another. There were no tears in her beautiful
eyes, only a great yearning sadness more piteous
to behold, and telling of grief too deep for out-
ward expression.
4 Are you tired, love ?' he demanded gently,
and drawing an easy - chair towards him as he
spoke. ' Sit down, my child, and rest after your
exertions of torday.'
She obeyed, and as he continued standing by
her, she placed her hand half timidly upon his
arm. It looked like some delicate snow-flake as
it rested upon his black coat-sleeve, the gold band
that Claude had that morning placed upon it its
only ornament. She had early that same morn-
ing removed for the first time since Adrian, with
many fervent vows and passionate words of love,
had placed it years before upon her finger, the
thick gold band that had so often passed as a
sign of wedlock. Now and from henceforth she
wore it suspended by a short chain round her
neck and hidden away out of sight beneath her
dress. She could not altogether put it from
her ; it was the only thing she possessed out of
his many gifts that Adrian had given her. He
was more present with her than ever on this her
wedding-day, strive as she would to banish his
image from her mind. Claude raised the little
286 For One Man s Pleasure.
hand from its humble position and put it to his
lips.
Muriel half shivered at the caress, but she sub-
mitted to it passively.
'I have been thinking a great deal about your
goodness to me all to-day,' she said slowly, as
though repeating some words that she had pre-
viously selected as suitable for the occasion ; ' and
I am very grateful. Perhaps I did wrong to take
advantage of your generous offer, and have bound
you to what you will not have strength to per-
form. If so, forgive me, and judge me with
mercy. I have tried to do right at last; God
grant all may work together for good.'
' Hush, do not trouble yourself with doubts.
You have made me very happy to-day, ma mie;
let that satisfy you.'
At the sound of his old term of endearment
Muriel smiled faintly. It seemed to waft back
old memories of his goodness in years gone by,
when she had loved and reverenced him, and
had not dreamt of the love he bore her. Would
that those days could come again when she, a
child innocent and pure, had felt a proud de-
light at his notice. The mere memory of those
times seemed somehow to dispel the hideous
strangeness of their present relationship, and she
looked up into the kind eyes that had always
regarded her with steady love and admiration
ever since she could remember, with a lightened
heart.
' How true and loyal you have been, Claude.
Ah! if only you can train up my son to be like
you, how thankful I shall be.'
He smiled, well pleased.
' I trust he may turn out in every way a better
man than I,' he said.
Some days later, when Claude entered the
His Wife.
287
hall of his little home one evening after a some-
what late walk/he was surprised to hear sounds
of music. At first he could scarcely credit his
own ears, but the melody that came swelling
towards him was a familiar one, and the voice,
whose sweet notes reached him but faintly, was
beyond doubt Muriel's. Hastening to his studio,
he parted the curtains and looked eagerly in.
Muriel, in her lavender dress, was seated at
the piano, her boy upon her knee, looking up
with rapt enjoyment into the fair face bent lov-
ingly over him. She was singing him a little
Neapolitan air, a mother's song of delight to
her baby; and when she had given the cry of
rapture with which the song terminates, she took
the boy's face between both her slender hands
and kissed him with passionate earnestness. At
that moment she perceived Claude, and would
have risen, but he advanced hastily.
4 Oh! do not move, Muriel. If you only knew
how it rejoices my heart to see you at that
instrument again! That you have strength once
more to play and sing tells me better than any-
thing that you are growing more reconciled, less
unhappy in your new life. Will you sing to me?
It is so long since I heard your beautiful voice.'
' I will sing for you, gladly,' she answered.
' But, alas ! my voice is beautiful no longer; it
has deserted me, like all the other blessings that
were once mine.' Then, fearing that her speech
had an ungrateful sound to the man who had
played so true and unselfish a part in her
life, she added, ' But you must not think I am
complaining ; if the blessings I used to cherish
so fondly have been taken from me, others have
been given in their place, for which I am very
grateful.'
She had exaggerated in saying that her voice
288 For One Maris Pleasure.
was no longer beautiful. Claude was, it is true,
surprised to perceive how weak it had become ;
but its sweet melodious tone was untouched by
failing health, and its sounds thrilled him with
the same exquisite pleasure as of old.
As the last chords died away, she rose, and,
with her boy in her arms, came slowly towards
Claude.
In the dim light he could see how her wondrous
eyes were dilating and glowing with some strong
inward feeling.
' Claude,' she said, with startling earnestness,
' promise me this. Bring up my boy to love
music, to reverence it from his inmost soul ; to
turn to it in sorrow and* in joy. If ever he is
tempted to think the study of it hard or un-
interesting, tell him all that music was to his
mother. How, at one period of her life, it
saved her from madness, or, perhaps, from even
worse things ; and how, in her great and many
sorrows, it was her consoler, fyer comforter. I
think he will love it naturally ; for I have, watched
his baby face when I have been playing and
singing to him, and I can see the sounds touch
and please him. But I want you to cultivate
and train his liking, Teach him to love the
highest music; to revel in the works of the
grandest masters. Make music a refuge for him,
into which he can flee when wounded in life's
battles. It is the one thing that will never
disappoint him; for one hour devoted to its
cause he will reap two of heart-felt enjoy-
mept.'
She ceased ; her whole face illumined with a
radiqnt enthusiasm. She looked like some lovely
inspired saint, standing there in the dusky light,
the soft folds of her dress falling picturesquely
around her ; her boy in her arms, her eyes lit up
His Wife.
289
with a wondrous glow, the light from the windows
falling upon the coils of her beautiful hair, and
turning them to burnished gold.
Claude could not speak for rapt admiration.
'1 do promise,' he said presently, very solemnly.
I will teach him to love music, even as his mother
loved it.'
' Ah! Claude, how much you miss by not
loving it yourself,' said Muriel wistfully. 'To
me the face of the whole earth would be changed
were there no such thing as music. The whole
beauty of life would be gone. No words can
say what it is to me. I remember, even as a
child, its influence over me was great ; and if
ever I had been naughty, and was still impeni-
tent, my father would sit down and play and sing
to me, until the sweet sounds had driven my
naughtiness away, and *1 was full of remorse
and sorrow for my childish fault. And all
through my life it has been so. It has been to
me what creeds and beliefs are to others ; it
has been the religion of my life. It has influ-
enced me for good, and strengthened me against
evil. But you cannot understand,' she added,
ceasing suddenly, with the consciousness of one
who has been betraying sacred feelings to another
who will regard such outpourings as the ravings of
a mad person.
'Yes; I can understand,' answered Claude,
very gently. ' I, too, love music, though hardly to
the same extent as you do.'
' Ah, no ! few do. I haye only met with one
who could properly enter into and share my feel-
ings on the subject,'
She alluded to Adrian, and Claude knew she
did, and the allusion somplipw angered him.
He was silent, And Mufiel, recollecting for the
first time the lateness of the hour, and that her
T
290 For One Mans Pleasure.
little one should be in bed, held him towards
Claude for his good-night kiss.
' Is he not growing big ? ' she remarked, with
pride. ' He makes my arms ache wofully. Come,
darling, it is high time those bright eyes were
closed in sleep.'
' Let me carry him,' said Claude.
And Muriel, willing to atone for anything that'
might have pained him in her last speech, yielded
him into his strong arms, and followed slowly up
the winding stairs.
After that day, Muriel constantly played and
sang, whilst Claude painted, and the studio thus
became a hallowed room for him. He could not
bear to look on to the days when that gentle
presence would be taken from him, and that bird-
like voice silenced for ever. His picture was pro-
gressing fast, owing, he would laughingly declare,
to the inspiration of the music.
' Then you see music has some influence over
you,' Muriel said one day, with one of her sweet
sudden smiles.
Claude had just made some such remark, and
was busy putting away his brushes, after a hard
day's work.
' How glad I am to be of some use to you,'
she continued earnestly. ' If you only knew,
Claude, how wretched sometimes I am at the
thought of how inhuman I must appear to you.
But you forgive and understand, do you not ?
Your forbearance will not be taxed much longer,
and I am thankful for it. Your life is an un-
natural one, and I hate myself for causing you
to live it. Think of me sometimes when I am
gone, and remember always that I was -grate-
ful for your goodness, and loved you, but not
as you wished. We cannot rule that sort of
love, else I would compel myself to return your
His Wife.
291
affection, even now. I can never forget, and
without forgetfulness there can be no new love
for me.'
4 I am content, dear,' said Claude softly, much
touched. ' You are right ; we cannot guide
our feelings. Your love, like mine, can know
no change. God knows, I could have been
happy had you remained so. We have no right
to upbraid another because our feelings meet
with no return. I never was worthy of you,
Muriel.'
4 Ah! do not say so; it sounds such bitter
mockery in my ears.'
She took his hand, and laid it caressingly against
her cheek.
4 Think always kindly of me, Claude,' she said ;
and then turned back to the piano and began to
play.
On and on flowed the melody, passion-laden,
and with a strange weird air of suffering running
through its strains.
Claude sat and watched every change in her
mobile face. Watched the expression of anguish
and unrest fade away, and a calm, peaceful light
break over her lovely features, while the air
changed into one of quiet sadness, telling of
inward resignation and triumph over self. As
the last notes died away, she rose and closed the
instrument.
' There !' she exclaimed. 41 have played my-
self into a more peaceful, contented frame of mind.
There are some feelings that must have utterance
before they can be soothed ; and I can express
my sentiments so much better through my fingers
than my tongue.'
4 Was that air your own composition ?' ex-
claimed Claude, 4 Ah ! Muriel, why did you not
take my advice, long ago, and give your out-
292 For One Mans Pleasure.
pourings to the world. Your compositions are
too beautiful to die in their birth. It is not yet
too late; will you write out and publish that,
and some others of your melodies.'
' No, no ! Claude, the day has gone by when I
care or ask for publicity.'
' Then publish under an assumed name.
' And, if I did, do you think that he would be
deceived ? Ah ! no. The cry of my heart would
find an echo in his, and he would read my soul
through my music, and he would learn what I
have sworn he never shall know—that my heart
is broken.'
There was a sob in her voice at the last words,
and, turning away, she quitted the room, leaving
Claude alone with his own sad heart and bitter
longings. Out of his own sadness and longings
did he understand and sympathise with Muriel.
For even as she loved, so did he, and with an
equal hopelessness ; only he had not the comfort
she had, in looking back and dreaming over a
past.
Perhaps the hardest lot of all is to love faith-
fully, truly, and constantly, and yet never to know
the blessing, the joys, of having one's passion re-
turned.
It is better, infinitely better, to mourn our
vanished pleasures, than to sigh for unrealised
ones.
'It is impossible.'
293
CHAPTER XXXV.
'IT IS IMPOSSIBLE.'
Can I think it ? dare I hope it ? when together hand-in-hand,
For a little while we journey'd,—when our shadows on the sand
Seem'd as one for but one moment, and, alas ! then two again ;
Dare I hope that any record of my passing will remain ?
Or when in your mem'ry's mirror all your vanish'd loves shall pass
Will my shadow linger longer than those others in the glass ?
With a smile half sad, half mocking—half in smiles, and half in tears,
Will my lips waft something to you, like the kiss of bygone years ?'
Violet Fane.
Strive as Muriel would to hide the fact, each day
found and left her weaker than the previous one.
The life within her was fading slowly away, and
she soon grew too feeble to do ought but lie on
the sofa. Sometimes even the exertion of trying
to appear cheerful was too great, and she would
remain silent for hours doing her best to fight off
Death for yet a little longer. The intense desire
to see Adrian once more before she departed,
made her cling to life with a great dread, lest
death should overcome her ere she had sufficient
courage to make known her wish to Claude.
She shrank from causing him additional pain, and
yet she felt it was impossible to depart in peace
until she .had seen with her own eyes, heard with
her own ears, how things were with the man she
loved. Each day she put off making her request ;
but Claude, watching her every look with the
keen eye of love, perceived that something fresh
was troubling his darling, and waited patiently for
her to speak.
She would regard him for whole hours without
uttering a word, with that wistful, pathetic look
294 For One Mans Pleasure.
that one sees in a thirsty dog who longs for power
of speech to make known his want. Still she said
nothing, and Claude, acting according to certain
rules he had laid down for his conduct towards her,
asked no questions, only treated her with even
more than his usual tenderness.
One sultry afternoon, when he had drawn her
couch close to the open window and sat by her
side fanning her gently, she found courage to
broach the subject lying nearest her heart.
' How indulgent you have always been, Claude,'
she began softly; ' I do not think you have ever
refused me anything in my whole life.'
Claude pressed the little hand that rested in
his, and remained silent. He instinctively felt
this praise was but the preface to some coming
request.
' I shall not be able to make many more de-
mands upon your forbearance,' she continued
slowly ; ' something tells me that my time is
very limited. You would wish me to die peace-
fully and fearlessly, would you not, dear ?'
' God knows I would, darling ; I would give
my life to spare you one throb of pain, one thrill
of fear.'
' Would you, Claude ? That is just like your
generous self! But no one can die our death for
us. I do not fear Death itself, only—only that I
wish to linger until my greatest longing has been
satisfied. I am going to ask you to do something,
dear; something that I have no right to ask,
something that I fear will pain you to grant. If
the pain should be more than you can bear you
must say so, and I will strive to conquer my
wishes.'
'No, no, Muriel; tell me what you desire fear-
lessly, my child, and without one thought of my
possible pain, I can bear anything rather than
'It is impossible.'
295
that you should know one want unsatisfied that I
could gratify.'
' Claude,' she whispered, with a sort of wail in
her sweet voice, ' I must see him. I cannot die
without knowing how he feels towards me ; if he
has forgiven my desertion ; if he is happy. I think
he would come if he knew I was dying, and I
cannot think I am wronging his wife in making
such a request. I do not want to see him alone,
you shall stay in the room all the time and hear
every word I utter, only I must see him. Will you
go and bring him to me ? '
' My poor child,' was all that Claude could bring
himself to say, ' how you love this man !'
' Will you bring him to me ?' she pleaded, ' will
you go and tell him all I say and bring him back
with you ? You must tell him not to delay,
for fear I should be obliged to go before he
came.'
'Yes, I will go,' replied Claude; 'but it is
already late,, darling : do not be disappointed if
I fail to bring him back with me; he may have
engagements for this evening.'
' Ah ! surely he will come in spite of all when
you tell him how much I yearn for him,' she said
simply.
Claude glanced at his watch; it was already
nearly six o'clock. He would not be able to reach
the mansion in Piccadilly, where the Nugents
lived, before half-past.
' I will start at once, and do my best,' he said
gently. 'Try not to be impatient during my
absence, nor too certain that he will accompany
me.'
'God bless you!' she said earnestly. 'How
consistent you have been in your goodness all
through. I pray you may some day have your
reward.'
296 For One Mans Pleasure.
While his hansom whirled him rapidly along,
Claude's thoughts were occupied with Adrian and
his wife. He wondered much how their lives
were flowing, whether together or in separate
channels of interest. He had only once seen
Lady Stella since her marriage, and that was in
some public place of amusement. Then he had
fancied her changed and somewhat saddened ; but
that might have been merely the effect of her
health at the time, for it was immediately before the
birth of her little girl. He lived too much out of the
world for its scandalous reports to reach him, and
thus was ignorant as to whether or no Society had
aught to say against this young couple.
When he reached Nugent House many out-
ward signs betokened some approaching enter-
tainment, but, nothing daunted, he rang the bell
and bade the servant inform his lordship that a
gentleman wished for a few minutes' conversa-
tion on urgent private affairs. He was admitted
and shown into a handsome library on the ground
floor.
A few minutes later the door was leisurely
opened and Adrian strolled in. As Claude ad-
vanced to meet him, upright and stern-looking, he
recognised who his visitor was, and started. There
was no attempt on either side at hand-shaking ;
Adrian motioned Claude to a seat, and flung him-
self into the nearest chair waiting for the other
to speak.
Claude was struck with the change he saw.
Adrian was much aged, and a care-worn expres-
sion had replaced his old bright, eager look.
Somehow these evident traces of inward suffering
made what he had to say more difficult to utter,
and he felt many of the hard and cutting speeches
he had intended to hurl at his rival fading away.
Claude could never remain insensible to suffering,
'It is impossible.'
297
no matter how he might disapprove of the way in
which it had been brought about.
' Lord Nugent,' he said gravely, ' my errand is
a painful one. I need not tell you it is an urgent
one, for nothing but a matter of life and death
would make me come thus voluntarily into your
presence.'
At his words Adrian started, and turned a little
towards the speaker.
' There is one in my house lying at the point
of death,' he continued, ' whose last moments are
disturbed by a wish to once more behold your
face. I have come to beg you will accompany me
home, so that in dying she may know peace.
You know, I think, of whom I speak? Can you
come ?'
Adrian rose in his .agitation and went over to
where Claude sat.
' Tell me,' he said, almost fiercely, ' is it Muriel ?'
'It is.'
'Good God ! Muriel dyiilg, and in your home!
How came she there ? When did she seek you ? '
'Lord Nugent, the story of my search for the
woman whom you deserted is too long for me
to tell you now. Enough that I found her, poor
and ill, and that she and her child accepted the
shelter of my home.'
' I never deserted her!' he cried passionately ;
' I never ceased to love her. She must feel that
she is as dear now as of yore. Ah ! how I have
searched for her! And to think that she should
be with you,' he added suspiciously. ' What do
your servants think ? They must look upon it all
as very strange.'
' Muriel is my wife,' was the calm rejoinder.
Claude would have been more than human had
he not enjoyed the look of quick, keen anger that
flashed across Adrian's face at his words.
298 For One Mans Pleasure.
'Your wife! Then she has grown to love you.
Why, then, this anxiety to see me? Does she
wish to taunt me with her new happiness ?'
Oh ! how ardently Claude longed to be able to
answer that Muriel's love was his, and Adrian's
cruelty repaid by forgetfulness! But his promise
to Muriel bound him to declare the truth at no
matter what sacrifice to his own feelings, and he
forced himself to answer quietly,—
' No ! her love is yours. She bade me tell you
this, also that she is but my wife in name, lest
you should deem her faithless to her former vows.'
There was a moment's pause.
Adrian was much agitated ; scenes of long ago
were passing swiftly through his brain, and he
was feeling more keenly than ever how supreme
through all Muriel had reigned in his heart. An
overwhelming consciousness of his own unworthi-
ness of such a love as he had inspired crept over
him, making him afraid to meet the steady gaze of
Claude's eyes.
'We have no time to waste,' Claude said sor-
rowfully. ' Her hours are numbered. If you
wish to see her again you must accompany me
at once.'
' But it- is impossible,' Adrian answered. ' We
have a large dinner and ball to-night. I could
not get back here in time to dress and receive
my guests.'
Claude made no reply, only stood quite quiet
waiting for his final decision.
' To-night it is impossible ; but to-morrow early
I will be with her. Tell her this, and that my
love is as changeless as her own.'
Claude's lips curled with quiet scorn.
' God grant that to-morrow be not too late,'
he said ; and, turning away without further leave-
taking, he left the room, and Adrian was alone.
'It is impossible.'
299
Scarcely had the door closed than it was re-
opened and Lady Stella entered. It was seldom
that she intruded upon him in his own library, and
he looked surprised and a little displeased at the
interruption.
' How disturbed you look, dearest,' she said,
fondly bending to kiss his forehead. ' It was
growing so late that I feared you were too much
engrossed in some occupation to heed the flight of
time. Have you quite forgotten we expect friends
to-night, my absent-minded husband ? '
The sound of her playful fond tones but in-
creased his sufferings; but he made an effort
at self-control, and managed to return her caress
with sufficient fondness to satisfy her loving heart.
He flattered himself that his wife was perfectly
happy, and thoroughly satisfied with himself, never
guessing, in the conceit of his heart, how often
Lady Stella was obliged to stifle certain longings
and to tell herself that hers was no singular case.
She had discovered long ere this that a great love
cannot always render the being who inspired it
worthy of its greatness.
There is but too often in this world a wide
discrepancy between the idol and the worship
bestowed upon it. As great passions constantly
arise from very small causes, so do very common-
place creatures sometimes win for themselves
very divine devotions. Still, the Nugents were
fairly happy, and perhaps more mutually attached
than most couples ; but Adrian was right in saying
that Muriel still possessed his love—she was, in
truth, the one real love of his life.
300 For One Mans Pleasure.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
TOO LATE.
' It was for me
She left her innocent life of good intent,
To sail with me upon the stormy sea
Of passion—it was I who dragg'd her down
To the low level of my selfish life.
1 took her for mine own ; I mix'd with mine
Her pure identity ; I spoil'd, devour'd,
And revell'd in my godless victory ;
And now I am a murderer, like Cain,
My kiss has kill'd my darling ! All my life
Is henceforth chasten'd with a deathless hunger
Insatiable—vain ! Ah ! cursed words,
" Impossible," and " never," and " too late! " '
Violet Fane.
POOR Claude, as he wended his homeward way,
was shrinking from the sight of Muriel's disap-
pointment. His heart sank as he crossed the
threshold lest her spirit should have already sped,
but as he opened the drawing-room door he saw
her trying to raise herself on her cushions, in eager
expectation.
'Have you brought him?' she cried, stretching
out her arms. ' Ah! Adrian, have you come at
last ?'
' Muriel, my darling, he will soon be here ; he
has promised to come early to-morrow,' Claude
said, hurrying forward, and stumbling over the
furniture in the darkness.
Muriel sank back with a low moan.
' Oh ! why did you not bring him ? ' she wailed.
' Claude, I cannot live till morning, something tells
me I shall never see him again. O God! it is
hard, it is hard. Can't you keep me till he
Too late.
301
comes ?' she added, looking imploringly up into
the kind, grave face bending over her.
' Hush, darling !' he said entreatingly. ' Do not
agitate yourself thus. You are no worse since
morning, child, are you ?'
Muriel lay back faint and exhausted.
' Tell me all about him,' she said presently.
4 Does he look happy ? Was he sad to hear of
my illness ? And oh ! Claude, did you tell him
of our marriage ?'
' Wait a minute, love, until I get a light ; I
cannot see you in this darkness.'
' She would not have a lamp ; she thought she
could hear you returning more distinctly in the
dark,' whispered Bertha, coming out of the distant
corner where she had sat hidden.
' Bring one now,' said Claude, and returned to
Muriel's side.
' Now, dear,' he said, ' to answer all your
questions. I did tell him of our marriage, and
explained its true character as you wished me
to do. He bade me give you his message,
and tell you that his love is as unchanged as
yours.'
A brilliant smile lit up Muriel's face, even in
the darkness Claude could perceive its radiancy.
' My own darling,' he heard her whisper to
herself. ' Now, I think, I can stay till morning.
Your dear message has made me strong ; strong
enough even to defy death.'
For some time she lay quite still, with a peaceful
smile upon her face.
Bertha brought in the lamp, carefully shaded,
and by its dim light they sat and watched her
through the night,
She would not be carried to her bed and un-
dressed ; her wish was to remain just as she was,
302 For One Mans Pleasure.
lest at any moment Adrian should arrive unex-
pectedly.
' Besides,' she added, with one of her old wilful
smiles, ' I want all my strength to enable me to
live through the night ; do not waste any of it
in moving me.'
And with sad hearts, the man who loved
her, and the old servant who had nursed her,
yielded to her wishes, and allowed her to lie in
peace.
All night she remained awake, not speaking
much, but conscious of all that took place around
her. She seemed to turn to Claude with a strange
clinging at the last, signing for him to sit beside
her and hold her hand.
'You are not in pain, darling?' he asked
her at times, when she seemed restless and uneasy.
And she ever faintly answered, — 'No. But
the night is so long, Claude,' she said once,
almost fretfully ; ' will day never come ?'
'Yes, my child, very soon,' he answered;
but in his heart he doubted if she would see its
rays.
Once when he bent down and strove to arrange
her pillows more comfortably, she took his hand
tenderly between both of hers, and said softly,—
' I have been praying for you, Claude; praying
that you may be rewarded for all your goodness
to me, Perhaps my little one may be able, in
some way, to make up to you for all you have
been to me. I trust that it may be so.'
' Child, I wish for no reward,' said he, brokenly.
' Your presence has amply repaid me for all I
have suffered. But there is one thing, one little
thing, I should like. Will you grant it me ? '
' What is it ?' she asked, looking at his eager
face in astonishment.
Too late. 303
'May I once, only once, kiss you ? '
The words fell from his lips in tremulous
accents, and his face flushed nervously at his
own request.
'Yes!' she answered simply, and raised her
head towards him.
Then, as he stooped forward, she added hastily,—
' Not on my lips,' and covered them with her
hand.
He touched her either cheek gently, as one
kissing a sleeping infant, with his lips, and then
quietly resumed his seat by her side.
The day dawned, and found her yet alive.
' Thank God!' she had said fervently, when
Bertha first drew aside the curtains and allowed
the daylight to come beaming into the room.
The heavens were in a glow, radiant with the
rising sun.
Muriel turned her face eagerly to the window,
to breathe the fresh air and drink in the morning's
beauty.
'The last sunrise I shall ever see,' they heard
her murmur; and she lay quite still to enjoy it in
silence.
It was still very early, and many hours must
elapse before they could reasonably expect Adrian
to arrive.
When the purple and crimson had faded from
the skies, Muriel bethought her of her own ap-
pearance, and bade Bertha bathe her face and
hands and arrange her hair, so that she might
appear something like her old self to Adrain's
eyes. She asked for her child, but, on learning
he was asleep, refused to have him awakened for
her amusement, and tried to lie still, steeling her-
self to patience.
At her desire the clock was placed on a table
304 For One Mans Pleasure.
at the foot of her couch, so that she could the
better watch the progress of its hands.
Oh ! how slowly they seemed to move. Would
the time never pass ?
Presently Claude was aroused from his painful
reflections by hearing her utter his name.
He turned eagerly round. She had raised her-
self a little from her pillow, and was breathing with
difficulty.
'Tell him,' she said, with a little gasp be-
tween each word—' how hard I tried to stay.
But I cannot wait. Tell him when he comes to
kiss me once, and let me carry his kiss with me
to the grave. Oh! why do you not come,
Adrian ?'
At the last word her head sank back, and
without a moan or struggle she passed away.
Claude hung over her), Enable to believe that
in truth she was dead. fcHer lips were still
parted, as though in utterance of that name
that to her had sounded the sweetest ever
coined.
There she lay, all her troubles o'er and her
poor weary heart at rest at last, Her last thought,
her last word, had been of him whom in life she
had so idolised, and fof one last look of whom she
had so valiantly fought, all through the night, with
Death.
And while he knelt and gazed, scarce be-
lieving yet that she would not unclose her eye-
lids and look up, the door opened, and Adrian
hurried in,
' Muriel, my darling, my precious one, I have
come !' he cried, seeing nothing in his excitement
but the quiet figure lying at rest.
But, as he moved eagerly forward, wonder-
ing that she did not respond to his loving words
Too late.
305
—when had her ears not heard his voice, and
her heart not echoed every beat of his in days
gone by?—Claude rose from his kneeling posture,
and stood beside the couch, like one guarding the
dead.
4 Hush!' he said solemnly. 4 She whom
you address is gone. She bade me tell you
how she strove to linger till you came, but all in
vain.'
4 Gone!' echoed Adrian incredulously. 4 Muriel,
my darling, speak to me. Good God ! she is
already growing cold.' And flinging himself
upon the prostrate figure, Adrian clasped it
wildly in his arms, and kissed the cold lips pas-
sionately.
There they lay, living and dead, locked in a
close embrace.
To Adrian it almost seemed as if the very force
and power of his love must awaken fresh life in the
body he caressed. Surely his love could recall her
even from the dead.
But as his burst of passion died away, as he
felt the clammy coldness of the lips he pressed
to his, lips once warm and bright with health,
and clinging with the passion of love to his own,
he began to realise that this body he so tightly
held, and so lovingly addressed, was no living
thing to understand and answer to his appeals.
And as the knowledge broke upon him, with
all its awfulness, he raised himself, and stood
with a reverent expression on his agonised face
gazing upon the loveliness once his own. Back
through his memory crept the days of years ago.
He saw her again, in her pure fresh loveliness,
absorbed and living in her art. He recalled how
first the intense desire had arisen within him to
disturb and ruffle her innocent calmness ; how,
U
306 For One Mans Pleasure.
for sheer idle amusement, he had taught her first
the stormy passions of love, and gloried in the
fact that he had made himself necessary for
her happiness. Then remembered how his
feelings had grown and passed beyond control,
and how he had tempted her to tread the path
of life by his side. Again he lived through that
first year of perfect happiness together. Then
came the time when he had wearied of the
restraint and bondage of this life; and, finally,
the day when he had bade her farewell. Little
had he dreamt then that never again would he
behold that dear face until it lay calm and rigid
in its last grand sleep.
Claude's voice, low and stern, broke in upon
his memories.
' In life she was yours, in death she "is mine,' he
said ; and pointing to the door, he added, ' Go, and
leave me in peace. The sight of you but adds to
my grief.'
The two men stood on either side of the couch,
between them lay the quiet figure of the dead. It
looked like some exquisite piece of sculptured
marble. They gazed into each other's face, these
two, to both of whom this one woman had seemed
fairer and more desirable than all other women.
The man whose love she had returned was the
first to speak.
' I go,' he said ; ' and there is no need why we
should ever meet again. Therefore, before we
part, let us shake hands. I cannot but honour
you for your noble love for her.'
He stretched out his hand as he spoke.
Claude, in that sacred presence, could not
refuse to take it. What need for further angry
th oughts ? Was not the man before him even
more miserable than he ? For Muriel's sake,
Too late. 307
• in order thoroughly to complete his long
generous sacrifice of self in all where she
was concerned, he would forgive this man
whom she had so truly loved. He took the
offered hand in his own honest grasp.
' God help you,' he said earnestly. ' Her
last word and thought was of you.' And then
something urged him to tell him of how she
had wished him to kiss her that she might
carry the touch of his lips to the grave. Nothing
was said about the child, much to Claude's
relief. Adrian was, in fact, too much wrapped
up in his grief to remember its very exist-
ence. He bent down and pressed his lips once
more to Muriel's, and then silently took his
departure.
Claude stood alone, gazing through blinding
tears at the pure white face. How he longed to
bend down in his turn and give vent to his
feelings in warm, passionate kisses. But even
as in life her every wish had been his law,
so in death he respected her feelings and re-
frained. Her desire should be gratified; she
should carry Adrian's caresses only with her to
her last rest. And he would find consolation in
her child.
Meanwhile, Adrian returned to his stately home,
and with a heart almost crushed by sorrow and
remorse was forced to live out his careless life
of gaiety and amusement. Ah ! what lesson did
the years teach him ! Did he learn at last how
man reaps the harvest of his wild, selfish growing ?
Was his whole after-life not one great secret
sorrow and remorse? Did not the day come
when he bitterly repented of the cruel folly of
by-gone years ? Yes, it was so! In the after
years he would have given everything in the
308 For One Man s Pleasure.
wide world to have been able to go back and
undo what he had done. In sorrow and bitter
pain he . mourned the one love of his life, and
repented too late, 'when the play was played
out so for one man's pleasure.'
THE END.
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