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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 S4T.GILBERT. 
 
 BOOKSELLERS. ,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 BY 
 
 ELIZA F. POLLARD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "AVICE," ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. II. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 18, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1872. 
 
 Tlie right of Translation w reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED hY MACDONALD AND TUGWELL, 
 
 BLENHEIM HOUSE.
 
 3- r-f£ 
 
 ST/87 
 
 PART II. 
 
 (CONTINUED.) 
 
 VOL. II. r 
 
 i47522
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 rPHE Count lay thus watching Jeanne as 
 one dreaming, only sometimes his eyes 
 would wander round the old familiar room 
 with a sad, hopeless look. He did not 
 speak, he did not seem to have the 
 power to do so. And Jeanne, her heart 
 was overflowing: words will not come when 
 the channels of the soul are too full. He 
 was there beside her — that was all she knew. 
 Dying ! Her } r oung strength, her love, re- 
 pudiated the idea. A strange sense of con- 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 tent was gradually creeping over her. 
 Her love had come home at last, bruis- 
 ed, wounded, but still himself. She re- 
 cognized him in each turn of the head, 
 each movement of the hand. Each tone of 
 the feeble voice awoke an echo in her heart, 
 like a strain of music long unheard ; and a 
 gladness diffused itself over her whole na- 
 ture, dyeing her cheek a richer hue, lending 
 a deeper brightness to her eyes. 
 
 After a time the Count seemed to revive. 
 He roused himself from his apparent torpor, 
 told Jeanne he thought he could eat now, 
 and when they brought him a slice of cold 
 chicken, tried to swallow it ; but the effort 
 was great, and the result small. Still, he 
 was less intensely weary, and said, at last, 
 quite suddenly,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " Jeanne, what have you been doing all 
 these three years ?" 
 
 It was on her lips to ask him if he had 
 not received any of their numerous letters ; 
 but she checked herself, saying only, 
 
 " Just the same as before you went away. 
 Charles — seeing after the people, reading, 
 riding, and painting." 
 
 " And you are not tired of the monotony, 
 Jeanne ?" 
 
 " No," she answered ; then ventured to 
 add, " But we have been very anxious 
 about you. Why did you not write, 
 Charles ?" 
 
 " Because I neither could nor would," he 
 answered, eagerly, the light coming back 
 to his eyes, and his voice gaining strength 
 and power. "Listen to me, Jeanne; it is
 
 <; IIOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 5est wc should understand each other once 
 for all. I have come home, I believe, to 
 die. If I could blot out the last two years 
 of my life, with all its acts and deeds, with 
 all its memories, I would gladly do so ; but, 
 alas ! I cannot, therefore, Jeanne, my cousin, 
 Id the dead bury their dead. Stand be- 
 tween me and the past; do not arouse it by 
 word or question, do not let others do so. 
 I left you a child, I come back to find you a 
 woman, Jeanne; are you a generous one?" 
 
 • I cannot tell. What would you have 
 rhe do ?" she said, quietly. 
 
 " As I ask you, never to speak of the 
 past, never to question me, and to make 
 others understand that they must do the 
 same. Will you be thus much my friend, 
 Jeanne ?"
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. ( 
 
 She hesitated a minute ; then said calmly, 
 
 " I will, Charles." 
 
 She was standing now beside him. Half 
 raising himself, half drawing her down to- 
 wards him, he took her face between his 
 hands, and kissed her on the forehead, say- 
 ing gently, 
 
 ' Thank you, Jeanne, I will trust you. 
 When I am dead there will be no mys- 
 tery." 
 
 Jeanne waited a few minutes longer; then, 
 taking up her shawl, said, 
 
 " I must go now, Charles. Mamma will 
 think I am lost. I will send Gordon 
 down." 
 
 "No, not to-night, Jeanne. I shall go 
 to bed ; and Louis knows my wants better 
 than any one. Give my love to my aunt,
 
 8 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 and tell her I would not send for her to- 
 night, for fear of frightening her. 1 shall 
 look less ill to-morrow morning. Good- 
 bye, my cousin." And he held her hand, 
 as if loth to let her go. 
 
 As Jeanne was leaving the house, ac- 
 companied by Jacqueline — for she had sent 
 Louis to his master — she met Gordon coming 
 to fetch her. 
 
 " Jeanne, what have vou been doing all 
 the evening ? We have grown quite anxious 
 at your long absence." 
 
 She put her arm in his, and bidding 
 Jacqueline good night, turned towards home. 
 A minute's silence, during which Gordon 
 perceived that something unusual had taken 
 place ; then she said, 
 
 " Gordon, Charles de Lutz has come 
 home."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 9 
 
 Had he been told that the Emperor of 
 the French was at the Chateau de Lutz, 
 Gordon would have been scarcely more 
 surprised. 
 
 " Are you sure, Jeanne ? Have you seen 
 him ?" he asked, standing still in his as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " I have been sitting with him for the last 
 hour," answered Jeanne, quietly. 
 
 " Where is he, then ?" asked Gordon. 
 " Why did he not bring you back to the 
 Cottage, instead of leaving Jacqueline to 
 accompany you ?" 
 
 " Because he is very ill, Gordon. He 
 himself says he is dying. I do not quite 
 think that. Still he is but the shadow of 
 his former self." 
 
 " Then I will take you home, and go 
 back to him," said Gordon.
 
 10 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " Nay, you must not do that," answered 
 Jeanne. " His man Louis is with him. 
 He is too worn-out to see any one to-night." 
 
 " Did he send for you, Jeanne?" 
 
 " No ; he gave especial orders nobody 
 was to be disturbed to-night ; but Jacque- 
 line was so terrified, when she saw how ill 
 he was, that she, of her own accord, came 
 up and told me. I could hardly believe her ; 
 and before alarming my mother thought 
 I would ascertain the truth for myself." 
 
 " When did he arrive ? And where does 
 he come from ?" asked Gordon. 
 
 " He arrived this evening," answered 
 Jeanne. "I cannot tell you where he 
 comes from," she continued, speaking slowly 
 and distinctly, "for I have not questioned 
 him, and shall not do so. Moreover, I
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 11 
 
 have promised him that, as far as lies in my 
 power, I will prevent other people doing so. 
 He is very ill ; he says when he is dead the 
 mystery of the last two years will be made 
 clear. In the meantime, if he is to remain 
 amongst us, they must be as a sealed book. 
 Such are his words, and I do not see that 
 we have any right to question them. He is 
 accountable to no one." 
 
 "True, Jeanne," said Gordon, seriously; 
 " at least, so far as you and I are concerned 
 at present ; but as regards your mother, I 
 hold him somewhat responsible." 
 
 " I do not," answered Jeanne boldly. 
 " Who ever dared to question the honour 
 of a De Lutz ? I have passed my word to 
 him that his wish shall be respected, and I 
 think my mother will agree with me that it
 
 J 2 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 ought to be. If he dies," — her voice trem- 
 bled as she gave utterance to the thought — 
 'we shall know all there is to be known ; 
 and if he lives, Charles de Lutz is not the 
 man to live under a cloud." 
 
 " It is well, Jeanne," answered Gordon. 
 1 1 have no right to demand an explanation 
 from the Count ; moreover, you know your 
 will is law with me. Am I not your vowed 
 knight ?" And a smile, touching in its sad- 
 ness, played round the young man's mouth. 
 
 "Thank you, Gordon," said Jeanne 
 gently. " And you will help me to silence 
 others also, will you not ?" 
 
 " I will do my best, Jeanne." 
 
 They had just reached the Cottage, and 
 were met at the entrance by Madame de 
 Lutz and Miss Ivor, the former saying,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 13 
 
 "Jeanne, what have you been doing? 
 Jacqueline should not have kept you out so 
 late." 
 
 Jeanne did not answer at once, but throw- 
 ing off her plaid, said, 
 
 " Mamma, I am very tired. Shall we 
 go to bed ? I can tell you what has de- 
 tained me so long while I am undressing." 
 
 Jeanne's looks belied her words. There 
 was no apparent fatigue in the glowing 
 cheeks, the clear bright eyes, and the wake- 
 ful speaking happiness of mouth and lip ; and 
 as she turned to kiss and wish Miss Ivor 
 good night, something of the merry, mis- 
 chievous gladness of her early girlhood 
 danced like a ray of sunshine on her sweet 
 face. 
 
 " Ask Gordon to tell you what has hap-
 
 14 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 pened, Amie; I must go to mamma," she 
 whispered; and taking up the small bed-room 
 lamp, which stood on the hall-table, she 
 passed her arm lovingly round her mother's 
 shoulders, and drew her into her own 
 room. 
 
 As the door closed upon them, Miss Ivor 
 turned to Gordon, saying, 
 
 " I am to ask you what has happened, 
 Mr. Elliot." 
 
 "The Count de Lutz has returned," was 
 the short answer. 
 
 " The Count returned !" exclaimed Miss 
 Ivor, and she looked round as if she half 
 expected to see him standing before her. 
 "Where is he?" 
 
 ' At the Chateau, I believe," answered 
 Gordon, — "at least Jeanne says so."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 15 
 
 " Then you have not seen him ?" 
 "No. I would have gone and ascer- 
 tained the fact for myself, but Jeanne ob- 
 jected. It seems he is very ill — he himself 
 says dying ; but Jeanne will not believe that. 
 More than this I cannot tell you, Miss Ivor, 
 except that Jeanne most earnestly begs that 
 no questions may be asked. As regards the 
 past, a strict silence is to be observed. Of 
 course, as far as you or I are concerned, we 
 have no right to question ; but my aunt — I 
 cannot but think she will be ill-satisfied. It 
 is altogether an unsatisfactory state of 
 affairs." He paused, and lifting his kindly, 
 handsome face, looked straight into hers, 
 saying in a lower voice, " Miss Ivor, why 
 did Jeanne refuse the Count?" 
 
 " Because she did not wish to be his
 
 1G HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 wife — at least, I presume so," was the ready 
 answer. 
 
 "Why not?" asked Gordon, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Really I cannot tell you, Mr. Elliot," 
 replied Miss Ivor. " Who can answer for a 
 young girl's fancy ? You know Jeanne was 
 barely seventeen at the time." 
 
 "Yes, I know," said Gordon. "Do you 
 think she has ever regretted her decision 
 since, Miss Ivor ?" 
 
 " I have never asked her, and never 
 shall," was the quiet answer ; " and if I were 
 you, I would not allow it to occupy my 
 thoughts too much, Mr. Elliot — it will 
 scarcely conduce to your happiness." 
 
 " I daresay you are right," said Gordon, 
 sighing heavily. " Good night, Miss Ivor."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 17 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 "Good night, Mr. Elliot. Instead of 
 Rome, why do you not go to Switzerland?" 
 
 " You recommend mountain air ?" he 
 asked, with the shadow of a smile. 
 
 " I recommend anything that is bracing," 
 she answered. " Believe me, it is not good 
 to dream — one's head gets full of fancies — 
 fancies which we laugh at a few years 
 later." 
 
 "May be, when they are fancies," said 
 Gordon, seriously. 
 
 " Which is more often the case than we 
 imagine, or are willing to believe. Take 
 my advice, and go to Switzerland. Now, 
 good night." And, shaking him heartily by 
 the hand, she left him still standing in the 
 door. 
 
 VOL. II. C
 
 18 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" she murmured, closing 
 her own door; "one heart healed, another 
 bleeding. How will it all end ?" And, 
 throwing herself into her arm-chair, she sat 
 thinking till a late hour, strange misgivings 
 lilling her mind for the future of the pupil 
 she loved so well. 
 
 Jeanne, closeted alone with her mother, 
 told her gently all that had passed — how 
 Charles de Lutz had come home ostensibly 
 to die. " But, mamma dear, I do not think 
 he will — a little good nursing, a little care, 
 and he will be well again," she said. " And 
 then, doubtless, he will tell us the secret of 
 the last two years. In the meantime we 
 must be patient, and not drive him away 
 again. Is it not so, mother mine ?" 
 
 And Madame de Lutz could but agree
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 19 
 
 with her, promising to respect for the time, 
 at least, the sick man's request. She was 
 so thankful to have him back again, she 
 would have acceded to far more difficult 
 terms. 
 
 And so the night closed over the sleeping 
 inmates of the Chateau and the Cottage. 
 Sleeping, did I say ? — there was little sleep 
 for one fair girl, who lay beneath the white 
 curtains of her bed, with eyes wide open, 
 waiting for the dawn of day, fearful lest the 
 rising sun should disperse her new-found 
 happiness. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TT was still early, and the household at 
 the Cottage was hardly stirring when 
 Jacqueline made her appearance, bathed in 
 tears, and informed the astonished servants 
 of the Count's arrival on the previous 
 evening. 
 
 " But he is dying, I tell you," said 
 Jacqueline. "To think of his coming home 
 in this state ! He has poisoned himself 
 with paints — that is what he has done. Oh ! 
 ray God ! ray God !" and she wrung her
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 21 
 
 hands. The woman loved both the Count 
 and Jeanne beyond all things else. The 
 Count had been her foster-child, and Jeanne 
 her nursling, therefore her grief was by no 
 means exaggerated. " Some one must go 
 over at once to Amonville, and bring Mon- 
 sieur Auber back," she continued. " I 
 thought we should never have got him 
 through the night. He is just sinking." 
 
 The servants looked at each other, scarcely 
 knowing whether to believe Jacqueline or 
 not, the news was so perfectly unexpected. 
 
 "Does the Countess know?" asked the 
 coachman. 
 
 " Doubtless, Mademoiselle Jeanne must 
 have told her. Robert, I say you must 
 saddle the fleetest horse you have — there is 
 no time to lose."
 
 22 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " Very well," answered the man. " Mind, 
 if you have been dreaming, Jacqueline, you 
 will bear the blame." 
 
 "I am not given to trouble folk with my 
 dreams, or else you would have had little 
 peace for the last month," answered Jacque- 
 line, sharply. " When I saw my blessed 
 Count carried into his own Chateau last 
 night more dead than alive, I was no more 
 surprised than if one of you had walked in. 
 I knew he was in a bad way. Have I not 
 seen him laid out as a corpse three nights 
 running ? Ah ! well, I have no time to tell 
 you all that now, but I knew mischief was 
 brewing. Why must he needs go to Italy 
 and poison himself with paints, as if there 
 were not enough in France?" And she 
 began whimpering afresh.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 23 
 
 "Now, Jacqueline, what's the use of 
 crying?" said Robert. "If the Count is 
 really here, and ill, we must all put our 
 shoulders to the wheel and get him well 
 again. We can't afford to lose him. There 
 was not a better master in the whole 
 province, and we have missed him sorely. 
 I'll be off to Amonville as quickly as Made- 
 moiselle's mare will carry me, and you go 
 and wake the young lady, and tell her how 
 bad the master is." 
 
 And with that the coachman, who had 
 been in the family from earliest boyhood, 
 left the kitchen, and Jacqueline went to 
 Jeanne's room. She knocked gently, not to 
 awake Madame in the next apartment. 
 Jeanne opened the door immediately. She 
 was already more than half dressed.
 
 24 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " What is it, Jacqueline ?" she asked, 
 fearfully. 
 
 " The Count has been as bad as he could 
 be all night, Mademoiselle, and I have just 
 sent Robert off to Araonville to fetch Mr. 
 Auber." 
 
 " Is he really so ill as that, Jacqueline? 
 I thought last night it was more fatigue than 
 anything else." 
 
 " Ay, fatigue of the worst sort, Mam'selle 
 Jeanne. He has just no more strength 
 in him than a babe. It seems those 
 Italian doctors have been bleeding and 
 blistering his very life away. At least, so 
 Louis says." 
 
 "Ah! Jacqueline," said Jeanne, passing 
 her hand across her brow, as if to clear 
 away a dark mist. Then she spoke quickly,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 25 
 
 " Go to Mr. Elliot's room, wake him, and 
 ask him, from me, to go down to the 
 Chateau and remain with the Count until 
 my mother can join him. He ought not to 
 be alone with Louis." 
 
 "No, Mam'selle, indeed he ought not. 
 Louis is as good as he can be, and knows 
 his masters ways ; but when a man is as ill 
 as Count Charles, his own people ought to 
 be with him." 
 
 " Very well, Jacqueline ; go quickly." 
 The woman obeyed ; and Jeanne, closing 
 the door of her room, threw herself on her 
 knees and prayed — prayed with all the pas- 
 sion of a woman suing for the life of the 
 man she loved. She did not weep — tears 
 do not come in moments such as these. 
 " Ask and it shall be given you." And
 
 26 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Jeanne asked in perfect faith, in full confi- 
 dence, never doubting, "My God, grant me 
 this man's life. Take from me what Thou 
 wilt, but spare — spare him to my love !" 
 
 Straight to the throne of God such prayers 
 ascend, borne on the wings of faith. 
 Strengthened and calmed, Jeanne rose, and 
 passed into her mother's room. In less than 
 an hour Madame de Lutz was standing be- 
 side her nephew's bedside — his death-bed, 
 she thought, when she first set eyes 
 upon his altered face. He had scarcely 
 strength left to lift his head, with some- 
 thing of his old courteous grace, as his aunt 
 bent over him, tears, which she strove in 
 vain to check, trickling down her face. He 
 suffered no actual pain ; only the weariness, 
 the exhaustion was intense, and the com-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 27 
 
 plete prostration of that once noble form 
 was terrible to see. 
 
 Mr. Auber's visit did not tend to encour- 
 age them. 
 
 " He is suffering from the effects of the 
 worst sort of low typhus fever. I doubt if 
 he will ever be the same man asrain," said 
 the doctor, " even suppose he ultimately 
 recovers. How he has managed to travel 
 is more than I can tell ; and, of course, the 
 re-action is terrible. He has not much fever 
 now ; but he is sinking from exhaustion. I 
 scarcely think his constitution can bear up 
 against the shock. I would warn you also, 
 Madame, against allowing Mademoiselle to 
 see her cousin. In its present stage the 
 fever is still infectious, and she could not 
 bear up against it."
 
 28 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " But she saw him before any of us," 
 answered Madame. " The mischief is done 
 already." 
 
 " Perhaps not," answered the doctor. 
 " In any case, she is best out of his room — 
 she can do no good there." 
 
 And so Jeanne was banished ; and Ma- 
 dame de Lutz, Jacqueline, and Louis di- 
 vided the watching. Gordon, notwithstand- 
 ing considerable opposition on his part, 
 shared Jeanne's banishment. 
 
 Days passed by, bringing little or no 
 change. Sometimes Madame's heart would 
 sink to the lowest ebb. " There is no 
 vitality in him — he does not try to live," she 
 would say to Jeanne and Miss Ivor ; " and 
 all I can get out of Louis is, ' He has been 
 worse, Madame, far worse.' "
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 29 
 
 But though others despaired, Jeanne 
 never did. 
 
 " He will live, mother — I feel sure he 
 will," she would say, cheeringly, when, 
 worn out with care and watching, she 
 sought rest and comfort in her daughter's 
 company. 
 
 Once made aware of her presence, the 
 Count could not bear his aunt out of his 
 sight. 
 
 The first day he had asked for Jeanne, 
 but when told of the doctor's prohibition, 
 he had acquiesced directly, saying, as he 
 turned wearily on the pillow, 
 
 " God knows I would not bring harm to 
 her. Enough have suffered already." 
 
 "When we are tired, she will be fresh," 
 Madame de Lutz had said. " Gordon,
 
 30 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Jeanne, and Miss Ivor will be your conva- 
 lescent nurses." 
 
 Alas ! convalescence did not seem to come 
 quickly. 
 
 And Jeanne, what did she do through 
 those weary hours of watching and of wait- 
 ing ? Her heart, her thoughts in the sick- 
 chamber, yet forced to keep a calm exterior, 
 and not venturing, in her maidenly reserve, 
 to murmur at the decree which forbade her 
 active service. She was learnins: her lesson 
 of womanly patience and endurance. He 
 who knoweth all things knew how she 
 would need it, and, like a tender father, was 
 gradually and gently moulding her to her 
 lot. 
 
 It was as well for everyone that Jeanne 
 had no especial tie to bind her, for she was
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 31 
 
 enabled to minister to the comfort of in- 
 valid and nurses far more than she guessed 
 herself, her ready wit and thoughtful care 
 supplying all deficiencies. Nothing passed 
 into the Count's room but what Jeanne first 
 saw and approved. There was no haste, 
 no disorder in the household. The meals 
 were carefully served at the usual hours, 
 and, if possible, more than habitual care was 
 bestowed upon those little details of house- 
 hold economy which tend so much to the 
 comfort and rest of those concerned, and 
 which, at the appearance of sickness in a 
 house, so often entirely disappear, thereby 
 increasing the fatigue of the watchers, and 
 naturally, however careful one may be, to a 
 certain extent affecting the sufferer. 
 
 And Jeanne's hope — let us call it by a
 
 82 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 higher name, "her faith," — never failed. 
 She moved like a ministering spirit about 
 the Chateau, cheering everyone who crossed 
 her path with her sweet smile and gentle, 
 kindly words. 
 
 " She is like a ray of sunshine," Louis 
 said one day to Jacqueline. " It does one's 
 hea?t good to look at her. I never thought 
 Mam'selle Jeanne beautiful before." 
 
 " Then it must have been wilful blind- 
 ness," answered Jacqueline, crossly. " Your 
 travelling has served, at least, to open your 
 eyes ; let us hope it may do the same by the 
 master, and that he will settle down quietly 
 now among his own people, and marry 
 Mam'selle. He may look for and not find 
 a better or a fairer Countess." 
 
 " Ah ! Jacqueline, he should have done
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 33 
 
 that three years ago," answered Louis, sadly, 
 " it is too late now." And therewith he 
 went about his business. 
 
 This was more than Louis had ever ven- 
 tured to say before. He was usually per- 
 fectly silent as to everything concerning his 
 master. 
 
 And Jeanne watched and prayed. The 
 villagers would tell, long afterwards, how, 
 morning and evening, she might be seen 
 in the village church praying. Day after 
 day she came, kneeling before no espe- 
 cial altar, but bowing her head low in 
 prayer and supplication before the God and 
 Saviuur of the world. He who knew the 
 most secret emotions of her woman's heart, 
 who loved and blessed the little children, 
 to Him Jeanne came fearlessly, and asked 
 
 VOL. II. d
 
 34 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 the life of him whom, next to God, she 
 loved. And the peasant women, sitting at 
 their cottage doors, would see her pass, and 
 as she disappeared beneath the porch would 
 silently follow her, some carrying infants in 
 their arms, others with children clinging to 
 their gowns, and kneeling down, they, too, 
 would pray after their fashion, muttering 
 over and over on their chaplets a " Pater 
 Noster" and an "Ave Maria." It was an 
 act of kindly faith, and comforted Jeanne's 
 heart. 
 
 Nobody knew exactly when the Count 
 first began to mend. It was so gradual as 
 not to be reckoned by days, but weeks. 
 Still he did improve ; and, at last, one day 
 finding himself alone in his room, some- 
 thing of his old energy came back to him,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 35 
 
 and he crept to the atelier. Jeanne was 
 there, sitting on a low chair by the window, 
 working. She started up as the door 
 opened, and in another moment was at the 
 Count's side. 
 
 " Is this prudent ? Have you done well ?" 
 she asked, trying to steady her voice, for 
 the suddenness of his appearance had un- 
 nerved her. 
 
 " I think so, Jeannette, as I have been 
 able to do it," he answered, smiling, and 
 laying his hand on her shoulder to support 
 himself. And Jeanne, as she guided him 
 to an arm-chair, knew that her prayer was 
 granted — that Charles de Lutz would not 
 die ! His voice was clear and full — no 
 longer hopelessly weary, as when it fell 
 upon her ear the night of his return. Only, 
 
 d 2
 
 36 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 as Jeanne looked at him, she saw that 
 the sadness had not left his eyes; alas! it 
 was too deep-seated. So she talked to 
 him and cheered him, till the genial smile 
 came back to mouth and lip, and unwit- 
 tingly he found himself teasing and order- 
 ing her about as in former davs. Still the 
 shadow rested on him, and not even Jeanne, 
 with all her tact and brightness, had power 
 to disperse the gloom. 
 
 When Madame de Lutz returned, and, 
 not finding the Count in his own room, 
 repaired to the atelier, and saw how mat- 
 ters stood, he was inexpressibly relieved. 
 It was the lack of all willingness or desire 
 to exert himself which had so tried both 
 her and the doctor. He had said he had 
 come home to die, and the idea was so
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 37 
 
 fixed in his mind that it was only by slow 
 and difficult degrees that he had allowed 
 the possibility that he might recover. 
 
 " Aunt," he said, holding out his hand to 
 her, "you must forgive me. I have raised 
 the quarantine. I do not think Jeanne will 
 take any harm now." 
 
 " I am heartily glad you have taken the 
 matter into your own hands," answered 
 Madame, cheerfully. "I have long thought 
 the precaution useless; but I did not like 
 openly to disobey the doctor. You already 
 look better for the change." 
 
 " Do I ?" he answered. " I have been 
 telling Jeanne half my illness has been 
 caused by the shock she gave my nerves the 
 night of my return. I expected to see my 
 pretty, sunny little Cousin Jeanne, and I
 
 38 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 found a stately young lady. What shall I 
 do for a plaything, aunt ?" 
 
 Scarcely had the words passed his lips 
 when a thought, agonizing in its intensity, 
 seemed to cross his brain. His face turned 
 deathly pale, and, closing his eyes, he let 
 his head fall back upon the pillows. 
 
 " I do not think you much need a play- 
 fellow at present," said Madame de Lutz, 
 as she hastened to bathe his brow with eau 
 de Cologne. 
 
 "True, aunt," he rejoined, a minute after- 
 guards — " I forgot myself. Life has nothing 
 left for me but stern reality."
 
 39 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " "\T^ sterner f° r y° u tnan f° r otner men i 
 
 Charles," said Madame de Lutz, 
 looking steadily at the Count ; and, going 
 up to him, she continued, gently, " I know- 
 nothing of your life for the last two years ; 
 and until you choose to break the silence, 
 no man or woman has a right to question 
 you. Were I your mother, I would not do 
 it. Confidence, to be real, must be freely 
 given. Therefore the past will be as a dead 
 letter until you yourself break the seal.
 
 40 HOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 But, Charles, now there is work for you to 
 do, work which has been calling for you, 
 and which no other hand but your own can 
 worthily accomplish. Your life has been 
 spared, and I entreat you, for the honour of 
 your house and of your name, to take up 
 once more the broken threads of that life, 
 and to make the end worthy of the begin- 
 ning." 
 
 Charles de Lutz was silent — he never 
 was a man of many words ; and, feeling 
 deeply, said but little. The silence there- 
 fore which followed Madame de Lutz's 
 words might have been awkward, had it not 
 been broken by the deep, full organ tones 
 pealing forth one of Beethoven's melodies, 
 soul-quieting, soul-searching, filling the room, 
 and driving all idle thought away — now
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 41 
 
 soft and low, then rising in full harmony of 
 touch and sound. 
 
 No unpractised hand was Jeanne's. Some 
 might have thought she lacked brilliancy ; 
 but there was power in her music — the 
 power of the soul. Each note she played 
 told its own tale, and was its own inter- 
 preter. And as Charles de Lutz lay and 
 listened to her, with his aunt's last words 
 still ringing in his ears, the mist seemed 
 clearing away from brain and heart. Steadi- 
 ly he looked back upon the past, whatever 
 that past might be ; earnestly, courageously, 
 he gazed forward into the future. All that 
 through those lon<? months of sickness, 
 when body and soul were alike diseased, 
 had seemed difficult, if not impossible, to 
 compass, grew now comparatively easy of
 
 42 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 accomplishment — at least possible, worthy of 
 the effort. He seemed to see the road along 
 which he had to walk, and though stones 
 and barriers might lie across his path and 
 impede his progress, he felt no longer power- 
 less to combat, maybe to overthrow them. 
 The burden of his past life, wrong or right, 
 he knew that he must still bear ; but at that 
 moment, in the quiet stillness of that old 
 room, with music stealing over his whole 
 being, and the familiar forms of his almost 
 mother and his sister-friend beside him, 
 courage and life seemed to come back to- 
 gether. He knew that he should live, and 
 he almost marvelled to think how he had 
 courted death. 
 
 Long Jeanne played — until the growing 
 shadows warned her that evening was draw-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 43 
 
 ing in, and that it was hardly prudent for 
 an invalid to be still seated at the open win- 
 dow ; so she stopped her playing, and, rising, 
 closed the casement. In so doing she passed 
 by her cousin. He held out his hand, and, 
 taking hers, said, 
 
 " Thank you, Jeanne. I understand now 
 how David dispelled Saul's evil spirit." 
 
 His brow was clear, his voice had the old 
 familiar ring of strength and power. A 
 thrill of gladness ran through Jeanne's frame, 
 as she answered softly, 
 
 " We all need, or perhaps imagine that 
 we need, a David at some period of our 
 lives." And smiling pleasantly upon him, 
 she went her way. 
 
 That same evening, for the first time since 
 the Count's return, the whole party, namely,
 
 44 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Madame, Gordon, Jeanne, and Miss Ivor, 
 assembled in the studio, with the Count in 
 their midst, and once more the home-life 
 seemed to begin afresh. Her twenty-one 
 years rested lightly on Jeanne. How joyous 
 she was that night, how sunny her smile, 
 how soft and musical her laugh ; how 
 womanly and graceful the attitude of form 
 and face as she bent over her embroidery- 
 frame, ever and anon tossing back her head, 
 and brushing away with her hand the hair 
 that fell in soft waves upon her brow — an 
 old trick, familiar to her from childhood, 
 and which Charles de Lutz smiled at as he 
 recognized it once more. 
 
 This was the first step towards recovery, 
 and from henceforth the progress was rapid. 
 No sooner was it generally known that the
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 45 
 
 Count was beginning to get about than 
 visits and congratulations poured in. Among 
 the very first was Madame la Marquise de la 
 Croix. 
 
 Jeanne and her mother received the 
 guests, and answered all inquiries; but after 
 the first week or so people began to ask 
 for the Count himself, and to marvel at his 
 non-appearance. Gently Madame de Lutz 
 hinted the same to her nephew, and gently, 
 but decisively, received for answer, 
 
 " Aunt, I have come back, but not to 
 mix in the world ; that, for the present, at 
 least, is over. I will live now for my people, 
 and by-and-by, when I have the strength, 
 for my art — into society I will not go. I 
 have no taste, no inclination for it. Nor 
 will I receive guests in my own house, save
 
 46 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 those few old friends who will come without 
 form or ceremony ; but balls and fetes, and 
 all the various calls of society, I will not re- 
 spond to." 
 
 " Then you mean to live a hermit's life, 
 Charles?" said his aunt. 
 
 He looked at her. A clear, earnest smile 
 lighted up his whole face. 
 
 " I trust you will have no reason to ask 
 me that question six months hence, aunt. 
 You told me the other day that there were 
 neglected duties of two years' standing await- 
 ing me. I am going to find them out and 
 accomplish them now. I do not think I 
 shall have much idle time ; and do not fear 
 for me, aunt, I shall be a nine-days' wonder, 
 and then the good people of Amonville will 
 have forgotten my existence, or, if they do
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 47 
 
 think of me, it will be as an eccentric indi- 
 vidual, unworthy of their favours." 
 
 Madame de Lutz shook her head, but was 
 satisfied by the tone of the answer. At the 
 Cottage they had lived so quietly for the 
 last two or three years, that the sudden in- 
 flux of visitors had rather disturbed them 
 than otherwise, and they were glad once 
 more to subside into their own home-life. 
 
 Steadily and earnestly the Count went to 
 work. Long before he was able to go 
 about and freely mix with his people, he 
 learnt from Jeanne all that most intimately 
 concerned both them and the estate. She 
 knew everything, was familiar with every 
 family, knew each birth, each marriage on 
 the estate ; not a sorrow nor a joy for 
 miles round but what she shared it ; not a
 
 48 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 cottage-roof needing repairs but what she 
 was cognizant of the fact. Unpaid rents, 
 neglected work, and ill-kept farms, she could 
 point out, one and all ; and she did so now, 
 so clearly and distinctly that, while still con- 
 fined to the house, the Count regulated 
 many things, with the out-door assistance of 
 Gordon and his bailiff ; receiving also his 
 chief tenants, hearing and redressing com- 
 plaints. He had ever been a clement land- 
 lord, but he was now more especially so, 
 passing over many things which he would 
 not formerly have allowed, saying simply, 
 "It is my fault. Had I been present such and 
 such a thing would not have happened." 
 Only he told his people that he hoped from 
 henceforth to live among them, that their 
 interests would be mutual, and that he
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 49 
 
 should expect each and all to do their duty 
 to him, even as he should strive to do his 
 by them. 
 
 The first active use he made of his return- 
 ing strength was to drive over to Amonville. 
 On this expedition he refused all company 
 save that of his valet Louis. He was ab- 
 sent nearly the whole day, and on his re- 
 turn shut himself up in his own room on 
 plea of business. The following morning 
 the old family lawyer arrived at the Chateau, 
 and was closeted with the Count for several 
 hours. Later, when the old man went to 
 pay his respects to Madame de Lutz, his 
 face was serious almost to sadness, but she 
 was too delicate to demand, and he too dis- 
 creet to offer, an explanation. 
 
 The day after this interview Louis started 
 
 VOL. II. E
 
 50 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 for Italy, to pack and forward to Lutz all 
 that remained there of his master's posses- 
 sions. The Count's return had been so 
 hurried, and under such unfavourable cir- 
 cumstances, that much had been left behind. 
 Charles de Lutz was restless, and evidently 
 anxious, for the first week or ten days after 
 Louis was gone ; but upon the receipt of 
 certain papers he grew calmer, and gradually 
 threw himself once more heart and soul into 
 the life he had cut out for himself. With 
 health came renewed energy, too much 
 perhaps — it was a reaction. With almost 
 feverish hands he laboured now ; but the 
 brightness, the easy, careless brightness, 
 which had so marked his artist nature, never 
 came back again ; or, if it did, only in faint
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 5 1 
 
 gleams. In the midst of merry talk or gay 
 repartee, a shadow would settle on his face, 
 extinguishing the light in his eye, and, like 
 a wintry ray of sunshine, the smile would 
 die out on brow and lip. There was no 
 mistaking it; however much he might try to 
 hide it, Charles de Lutz was a saddened 
 man, a cloud had overshadowed his life — it 
 remained to be seen how long the silver 
 lining would be hidden from view. And in 
 the meantime, with Jeanne at his side, he 
 worked hard to make up for lost time. 
 Nobly and efficaciously they laboured ; she, 
 with her perfect knowledge, and her woman's 
 heart, which made her the beloved, the 
 angel of every household ; he, using his 
 authority, soon re-established order, and be- 
 
 e 2
 
 52 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 fore the Autumn had well set in the inhabi- 
 tants of Lutz rejoiced in having once again 
 found their master. 
 
 Ere this Gordon Elliot had returned to 
 England. Towards the end of the long 
 vacation, when the Count was fairly on the 
 road to convalescence, he had bidden them all 
 farewell, joined some fellow-students in 
 Switzerland, and from thence gone back to 
 Oxford, to keep his last term. Miss Ivor, 
 too, had absented herself on a visit to some 
 old friends in Paris, and the two cousins, 
 and Madame de Lutz, found themselves alone, 
 as in Jeanne's childhood. So the Count and 
 Jeanne rode and walked, worked and 
 painted together. Painted, did I say? 
 Jeanne painted, and the Count looked on, 
 but never touched a brush.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 53 
 
 " I cannot, Jeanne, I cannot vet awhile 
 — it will come in time." 
 
 This he had said one day when she had 
 urged him to paint. She never did so again 
 — she saw it hurt him in no common way. 
 Indeed, all sedentary employment seemed 
 to tell upon and harass him greatly. Thus 
 by degrees all business correspondence, the 
 looking over and settling of accounts, fell 
 into Jeanne's hands. It happened thus. 
 One night he arrived at the Cottage, tired 
 and worn out with some difficult business, and 
 with a long day's ride in bad weather light 
 across the countrv. He brought with him 
 some accounts to verify, and business let- 
 ters to read and answer. He was weary 
 both in mind and body, utterly unfitted 
 for the task. Madame interfered, telling
 
 54 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 him he was wrong, very wrong, and 
 would only make himself ill again. That 
 night he desisted to please her, but the 
 following evening he did not return, and 
 Jeanne learnt from old Jacqueline that he 
 had passed the greater part of the night in 
 the study at work. So the next evening 
 the writing-table was prepared, and Jeanne, 
 turning laughingly to him, said, 
 
 "Now, Charles, you may dictate, and I 
 will write ; you may listen, and I will read. 
 Try me for your secretary, just for one week 
 — then, if you are not satisfied, dismiss 
 me. 
 
 And so the partition of labour was ac- 
 cepted, somewhat unwillingly at first, on the 
 Count's part, but he soon found he had no 
 reason to regret it.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 55 
 
 " Let her try, Charles," Madame had said. 
 " Sooner or later she will have to manage 
 her own estate. It is well she should 
 learn." 
 
 And Jeanne's head was as sound as her 
 heart — it only needed a little guidance, a 
 little tempering. Steadily she went to 
 work — timidly at first, but determined to 
 succeed. Was it not for him she worked ? 
 How, then, could she fail ? And she did 
 not. From henceforth the Count and she 
 together managed the whole estate, in the 
 day time abroad, and at night at home. 
 When their task was done, those three 
 would gather round the fire, the table drawn 
 in front of the hearth, laden with bright 
 china, and the hissing silver urn, behind 
 which Jeanne took her place; and then
 
 56 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 would ensue that pleasant idle converse 
 which only grows with close familiarity. 
 Sometimes, but not often, the Count would 
 tell of his sojourn in Italy ; but he rarely 
 spoke of himself, or of events of personal in- 
 terest. It was not his own life he told, but 
 that of those with whom he had mixed, or 
 who had casually crossed his path. Both 
 Madame de Lutz and Jeanne noticed this — 
 they could not fail but do so, yet they kept 
 silence, even to each other — the time for 
 speaking had not come yet ; they were wait- 
 ing, waiting ! 
 
 So, calmly, and without interruption, the 
 Winter months passed by. And Jeanne, was 
 she happy ? Yes, indeed she was ! Is the 
 sailor happy when he comes within sight of 
 port? So was Jeanne happy, quietly, se-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 57 
 
 renely, working with and for the man she 
 loved. Seeing him each day, hearing his 
 voice, sunning herself in his companion- 
 ship. The two thrown together, united by 
 common interests and occupations, grew to- 
 gether ; their tastes and their opinions meet- 
 ing, developing, they learnt to know each 
 other as man and woman, no longer man 
 and child. They stood on an equality, he 
 governing and guiding, she suggesting, help- 
 ing, sympathizing, ever tender and true, 
 lending a grace to the rudest task, each sup- 
 plying what the other lacked — only com- 
 plete together. 
 
 And Jeanne was glad, right glad, looking 
 neither before nor behind, content to live 
 in and for the present. Was it not joy 
 enough for her to know, when she awoke in
 
 58 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 the morning, that before many hours she 
 should be at his side, that she had work 
 to do for him ; to know that his face 
 would brighten at her coining; to know 
 that she alone had power to clear the 
 cloud away from his brow? Ay, surely 
 that was joy enough ! And if at times a 
 certain sense of incompleteness crept over 
 her, she cast it from her, she would not 
 pause long enough to recognize the void. 
 Had she not her life to live, her work to do? 
 Something had bruised and wounded him 
 she loved, him whom she had sent from her, 
 though she loved him, and because she loved 
 him. 
 
 Never once did Jeanne regret her past 
 conduct. She knew now better than ever 
 how terrible a loveless life with him would
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 59 
 
 have been to her, how soul and body would 
 alike have suffered. She knew it better 
 now than in her girlish days, because she 
 understood better. Then love had been 
 but a dream, a tenderness, a something un- 
 defined ; now it was the ruling passion of 
 her life, a component part of herself. To 
 know that she was his, that he was hers ; to 
 have no thought apart, no dream in earth 
 or heaven in which he did not mingle ; to 
 follow in his footsteps, to hold his hand 
 through life's long journey, never to part, 
 never to weary ; to let the whole world run 
 its course, so that they two stood together, 
 and nought came between them ; to love 
 and to be loved ! Such was Jeanne's dream. 
 And gradually creeping over her came 
 the knowledge that she did not love alone.
 
 60 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Timidly, fearfully, she recognized the fact. 
 Yet in no wav did it alter her. He never 
 spoke to her of love ; he never sought to 
 win her. She was outwardly, to all intents, 
 the sister friend she had ever been ; and she 
 was content to wait. Nothing could change 
 her ; she had loved, she did love, and she 
 should ever love him — just as she believed 
 in God above. 
 
 Thus she lived on from day to day. And 
 he who was the object of this pure devotion 
 knew not, dreamt not of its existence ; had 
 he known, he would have fled for dear 
 life away. But with such gentle maidenly 
 reserve, such quiet self-possession, did Jeanne 
 accomplish her daily tasks, easing his bur- 
 dens, cheering his solitude, that her very 
 simplicity of word and deed was a bar
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 61 
 
 against any thought of passion, even had he 
 been so inclined. He knew that she was su- 
 premely necessary to him, but he never 
 asked himself why her presence rilled the 
 aching void, and stilled the agonizing pain 
 ever gnawing at his heart ; he did not even 
 recognize the fact that it was her presence. 
 She was ever there, ever willing, ever ready. 
 Twice she had refused to be his wife ; truly 
 no thought of danger for him or her pre- 
 sented itself to his mind. 
 
 But there was a looker-on who soon saw 
 with her mother's eye the course events 
 were likely to take. Earlier, Madame de 
 Lutz would have rejoiced deeply at the 
 affection she saw growing from day to day, 
 the very thing she had deemed impossible, 
 the love she had so coveted for Jeanne,
 
 62 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 coming, coming, like the rising tide ; she 
 heard the murmur of the waves in the dis- 
 tance, and her heart trembled. Woman 
 that she was, she knew the signs. She re- 
 membered how her own lover had learnt 
 unwittingly to need and seek her — how 
 wistfully his eye had wandered round the 
 room until it rested upon her — how soft 
 his voice had grown when speaking to her 
 — how tender the touch of his hand ! All 
 these signs she saw now for the first time in 
 Charles de Lutz, and with the mystery of 
 the last two years hanging over him, she 
 feared and trembled. 
 
 One early Spring morning, the inhabit- 
 ants of the Cottage were waiting in the 
 boudoir for breakfast to be announced. 
 Miss Ivor had returned, and the Count was
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 63 
 
 there, as usual. The village postman had 
 just brought up the letters, which had been 
 duly distributed. Jeanne was standing at 
 the open window reading hers. Turning 
 quickly round, she gave it to her mother, 
 saying simply, 
 
 " I think I ought to go, mamma." 
 
 " I think so too," answered her mother, 
 after perusing the note; and without further 
 remark, she once more turned to her own 
 letters. 
 
 " Where ought you to go, Jeanne ?" asked 
 the Count, coming and standing beside her. 
 
 " To Amonville," answered Jeanne. " Ma- 
 dame Beauvais gives a party to-morrow, 
 and she has sent me a most pressing invita- 
 tion. However, that does not constitute 
 the ' ought.' It encloses a note from Clo-
 
 64 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 tilde, which seems to intimate that the 
 party is only an excuse — that once more 
 she has been asked in marriage, and this 
 time she must make up her mind either to 
 matrimony or the convent. She is to see 
 the gentleman at the ball to-morrow night. 
 I think she will choose the convent." 
 
 " Why, Jeanne ?" 
 
 " Because Clotilde is good and true, 
 Charles, and cannot make up her mind to 
 falsehood. The Beauvais are fairly well 
 off, but there are three daughters, and 
 
 7 C " 
 
 though not noble, their father expects them 
 to marry well. The men he presents to 
 them are not likely to fix their affections ; 
 young men do not suit ; their positions are 
 not made ; his daughters must have estab- 
 lishments, and so Clotilde has vexed him
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. G5 
 
 more than once by refusing to marry. She 
 is now five-and-twentv — old for a French 
 girl ; and her younger sisters are women, 
 too, and, moreover, wild to get married, 
 and. they openly declare it is her fault they 
 are not settled — that men are afraid of a 
 family of three girls ; so she has no very 
 cheerful life between them all, and I think 
 the end is coming." 
 
 Breakfast was here announced, and as 
 they passed into the dining-room, the Count 
 said, 
 
 " Shall I drive you into Amonville to- 
 morrow, Jeanne ?" 
 
 " Thank you, I should have liked it, but 
 Clptilde writes that she will be paying some 
 visits in the neighbourhood of Lutz this 
 afternoon, and that she will stop at the Cot- 
 
 VOL. II. F
 
 66 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 tage, dine with us, and then we can drive 
 back to Amonville together this evening." 
 
 "To talk over the new proposal?" said the 
 Count, smiling. 
 
 " Even so," said Jeanne ; " but I shall 
 certainly not advise her to marry a man she 
 cannot love." 
 
 " You would rather choose the convent, 
 Jeanne ?" 
 
 " Happily that will not be my alternative," 
 she answered. " I have my mother and my 
 home. Poor Clotilde !" And gathering 
 round the breakfast-table, the conversation 
 ceased. 
 
 Early in the afternoon Jeanne heard the 
 Count order his horse, and shortly after- 
 wards he came into the boudoir where she 
 was working with Miss Ivor.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 67 
 
 " Good-bye, Jeanne," he said, holding out 
 his hand. " If you go to Amonville this 
 afternoon I shall not see you again. Take 
 care of yourself." 
 
 " Shall you not be home to dinner ?" asked 
 Jeanne. 
 
 " No ; I have business at Bauri. You 
 will leave the key of the secretary, so that 
 I uiav look over those leases to-morrow." 
 
 it 
 
 " Yes, I will give it to mamma," she 
 answered ; and, shaking hands, they parted. 
 
 Jeanne's cheek almost paled as she heard 
 the last tramp of his horse's feet. She 
 should not see him for three days ! Three 
 days ! She marvelled to herself how they 
 would pass ! His absenting himself did not 
 surprise her. He never stayed at the Cot- 
 tage when there were visitors ; but it was 
 
 f2
 
 68 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 just that which grieved her. Would he 
 always be thus ? Would the social bright- 
 ness of former days never come back to him? 
 His glory, his ambition, his art, all faded 
 away in their first freshness ! She could 
 have wept at the thought ; but within her 
 rose the gladness, the power of her own 
 youth, that hopefulness which was her 
 great characteristic ; and she thought of the 
 future growing out of the past, the clouds 
 dispersed, only the blue sky overhead. And 
 thus smiling to herself, she once more 
 dreamt her dream of regenerating love. 
 Oh ! blindness of woman's heart ! We think 
 we know, we think we see, and all the 
 while love and our own desires cast their veil 
 over our eyes. 
 
 A carriage rolling up the drive roused her,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 69 
 
 and a minute afterwards Clotilde and her 
 sister Marie entered the room. Jeanne 
 sprang forward to meet them with joyous 
 welcome. 
 
 " You will come to the ball, will you not, 
 Jeanne ?" were Clotilde's first words ; add- 
 ing, "Mamma delayed asking you to the 
 very last, and only then did so at my earnest 
 entreaty. She said it was no use, you al- 
 ways refused. But you will come home 
 with me to-day, dear, will you not? I 
 want you." And as she spoke she held 
 Jeanne's hand in hers, and looked up into 
 her face, her dark eyes speaking volumes. 
 
 " Indeed I will," answered Jeanne, kiss- 
 ing her. " It was settled I should go as 
 soon as I received your letter this morn- 
 
 ing."
 
 70 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 "Ah ! you ought to have had it sooner," 
 said Clotilde, quickly ; " but all the invita- 
 tions went out late, and yours last of all. 
 Mamma said it was a mere form, but I knew 
 I could persuade you." 
 
 Clotilde Beauvais had never been beau- 
 tiful, barely pretty ; but hers was a good 
 face, frank and open, her look fearlessly 
 true. As a young girl she had been some- 
 what brusque in manner and in speech, but 
 that had softened down of late, and a cer- 
 tain sadness had taken the place of her 
 youthful spirits. She was not the favourite 
 daughter with either father or mother; and 
 from her girlhood she had felt herself in the 
 way, especially since her sisters had become 
 marriageable, and she had the misfortune to 
 refuse two or three offers, utterly distasteful
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 71 
 
 to her in every way. Then she was told 
 that she was neglecting her duty, standing 
 in the light of her younger sisters, who 
 made her daily feel how unreasonable her 
 conduct seemed to them, thus preventing 
 their establishment in life. And the mother, 
 in her turn, sighed. 
 
 " If I had only two daughters to take 
 into society ! — but three — it is a perfect in- 
 fliction to people ! And Clotilde, with her 
 strange ideas, will not marry, and so my 
 sweet Marie and Estelle suffer — one does 
 not care to establish the younger before the 
 elder. It is a trial, but it is God's will." 
 Madame Beauvais had become profoundly 
 devout, and, lifting her eyes to Heaven, she 
 would then continue, in a mysterious under- 
 tone, " The truth is, Clotilde has a vocation
 
 72 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 which we have been slow to recognise, 
 because we would by no means force it 
 upon her ; but it is evident the child is born 
 to be a nun. Marriage is contrary to her 
 character and her tastes. Of course it is a 
 <2reat trial to us, and we have done our best 
 to prevent it by giving her every worldly 
 advantage ; but I see it is in vain, and as a 
 good Christian mother I must be content to 
 give ray child to God — it were sinful to 
 repine at so high an honour !" 
 
 After which tirade Madame Beauvais 
 would fold her hands in meek complacency, 
 with an expression which seemed to say, 
 " Behold a model mother !" 
 
 Thus by degrees it became generally 
 known that Clotilde's vocation was a reli- 
 gious life, and that her repugnance to mar-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 73 
 
 riage arose solely from this. She herself 
 first heard of it abroad, and smiled quietly 
 at the information, without contradicting it. 
 From a moderately religious woman, Madame 
 Beauvais had of late become intensely devo- 
 tional, attending mass every morning, sitting 
 patiently through long sermons, never fail- 
 ing to confess herself at least once a week, 
 rigidly observing the fasts and festivals, 
 and last, though not least, entertaining al- 
 most daily some priestly guest at her table. 
 Her younger daughters were not always 
 either ready or willing to attend her in her 
 devotional excursions — some little ailment, 
 some extra fatigue, was a never-failing ex- 
 cuse. So the duty fell to Clotilde, who, 
 seen thus continually in and out of the 
 churches, sustained unwittingly the charac-
 
 74 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 ter and sentiments which had been imposed 
 upon her. And, in truth, they grew familiar 
 to her. She even persuaded herself they 
 were her own; until at last those quiet hours 
 passed kneeling at the altar became her 
 time of peace and rest, away from the cold- 
 ness and rebuffs of her father's house. By 
 degrees she withdrew herself more and 
 more from society and her own family ; 
 and they, seeing the course events were 
 taking, left her to herself, until attention 
 was once more drawn to her by a renewed 
 proposition of marriage. 
 
 The aspirant this time was a man over 
 fifty, a widower, with two young children. 
 He was rich, and his position was good. 
 His first marriage had been of short dura- 
 tion — it was whispered, none of the hap-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 75 
 
 piest — and now his family was anxious he 
 should once more take to himself a wife. 
 A bachelor's life might prove prejudicial to 
 his property, and the interests of his child- 
 ren ! They urged him to settle himself 
 again, and busied themselves assiduously in 
 finding a suitable companion for him. Thus 
 it was that their eyes fell on Clotilde, who 
 was just the right age — neither too young 
 nor too old, of tolerable family, and only 
 moderate fortune, which balanced nicely 
 against Monsieur Aubert's fifty years, two 
 children, name, and wealth. So they pro- 
 posed to the young lady's parents, who, 
 beyond measure charmed, accepted eagerly, 
 but at the same time conditionally. They 
 were forced to do so, they assured Monsieur 
 Aubert. "Their sweet Clotilde was of such
 
 76 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 an exceptionable character, had such ele- 
 vated ideas ; her soul was far more in hea- 
 ven than on earth. They could not say 
 whether she would stoop to listen to world- 
 ly proposals, but they gently hinted, if they 
 failed in persuading her to accept such an 
 enviable lot, there was her younger sister 
 Marie, far more suited by taste and inclina- 
 tion to take the direction of Monsieur Au- 
 bert's establishment." And so the gentle- 
 man bowed smilingly, and assured the 
 parents that he only desired to be united to 
 their family — that he knew their daughters 
 had been so admirably brought up that 
 they were all equally desirable as wives, 
 and he left the matter entirely in their 
 hands. Not as yet knowing the young 
 ladies personally, he could have no choice ;
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. t ( 
 
 so, after some consultation, it was agreed 
 Clotilde should have this one chance more. 
 At the same time, it was gently insinuated 
 to her that to be the bride of heaven was 
 far more likely to bring her happiness than 
 this earthly marriage — that she had already 
 trodden so far on the celestial road she 
 could not well turn back. 
 
 " My Clotilde is so susceptible, so sensi- 
 tive," said Madame Beauvais one afternoon 
 to her most intimate friend, fully aware 
 that Clotilde was within earshot, " that 
 even a union with such a man as Monsieur 
 Aubert would not ensure her happiness. A 
 hasty word, a careless look, might pain her, 
 and I shudder to think what my mother's 
 heart would suffer to see my child unhappy. 
 She is not made for the world ; only at the
 
 78 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 foot of the altar, in the Blessed Virgin's 
 arms, shall I feel assured that her tender 
 heart will be safe from mortal wounds." 
 
 Gently the same course of action was in- 
 sinuated to priest and confessor. 
 
 " Guide her to her own happiness, good 
 father ; I shall know how to submit," said 
 the saintly mother. " I leave my child in 
 your hands — surely it will be a blessed 
 thing to know she is the sacred bride of 
 heaven !" 
 
 And so at home and abroad Clotilde 
 heard the same tale ; no voice was raised 
 to bid her stay amongst them. She was 
 just one too many in her home, as she had 
 ever been ; no one understood her — no one 
 cared to do so. If she married this Mon- 
 sieur Aubert, she felt she would be depriv-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 79 
 
 ing her sister of a husband ; there would 
 still be a striving, a struggling, and, after 
 all, would it bring her any personal satisfac- 
 tion ? 
 
 So matters stood when Clotilde drove out 
 to Lutz to take Jeanne home with her. 
 Thev had not met for several months. Ma- 
 dame Beauvais had discouraged the inti- 
 macy. Jeanne's English ideas were not 
 good for Clotilde, and she feared her in- 
 fluence. A warm friendship, tender sym- 
 pathy, might only serve to bind Clotilde to 
 the world, and without any too apparent in- 
 terference, she managed to keep them apart, 
 and Jeanne's busy life had prevented her 
 seeking Clotilde out. 
 
 Great, then, was their pleasure on the 
 present occasion. Not that Mademoiselle
 
 80 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Marie permitted them to enjoy each other's 
 society. She kept religiously beside them, 
 fearful lest Jeanne should in any way in- 
 fluence her sister to the injury of her (Marie's) 
 prospects, for looming brightly in the dis- 
 tance was the glory of matrimony. It was 
 well worth fighting for, and so she held her 
 ground manfully, and no word of confidence 
 could the two exchange until late at night, 
 when, the whole household having retired, 
 Clotilde noiselessly found her way to Jeanne's 
 room, and soon the two were seated hand in 
 hand, pouring into each other's ears the 
 anxieties, the sorrows of their young lives. 
 
 " Yes," said Clotilde, " I have decided to 
 see this Monsieur Aubert. Not that I dream 
 one moment of marrying him, but just for 
 the form of the thing. Marie will marry
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 81 
 
 him, and be content. Then there will be 
 only Estelle at home, and mamma will be 
 quite happy, and I shall be still and quiet in 
 the convent. I shall have done my duty — 
 no one wants me here !" 
 
 " And in the convent, Clotikle, who needs 
 you ? It does not seem to me there is much 
 for you to do there." 
 
 " My confessor says the Blessed Mother 
 has ever need of virgins to swell her train ; 
 that in her arms I shall find rest and shelter ; 
 heavenly love to satisfy the utmost craving 
 of my soul. JS T o fear of disappointment 
 there. My life will be complete in itself." 
 
 Clotilde paused, a flush of excitement 
 dyeing her cheek, and lighting up her eyes 
 with strange lustre. 
 
 " Clotilde, dear," said Jeanne, gently. 
 
 VOL. II. G
 
 82 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " why, then, did God place you in the 
 world r 
 
 But Clotilde did not answer her immedi- 
 ately. She seemed wrapped in her own 
 vision. 
 
 "There I need fear nothing. Sinlessly I 
 may pour out my whole soul in love at the 
 foot of the cross. I shall meet with no re- 
 buff — I may lie there in peaceful adoration. 
 If I suffer, it will be in the flesh, and that, 
 by spiritual exercises and penance, I may 
 bring under submission. For why are we 
 thus troubled and anxious ? Ts it not be- 
 cause of our evil desires ? The holy father 
 says my carnal lusts." 
 
 " Oh ! Clotilde ! Clotilde !" almost cried 
 out Jeanne, " what are vou saving ? What 
 do either you or I know of such things ?"
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 83 
 
 " I know what I feel, and what is ex- 
 plained to me," answered Clotilde, coldly. 
 " Why cannot I be content to marry, like 
 other girls, the first man who asks me ? 
 Because," — and as she spoke she sprang from 
 her seat, and began walking nervously up 
 and down the room — " because I must both 
 love and be loved by my husband ; if not, I 
 should be faithless to my vows. I should 
 seek elsewhere that which I did not find in 
 him. My passions roused, I could not stay 
 them with the cold form of duty. Oh ! 
 Jeanne, listen to me, dear, for the first and 
 last time. I have never opened my lips to 
 speak before, but I must now ; my heart is 
 overflowing." 
 
 And throwing herself down beside 
 her friend, she wound her arms about 
 
 g2
 
 84 HOPE DEFEKRED. 
 
 her waist, and thus holding her, spoke 
 quickly. 
 
 " Jeanne, I could have loved so easilv, 
 and been a good wife and tender mother. 
 I have dreamt sometimes — too often, per- 
 haps, for my own happiness — of the joy of 
 being tivo, yet one drawn closer still together 
 by tiny baby hands caressing each in turn — 
 his and mine — that mighty link, that Trinity 
 of love. Thus I would have given myself, 
 freely, gladly ; but just as faithful, just as 
 true and loving as I could have been, so 
 should I be equally faithless, equally untrue, 
 wedded to a man I did not love. Look at 
 Louise de la Croix. My heart aches at the 
 very sound of her name ; and yet she has 
 no reason to complain. She has won what 
 she played for — a title, wealth, and to be
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 85 
 
 the acknowledged head of society. With 
 these objects in view, she married, and what 
 has been the result ? — misery, intense, com- 
 plete, her name bandied from mouth to mouth, 
 with little or no respect either fur herself 
 or others. A few days ago she came to see 
 me, Jeanne. We were a few minutes alone, 
 and what do you think she did ? She took 
 both my hands in hers, and said, ' Clotilde, 
 a rumour has reached me that Mr. Auberi, 
 has proposed to you. I know not how you 
 feel, but for the sake of our early friend- 
 ship, I would give you one word of warn- 
 ing. Go rather into the convent, Clotilde, 
 and hush your heart to sleep with Te Dermis 
 and Vesper songs, than marry a man you 
 do not love. Shall I tell you what ought 
 to be inscribed over the door of almost
 
 86 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 every wedding chamber in this our land of 
 France : — 
 
 " He who enters here, leaves hope behind." 
 
 Look at me — I have had all I asked for 
 when a girl, save the one thing I knew not 
 of, and now I am a miserable woman. If 
 you cannot marry the man you love, or 
 remain peaceably in your own home, shelter 
 yourself within the convent walls. Better 
 kill your heart than let it slowly bleed to 
 leath. Oh! these manages de convenance! 
 — they are the very devil's invention for 
 winning souls to himself, I think !' And 
 I think so too," continued Clotilde, winding 
 up with a sort of weary decision. "My 
 parents are not willing I should remain at 
 home unmarried ; and I will not sell my- 
 self, so the convent shall be my refuge. To- 
 
 r
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 87 
 
 morrow will be my last appearance in the 
 world." 
 
 " Oh ! Clotilde, dear," said Jeanne, gently 
 stroking the hand she held, while tears 
 filled her eyes, " I could not do it — no, I 
 could not ! I love God too, and I love my 
 Saviour, but I have my mother and my 
 friends, all gifts from Him ; and then this 
 beautiful fair world ! I could not raise a 
 blank wall between it and me, only to catch 
 faint glimpses from time to time of the blue 
 ether overhead. I should be dreaming ever 
 of that wide expanse of sky and sea, so 
 grand, so infinite, making comprehensive to 
 us the mighty, everlasting love. It seems 
 to me as if within that narrow circle my 
 free action, my love would grow narrow 
 too ; my heart would not, could not rise
 
 88 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 with the same bounding joy, the same glad 
 aspirations. Like a caged lark, I should 
 flutter upwards, striving to sing the song of 
 triumph I had learnt in the free atmo- 
 sphere of nature ; but the bars of my cage 
 would beat me down again, and my heart 
 would break with its overflowing, yet mut- 
 tered song." 
 
 " Ah ! Jeanne, it is well for you to talk 
 thus ; you love and are beloved, but I have 
 nothing." Silence fell on the two girls for 
 a few minutes ; then Clotilde resumed 
 timidly — "Jeanne, may I ask you one 
 question ? I would not do so if we were 
 not so soon to part." 
 
 " Ask what you will," said Jeanne, still 
 full of her last thought. 
 
 " Tell me, then, Jeanne — are you at last
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 89 
 
 going to marry the Count cle Lutz?'' 
 White as driven snow grew Jeanne's face, 
 and for a moment she did not answer ; at 
 last she said slowly, 
 
 " Who told vou so, Clotilde ?" 
 " It is the common talk of all the world. 
 You are always together ; he never goes 
 into society. Surely, Jeanne, it is true ?" 
 
 " My cousin has never asked me to be his 
 wife since he last returned from Italy- I 
 am with him as I have ever been. I know 
 the estate so well, I am so intimate with his 
 people, we are of necessity thrown much 
 together. There is nothing more, Clo- 
 tilde." 
 
 " Oh ! Jeanne, Jeanne, strange rumours 
 are abroad. People say he went to Italy 
 because you would not be his wife. Why
 
 90 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 did you say him nay ? He was so good 
 and noble then !" 
 
 " I would not be his wife because I knew 
 he did not love me, Clotilde,' 1 said Jeanne 
 sadly. 
 
 " And now ?" asked her friend. 
 
 "Now I wait," said Jeanne, smiling. 
 
 " You are playing a hazardous game, 
 Jeanne. Men do not often ask a woman 
 three times." 
 
 " I know it," said Jeanne. " But, Clo- 
 tilde dear, I would rather not talk of this ;" 
 and rising from her seat, she moved towards 
 the mantelpiece, and stood leaning against 
 it. 
 
 Clotilde followed her, and laid her hand 
 upon her, saying, 
 
 " Jeanne, at the risk of displeasing you, I
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 91 
 
 must speak. We are neither of us children 
 now, but women. For me the battle of the 
 world is over, but you are in the midst of 
 it, and, unless I am much mistaken, it will 
 rage strong and fierce around you. I have 
 loved you well, Jeanne — better than any 
 of my companions — better than ray own 
 sisters ; you are ray only regret ; and now I 
 must give you just one word of warning. 
 It is all I can do — the whole world seems 
 determined to blind you. You do not know 
 your friends from your enemies — you do not 
 see where you are treading." 
 
 "Have I any enemies?" said Jeanne, 
 opening her eyes in sheer astonishment. 
 
 " I am afraid so," said Clotilde. 
 
 "Where and who are they?" asked 
 Jeanne.
 
 92 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " You know her well, Jeanne, and will 
 meet her at the ball to-morrow night. I 
 was speaking of her just now — La Marquise 
 de la Croix." 
 
 " Oh ! Clotilde, she and I have nothing 
 in common. I do not think she can harm 
 me much." 
 
 "Alas! far more than you dream of, 
 Jeanne, I fear," replied Clotilde, seriously. 
 " Listen to me, for you shall know how 
 matters stand. For years the Marquise has 
 loved the Count de Lutz — it dates as far 
 back as the last ball given at the Chateau. 
 After that she sought him out in Paris, and 
 forced her intimacy upon him. What they 
 were to each other, the world can never 
 know. All of a sudden the Count left 
 Paris, and went to Rome ; she followed
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 93 
 
 him ; he disappeared, and few people doubt, 
 notwithstanding her persistent denial, that 
 she knew his whereabouts. She has been 
 backwards and forwards in Italy for the 
 last three years. Since the Count's return, 
 she has tried in vain to see him ; you know 
 how he shuts himself up, and has refused to 
 see anyone. It has exasperated Louise, and 
 driven her to say many things which, in her 
 right mind, she would never have said. She 
 speaks of him as a martyr, and your mother 
 as an intrigante, who still holds him bound 
 to you by the promise he made your father ; 
 and of you she speaks as of the worst co- 
 quette — you will not be his wife, because 
 Gordon Elliot is your real lover ; that you 
 play one against the other, and hold them 
 both in chains. She hints at even worse
 
 94 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 things, Jeanne, but I cannot bring my lips 
 to utter them." 
 
 Wider and wider Jeanne opened her 
 eyes as she listened in silence. At last she 
 said, 
 
 " Clotilde, how dare she talk thus ! Does 
 she take my cousin for an idiot ?" 
 
 " No, but she is in love, Jeanne, and 
 hardly takes the trouble to hide it. Her 
 husband is rarely or ever with her. She 
 has been staying at Amonville with her mo- 
 ther for the last six months, ostensibly for 
 her health; but all the world knows it is to 
 be near the Count, and she has not yet- 
 seen him. It is dangerous thus to thwart 
 such a woman." 
 
 " She must be either mad or very wicked," 
 said Jeanne, seriously. " What does she do
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 95 
 
 it for? She cannot marry ray cousin." 
 " Oh ! Jeanne, how innocent you are !" 
 said Clotilde, half laughing. "Do you not 
 understand she would have the Count for 
 her lover — her very humble servant and 
 adorer? Why, Jeanne, there is hardly a 
 woman in Paris who has not some such 
 liaison. It is hateful to think of, but it is 
 nevertheless true. They do not know what 
 love means before marriage, and they pay 
 dearly for it afterwards. Do you under- 
 stand now why, knowing myself as I do — 
 knowing the temptations to which I should 
 be exposed, the society into which 1 should 
 be thrown — I choose a convent life ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Jeanne — " I understand, 
 Clotilde ; but I never till to-day heard of 
 my cousin's intimacy with the Marquise —
 
 96 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 things of that sort are rarely spoken of at 
 the Cottage. I know that great and crying 
 evils exist, but in my country home I do 
 not realize them as facts. Moreover, I 
 know nothing of Charles's life for the last 
 two years. When he came home, he de- 
 sired no questions might be asked, and as 
 he is a free man, living on his own lands, 
 in his own chateau, answerable to no man 
 for his actions, we could not but respect his 
 request, even had we felt inclined to do 
 otherwise. That he may have committed 
 errors — sins, even — is quite possible — who 
 amongst us is perfect ? — but that he has 
 acted dishonourably, let it be by whom it 
 may, that I do not believe, and never shall, 
 until he tells me so himself. I will hear 
 nothing more on that subject ; it is no busi-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 97 
 
 ness of mine. Louise herself is deeply to 
 be pitied." 
 
 Jeanne's usually pale face had flushed 
 deeply while she spoke, and her eyes were 
 dark with emotion. 
 
 " Ah ! well ; forgive me, Jeanne, if I 
 have vexed you," said Clotilde. " I would 
 only have warned you. We have all of us 
 an evil genius in our lives, and I have a pre- 
 sentiment that Madame de la Croix will be 
 yours !" 
 
 " She cannot harm me if I am guilty of no 
 wrong," said Jeanne, proudly. 
 
 " Ah ! Jeanne, dear, our foot slips some- 
 tin i es before we know it ourselves. What 
 woman amongst us has not her weak 
 point. ?" 
 
 " True," answered Jeanne, meekly bow- 
 
 70L. II. H
 
 98 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 iag her head ; the arrow had struck home. 
 
 " And now, Jeanne, good night, and God 
 bless you, dear ! Soon there will be nothing 
 left for me to do but to pray that the 
 dangers and temptations of this world may 
 be kept from you." 
 
 "Nay, rather pray, Clotilde, that I may 
 be kept ' unspotted from the world.' I do 
 not shrink from the fight, I do not wish to 
 be exempt from it, but I do pray, I do hope 
 to come forth purified from the fire. Good 
 night, dear." 
 
 Tenderly they embraced, and without 
 another word, but with full hearts and tear- 
 ful eyes they parted. Once alone, Jeanne 
 sat thinking, thinking deeply, as we do 
 when light is suddenly thrown upon what 
 has hitherto seemed a mystery to us. She
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 99 
 
 never for one moment imagined her cousin 
 had been guilty of any wrong towards the 
 Marquise ; a mistake, an error, doubtless. 
 Yes. Under what form or shape she did 
 not pause to examine. All his past conduct 
 was clear to her ; his dislike to society, his 
 long absence, his deep depression. The 
 Count was not the man to do a wrong, and 
 not repent it; at least, so Jeanne judged 
 him, and though she grieved, she did not 
 love the sinner less. 
 
 After a time she undressed herself slowly, 
 thinking all the while ; and, kneeling down 
 beside her bed, prayed earnestly, prayed for 
 forgiveness for herself and others, even for 
 her enemies. Then she laid herself to rest, a 
 
 * 
 
 -mile upon her lips, and peace, the peace of 
 innocence, on brow and Ik 'art. 
 
 ii 2
 
 100 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 rilHE following evening, as in years gone 
 by, Clotilde Beauvais and Jeanne de 
 Lutz entered the ball-room arm-in-arm. 
 Both were dressed alike, in spotless white. 
 It had been Clotilde's earnest desire, and 
 Jeanne had willingly agreed. Long flowing 
 robes of airy texture, lilies of the valley in 
 their hair and on their bosoms, strings of 
 fine pearls about their necks — thus were 
 they adorned. And just as pure and chaste 
 as in her earl} 7 girlhood Jeanne looked that 
 night ; only there was something more,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 101 
 
 namely, the full, perfected beauty of the 
 woman. The contour of her face and figure 
 was as delicate as ever, but there was a 
 roundness, a completeness now, only to be 
 met with in early womanhood. Her ex- 
 pression had grown too ; her grey eyes were 
 fuller and deeper ; you could look into their 
 depths as into a clear mountain stream ; her 
 lips were richly curved, sweet, and restful. 
 The quiet happiness of the last few months 
 shone out in her whole being. Thus Jeanne 
 had ripened outwardly into perfect woman- 
 hood. 
 
 The friends formed a strange contrast, 
 the one so winning and graceful, the other 
 so stern and cold ; and yet Clotilde had per- 
 haps never looked so well as she did this 
 night. Her dress was becoming to her, and
 
 1 02 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 then she was glad to be with, and proud of, 
 Jeanne. It was her last worldly feeling ; 
 and as she moved through the crowd, with 
 her head erect and her distant manner, she 
 seemed to express the feeling in reality up- 
 permost in her heart. 
 
 " I am with you for the last time ; but 
 even now I have ceased to be of you." 
 
 Their entrance thus together created some- 
 what of a sensation. Jeanne de Lutz so 
 seldom showed herself in public ; and it was 
 generally whispered that the ball was given 
 in honour of the rich Monsieur Aubert, who 
 had proposed for one of the three sisters — it 
 was believed Clotilde. But of all those 
 who lifted their heads and fixed their eyes 
 on Jeanne as she entered the salon, none 
 did so with such feverish haste as the
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 103 
 
 Marquise de la Croix. It was do kindly 
 glance she cast upon her former companion, 
 but one of eager, anxious scrutiny. 
 
 " I see nothing in her — she is no beauty 
 at all," was her involuntary exclamation as 
 she followed Jeanne's every movement. 
 
 " Whom are you speaking of?" asked her 
 neighbour, a lady many years older than 
 herself, and who had known the Marquise 
 from early childhood. 
 
 " Jeanne de Lutz, of course," was the 
 impatient answer. " Just look at her ! — 
 what affectation to appear all in white, as if 
 she were already a bride ! It does not suit 
 her — she is far too pale — she looks like a 
 ghost ; her eyes are too large for her face ; 
 and her hair is decidedly English. I never 
 thought it was so red !"
 
 104 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 A smile, which she tried in vain to re- 
 press, overspread her companion's face. She 
 was a kindly woman, and pitied the jealous 
 anger of her younger sister, for she knew 
 only too well the source from whence it 
 sprang, and she ventured to say, 
 
 " Hush ! Louise, or people will be ac- 
 cusing you of jealousy. Jeanne de Lutz 
 may not be actually beautiful, but she has 
 a marvellous charm and grace about her. 
 Do not array yourself against her — it will 
 be a losing game for you, I fear. Go your 
 way, and let her go hers. You are the 
 most beautiful woman of the two ; but vou 
 have this yet to learn — that there is a some- 
 thing far more powerful than mere beauty 
 of form or face — a something, I cannot give 
 it a name, wholly independent of personal
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 105 
 
 charms, and which exercises a deeper and 
 more lasting influence on men. If I am 
 not mistaken, Jeanne de Lutz possesses that 
 gift in no ordinary degree." 
 
 t; I neither know nor care what she is 
 possessed of," answered Louise, in a low, 
 passionate voice ; and, rising from her seat, 
 she moved away, her haughty face express- 
 ive of more than one evil passion. 
 
 Yet there was a strange attractive beauty 
 about her. Her great black eyes were wild 
 with unsatisfied desire ; her richly-developed 
 frame was well calculated to attract the 
 attention of the most casual observer. Be- 
 side her Jeanne looked a mere shadow, a 
 child floating through the dance, both giving 
 and receiving pleasure. At first the thought 
 that this night was to seal Clotilde's fate,
 
 106 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 that it was the last time she would be 
 amongst them, made the music and the 
 gaiety jar upon Jeanne's senses ; but gradu- 
 ally, when she saw how Clotilde herself 
 cast all care for the future away, how she 
 talked and smiled, and allowed Monsieur 
 Aubert to approach her, listening with grave 
 propriety to his somewhat fulsome compli- 
 ments, it seemed to her as if the conversa- 
 tion of the previous evening were but an 
 evil dream ; and as such she tried to forget 
 it, and join heartily in the present enjoy- 
 ment. 
 
 Once only, towards the end of the even- 
 ing, Clotilde's words came back to her — 
 " We have all our evil genius, Jeanne, and 
 1 have a presentiment Louise de la Croix is 
 yours."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 107 
 
 It happened thus : Jeanne was resting 
 after a dance, when she heard a voice close 
 to her say, " Mademoiselle de Lutz forgets 
 her friends easily." She knew at once who 
 it was that spoke, and with difficulty kept 
 down the rising colour. 
 
 " Pardon me, Louise," she said calmly, 
 holding out her hand. " I have tried 
 several times to speak to you this evening, 
 but have never been able to reach you at 
 an opportune moment." 
 
 " I can understand that," answered Louise. 
 " I think you are alone here. It is certain- 
 ly difficult for a young girl to move freely 
 about a ball-room when she has no chaperon 
 to keep her in countenance." 
 
 Jeanne understood the innuendo, and it 
 was on her lips to answer, " I am Madame
 
 108 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Beauvais' guest," but she checked herself — 
 it was not worth while — and merely ob- 
 served carelessly that " the rooms were very 
 crowded and somewhat hot." 
 
 " Yes," said Louise, " they are very hot. 
 Supposing we go into the conservatory a 
 little — I have something to say to you — will 
 vou come, Jeanne ?" 
 
 It would have been difficult to refuse, 
 and so, excusing herself to her partner, 
 Jeanne took the Marquise's proffered arm, 
 and, thus linked together, they threaded 
 their way through the crowded saloons. 
 On their passage, they passed close by Clo- 
 tilde. Jeanne's eyes met hers, and a cold 
 shiver ran through her frame as she inter- 
 preted her friend's look of anxious, ten- 
 der surprise. But the Marquise drew her
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 109 
 
 on, until they reached the conservatory. 
 
 " It is cooler here," said that lady, seat- 
 ing herself in a remote corner, where the 
 green shrubs and flowers effectually hid her 
 from public view, and drawing another low 
 chair to her side. " Come and rest, Jeanne," 
 she said ; " ball-rooms are always fatiguing 
 places, even when one is accustomed to 
 them ; but to you, who so seldom frequent 
 them, they must be doubly so." 
 
 " I am not in the least tired," said 
 Jeanne, as she took the proffered seat. 
 
 " I am, then," said Louise ; " the heat 
 and crowd tire me. The Beauvais never 
 do manage things properly. If they must 
 invite such a medley, they should have 
 given two balls instead of one, crowding 
 the rooms to suffocation, and throwing to-
 
 110 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 gether people who are not accustomed to 
 meet each other." 
 
 " All are free to come or not, as they 
 choose. I do not see that anyone has a 
 right to complain ; they could have stayed 
 away." 
 
 " Most wisely said, Mademoiselle Jeanne," 
 rejoined the Marquise, with a mock bow ; 
 " and I should most certainlv have followed 
 
 mi 
 
 your advice, except for a private reason of 
 my own. Others may have done the same. 
 Can you guess what my reason for coming 
 here to-night was ?" 
 
 Jeanne contented herself with shaking 
 her head ; the tone of the conversation dis- 
 pleased her. 
 
 " Well, then, I will tell you," continued 
 the Marquise. u I came to meet you."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. Ill 
 
 " I am highly honoured," answered 
 Jeanne coldly, never lifting her eyes from 
 the ground. 
 
 " Nay," replied the Marquise, " you are 
 but a pretext — a means to an end." 
 
 Jeanne was perfectly silent, though at 
 each word the Marquise uttered her colour 
 went and came. 
 
 " Mademoiselle de Lutz, will you render 
 me a service?" asked the Marquise, with 
 sudden abruptness. 
 
 ' It depends on what the service is," was 
 the quiet answer. 
 
 Up rose the Marquise from her seat, her 
 lace flushed, her whole frame quivering 
 with emotion. A fierce struggle was going 
 on within her. Should she stoop to ask a 
 favour — to confess her weakness to her
 
 112 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 rival ? — for that Jeanne was her rival she 
 never for one moment doubted. At that 
 moment jealousy, love, hate, were warring 
 within her for the mastery, and love con- 
 quered. 
 
 " Jeanne," she said, going up to her, and 
 speaking in low, softened tones — " Jeanne, 
 I must see your cousin — I must see the 
 Count de Lutz." 
 
 "The way to the Chateau is open," an- 
 swered Jeanne, coldly. 
 
 " And the door closed," replied the Mar- 
 quise, quickly. A dead silence fell upon 
 them both. " Jeanne, you will procure me 
 an interview ?" said Louise, at last. 
 
 " I have nothing to do with my cousin's 
 movements. I am not mistress of the Cha- 
 teau," was the answer.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 1 1 3 
 
 " If rumour speaks rightly, you either are 
 or ought to be," answered Louise. 
 
 " I know nothing about rumours — they 
 never reach me," replied Jeanne. 
 
 " Better, perhaps, if they did," answered 
 Louise. Cheeking herself quickly, she tried 
 to take Jeanne's hand, but the young girl 
 drew back. " Jeanne, it were wiser for us 
 to be friends than enemies," exclaimed the 
 Marquise. 
 
 " I am neither one nor the other," answer- 
 ed Jeanne. 
 
 " Then in pity help me," murmured Louise. 
 " Let me see the Count for ten minutes — I 
 ask but that !" 
 
 " And I reply," answered Jeanne, for the 
 first time lifting her head, and drawing her- 
 self up to her full height, " that I have 
 
 VOL. II. I
 
 114 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 neither the will nor the power to grant your 
 request. If the Count de Lutz chooses to 
 close his gates against all the world, or to 
 open them and welcome the whole of Europe, 
 it is no business of mine. I have nothing 
 to do in the matter. But, once for all, 
 Madame la Marquise, understand I will not 
 be mixed up in your intrigues. How dare 
 you, a wedded wife, thus demean your- 
 self?" 
 
 As the last words fell full and clear from 
 Jeanne's lips, a mocking laugh rang through 
 the conservatory, so sharp and ringing that 
 it attracted the attention of some stragglers 
 like themselves, who turned and looked at 
 the two ladies. 
 
 "Really, Mademoiselle de Lutz, you are 
 too witty to-night!" exclaimed the Marquise,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 115 
 
 checking her laughter. " It is astonishing 
 with what facility you appreciate a joke. I 
 am no longer astonished that the Count finds 
 his retreat at Lutz so charming. Pray pre- 
 sent my compliments to him, and if ever I 
 can render you a service, you will find me 
 your humble servant. I think I will return 
 to the salon. Good evening." And gather- 
 ing her cloak about her, she passed out of 
 the conservatory, 
 
 Left thus alone, Jeanne grew quite still. 
 A great trouble seemed to overshadow her. 
 Had she been too hasty ? Had she made a 
 mistake ? Oh ! what was this mystery 
 which seemed gradually enclosing her ? 
 
 " What is it — what can it be ?" she mur- 
 mured to herself. Alas ! she was beating 
 against a rock ! Be still, Jeanne, be still ! 
 
 i2
 
 116 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Light will come only too soon ! Be thank- 
 ful for the present darkness ! 
 
 Worn out and weary, Jeanne sought her 
 bed, almost as morning dawned, and fell at 
 once into a deep, heavy slumber. Was it 
 an over-vivid dream, or was it reality that 
 roused her? It seemed as though someone 
 were stooping over her, tenderly, lingeringly 
 kissing her on cheek and brow. She opened 
 her eyes and sat up, only in time to hear 
 her room door close softly, and to feel warm 
 tears still wet upon her face. All was still 
 and silent around, but on the table beside 
 her bed her eye fell on a folded note. 
 Opening it hurriedly, she read as follows: — 
 
 " Good-bye, dear, gentle Jeanne, my one 
 regret in bidding farewell to the world!
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 117 
 
 I am going where I shall pray for you 
 night and day ; for, oh ! I am very fearful 
 for you ! Remember, dearest, ray last words 
 — my great presentiment. Beware of Louise 
 de la Croix ! I know, I feel sure she will 
 work you ill. Farewell for the last time, 
 Jeannette. 
 
 " Your old friend, 
 
 " Clotilde Beauvais. 
 "From henceforth 'Sister Agatha." 
 
 Scarcely had she seized the sense of the 
 letter, when, springing from her bed, and 
 throwing a wrapper around her, she ran 
 towards Clotilde's room. At the same mo- 
 ment the roll of carriage wheels attracted 
 her attention. Hardly knowing what she 
 did, she threw open the staircase window,
 
 118 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 and looked out on the courtyard below. She 
 was just in time to see the Beauvais's private 
 coupe pass out under the porte-cochere. Then 
 she knew it was too late. 
 
 " Oh ! Clotilde ! Clotilde !" she exclaimed. 
 
 A door opposite opened, and Madame 
 Beauvais made her appearance. 
 
 " Vous desirez quelque chose, Jeanne?" 
 she asked politely. 
 
 Jeanne, unable to speak, pointed in silence 
 in the direction the carriage had taken. 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Madame, " Clotilde de- 
 cided herself last night, and desired that the 
 carriage might come round early this morn- 
 ing. She particularly did not wish to dis- 
 turb you. Of course it is a heavy trial for 
 me ; but ' God's will be done !' " And 
 therewith she heaved a profound sigh, crossed
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 119 
 
 herself, cast her eyes up to the ceiling, and 
 then, recovering herself, continued, " After 
 all, I feel she has done wisely — she was not 
 fit for the world ; and though too much of 
 a gentleman to say so, Monsieur Aubert 
 decidedly shows a preference for Marie. 
 Think, my dear Jeanne, what a comfort it 
 will be to feel one daughter the bride of 
 Heaven, and another the wife of such a 
 man. But had you not better return to 
 your room ? — you will catch cold standing 
 at this open window. It is still very early. 
 I will send my maid to you with a cup of 
 chocolate. But take my advice, and rest a 
 little longer." 
 
 Silently Jeanne obeyed, and re-entered 
 her room, but not to rest. Bitter were the 
 tears she shed over her lost friend in her
 
 1 20 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 living tomb. Once only again in life did 
 Jeanne de Lutz and Clotilde Beauvais meet. 
 Let it be recorded here, though it was many 
 years later, when sorrow and the world had 
 left deep traces on Jeanne's face and heart. 
 One Eastertide, or, rather, one Holy Thurs- 
 day, she had driven into Amonville, alone, 
 on business, and, leaving the carriage in the 
 High Street, had wended her way into some 
 of the old and less frequented parts of the 
 town. Suddenly she found herself in a 
 narrow, unpaved street, with high walls rising 
 on either side, from within which strains 
 of the richest music came forth, breaking 
 the stillness. Jeanne paused and listened. 
 A woman, dressed in her best, carrying a 
 little child, passed her. 
 
 " What convent is this?" asked Jeanne.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 121 
 
 " Le Couvent de 1' Adoration Perpetuelle, 
 Madame," answered the woman ; adding, 
 " The entrance is up yonder. That little 
 door you see in the wall." 
 
 " Thank you," answered Jeanne ; aDd 
 she followed her informer, who herself dis- 
 appeared by the door she had indicated. 
 
 Several women, carrying infants in their 
 arms, or holding children by the hand, 
 passed her on their way to or from the 
 chapel. She knew well what it meant — the 
 pious pilgrimage of the seven churches. 
 Penetrating the narrow passage, she entered 
 the chapel. There light and harmony greeted 
 her. The chapel was little larger than a 
 room — a gallery ran round the upper part, 
 where shadowy, ghost-like forms knelt mo- 
 tionless. The altar itself was one blaze of
 
 122 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 light ; one gorgeous display of flowers, rising 
 out of the midst of which was the veiled 
 crucifix. In front of the altar, on a velvet 
 cushion, lay a small silver crucifix, before 
 which all those who entered knelt reverent- 
 ly, and kissed the five wounds of the Christ. 
 Children in their mothers' arms stooped 
 down, and with their rosy lips pressed the 
 cold silver. On either side of the altar 
 two figures, bent almost to the ground, kept 
 watch. Their robes and veils were white, 
 but hanging from their shoulders were long 
 scarlet cloaks, without seam, woven from 
 the top throughout — typical of that scar- 
 let vestment for which the impious cast 
 lots. 
 
 Jeanne glided to an empty chair close by 
 the altar, underneath the gallery, and oppo-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 123 
 
 site a little door leading into the convent, 
 and used by the nuns for going in and out 
 of the chapel. She was very weary that 
 day — not in body only, but in heart and 
 mind. Life seemed so long ; and yet she 
 did not dare to wish to die ! So with folded 
 hands she knelt gazing on the veiled Christ, 
 half wondering if in truth his face was 
 hidden from her for ever. Her whole atti- 
 tude was one of prayer, and yet she was not 
 praying, only resting in a sort of trance-like 
 stupor. The song of the nuns seemed to 
 reach her from afar ; the faint smell of the 
 incense seemed to lull her senses, so she 
 knelt on. Suddenly a slight movement, a 
 gliding of figures to and fro, roused her. 
 She looked up ; the nuns at the altar had 
 risen, and were slowly bowing low, even to
 
 124 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 the ground, before retiring. Their watch 
 was over. 
 
 At the same moment the door near Jeanne 
 opened, and two figures, robed like the 
 other two in white, with the same scarlet 
 cloaks, issued slowly forth. Mechanically 
 Jeanne followed them with her eyes. Sud- 
 denly her whole face changed to one of 
 eager gladness, for beneath the white coif, 
 in the stern, colourless face and downcast 
 eyes of the foremost nun, she recognised the 
 friend of her girlhood, her whom she had 
 so grieved after. As the nun was sweeping 
 past her, Jeanne, without thinking, with 
 wild impulse, stretched forth her hand, 
 while from between her closed lips the 
 words escaped — 
 
 " Oh ! Clotilde, dear, pray for me !"
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 125 
 
 The voice, the name, both so long un- 
 heard, stayed the nun's steps. She looked 
 down on Jeanne's upturned face, as we 
 might look at some dead friend arisen sud- 
 denly from the grave, changed, yet familiar 
 to us. Was this sad woman, with the tear- 
 ful eyes, entreating to be prayed for, the 
 same as the fair girl, all robed in white, 
 whom she had last seen in a ball-room ? 
 
 "Sister Agatha !" said the nun behind, 
 sternly, and thus recalled to time and 
 place, " Sister Agatha," or Clotilde Beauvais, 
 moved on ; but even as she did so, Jeanne 
 thought she caught the muttered syllables, 
 "I do, I do!" and bowing her head upon 
 her prie-dieu, she, too, wept and prayed. 
 But when Jeanne rose at last, and left the 
 chapel, she was comforted. Looking back
 
 126 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 on the threshold, her gaze rested for the 
 last time on the kneeling figure of her friend, 
 and a sort of gladness came over her ; at 
 least, she left one praying for her. 
 
 Early the morning after the ball Madame 
 de Lutz drove over to fetch her daughter. 
 During the homeward drive Jeanne told her 
 mother all that had taken place, always ex- 
 cepting the episode relative to Madame de 
 la Croix and the Count. That was sacred, 
 buried in her own heart. 
 
 After listening attentively to her tale, 
 Madame said, 
 
 " We also have news for you, Jeanne !" 
 
 " What news ?" she asked, carelessly, 
 thinking only of some little household 
 change.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 127 
 
 " I had a letter from Gordon yesterday," 
 continued Madame, "in which he tells me 
 his father is dangerously ill, that he has had 
 a stroke of paralysis, and that there is no 
 hope of his ultimate recovery. And my 
 brother is now most anxious, feverishly 
 anxious, Gordon writes, to see both myself 
 and you, Jeanne. He and I are the last of 
 a large family of brothers and sisters, and it 
 is ten years since we met ; so I have decided 
 to go without further delay. Everything is 
 arranged for us to leave Amonville by to- 
 night's train, and I have written for Gordon 
 to meet us at Southampton the day after to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 1 You nearly take away my breath, mam- 
 ma," answered Jeanne, trying to hide her 
 emotion ; fur, as a bird flies back to its nest,
 
 128 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 so her thoughts had flown home to her be- 
 loved. 
 
 " Miss Ivor and I have decided, Jeanne, 
 that, after the first week or two, it would 
 be as well for you not to remain at your 
 uncle's ; you barely know each other, and 
 he will scarcely miss you, so we have agreed 
 together that you shall go with Miss Ivor to 
 Brighton. Her sister, Mrs. Norton, is there 
 at present, and the entire change and sea- 
 air will do you good. I think you need a 
 little of both. You have had quite nursing 
 and worry enough for the last twelv emonths. 
 I do not care for you to go through the 
 same ordeal again." 
 
 " But, mamma, I do not know Mrs. Nor- 
 ton," said Jeanne. " Will she not view me 
 somewhat in the light of an intruder ? It
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 129 
 
 is not often Amie goes among her own 
 people, and a stranger is always more or 
 less in the way." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Jeanne," responded Miss Ivor, 
 " there are exceptions to every rule. My 
 sister knows you so well by hearsay that 
 you can scarcely call yourself a stranger; and 
 she knows, moreover, all that you and your 
 mother have been to me. She will only be 
 too glad to pay a tithe of the debt, if that be 
 possible." 
 
 " Thank you, Amie," said Jeanne, bending 
 forward, and holding up her face to kiss 
 her friend. Then Miss Ivor saw that her 
 eyes were full of suppressed tears. A link 
 in Jeanne's chain had been snapped away 
 that morning, and now a finer and more 
 
 VOL. II. k
 
 130 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 precious one seemed gradually loosening 
 itself. 
 
 The remainder of the day was spent in 
 the bustle of departure. There was little 
 time left for thought, less still for regret. It 
 was almost evening before she saw her 
 cousin. She was busily engaged in the 
 boudoir, stowing away her own especial 
 treasures, when he entered. 
 
 " So you have come home only to be off 
 again," he remarked, after the first greet- 
 ing, and throwing himself wearily into one 
 of the few unencumbered arm-chairs. 
 
 "Yes," said Jeanne quietly; and looking 
 at him, she noticed the wan, anxious ex- 
 pression of his face, so added — "You will 
 take care of yourself, Charles, while we are 
 away, and not over- work yourself?"
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 131 
 
 " I will do my best," he answered, care- 
 lessly ; " but I shall be very left-handed, 
 Jeanne." 
 
 She made no reply, but stooped busily 
 over her open trunk. At last, as if to 
 chanae the conversation, she said, 
 
 " Charles, Madame de la Croix was at 
 the ball last night." 
 
 " I suppose so," he answered. 
 
 " She desires to see you — desires it most 
 earnestly," continued Jeanne, without raising 
 her head. 
 
 " Did she commission vou to tell me so ?" 
 asked the Count, rising, and approaching 
 Jeanne. 
 
 ' She begged — she entreated me to pro- 
 cure her an interview with you," answered 
 Jeanne ; " and I told her 1 had nothing to 
 
 k2
 
 132 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 do with your movements — that you were 
 your own master, and that, if you closed 
 your chateau gates against your friends, you 
 did so advisedly ; and so we parted not the 
 best of friends ?" 
 
 " Is that all she said ?" asked the Count, 
 sternly. 
 
 " All I care to tell you," answered Jeanne, 
 moving away. 
 
 There was a dead silence ; then the 
 Count, following her, laid his hand upon 
 her shoulder, and said, with suppressed 
 emotion, " I will not ask you what she said, 
 Jeanne, or what you have heard in Anion- 
 ville concerning her and me. I guess pretty 
 well the sum-total of the whole. But this 
 I will tell you, and I think you will not 
 doubt my word — Madame de la Croix has
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 133 
 
 never been anything to me but the most 
 ordinary acquaintance. I have never shown 
 her more than the usual civilities due from 
 a gentleman to a lady. I have never sought 
 her society, or thrown myself in her way, 
 and it is now full two years since I last saw 
 her." 
 
 "And in Italy?" asked Jeanne, eagerly 
 lifting her head, and looking at him. So 
 flashing was that look, so deep and full 
 that gaze, that a glimmering of light shot 
 to the Count's heart. One moment of 
 agonizing, startling pain, then he cast it 
 from him. No, no, it could not, must not 
 be — he would not see ! He might suffer, 
 but not she — not his gentle Jeanne ; so, 
 steadying himself once more, he answered 
 calmly,
 
 134 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 "After the first year I never saw her, 
 Jeanne. I was not in Rome ; and she 
 knew my whereabout no better than you 
 did yourself." 
 
 Restlessly Jeanne moved about the room 
 — restlessly — like one in pain. With anxious 
 gaze the Count followed her every move- 
 ment. His handsome face grew dark, his 
 lips compressed ; he had felt the awakening 
 touch, and love and passion were now fight- 
 ing for the mastery. A couple of strides 
 took him once more to her side, then he 
 spoke again — low, so low that, had the 
 room been full, his words could have reached 
 no ear but hers. 
 
 " Jeanne, remember you would not be 
 my wife under the linden trees." Then he 
 took her head between his two hands,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 135 
 
 looked steadfastly into the pale speaking 
 face, and closing her answering lips with 
 one long kiss, turned, and left the room. 
 Across the garden walk he went, through 
 the meadows, full of butter-cups and daisies, 
 beneath the forest trees just budding forth 
 in their first Spring-tide beauty, in the grow- 
 ing stillness of coming night he hastened on, 
 and never paused until he had crossed his 
 own threshold. Entering the studio, he 
 threw himself with a smothered cry into 
 an arm-chair, and burying his face in his 
 hands, wept, as men weep but once in their 
 lives. Yes, he loved her now, and he knew 
 it too ! 
 
 And Jeanne? — she stood still where he 
 had left her, that kiss upon her lips filling 
 her whole soul. She was satisfied, she was
 
 b 
 
 136 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 glad — at last he loved her. A thousand 
 little things came thronging back to her 
 memory — how blind she had been ! — how 
 blind ! Others had seen it — all the world 
 save herself. Hence doubtless all those ru- 
 mours Clotilde had told her of, and which 
 had so troubled her. She smiled softly, 
 gladly to herself, repeating, half aloud, his 
 last words — 
 
 " Jeanne, remember you would not be 
 my wife under the linden trees." 
 
 So that was it — the pride of the De 
 Lutzes. Once, twice, he had sought her 
 hand — he would not plead again ; she must 
 go to him, so would he be revenged. And 
 Jeanne laughed, laughed to herself as she 
 walked up and down the room. And yet 
 there was a secret feeling, a sort of struggle
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 137 
 
 within her, warring against her love. How 
 could she go to hira and tell him she was 
 ready now to be his wife? What would he 
 say ? — what would he think of her ? And 
 yet he loved her! Thrilling through her 
 heart for the first time came that great 
 certainty. 
 
 In this crisis of our mutual lives a man 
 may be mistaken, but a woman never is — 
 her instinct serves her. 
 
 Then there rushed on Jeanne the remem- 
 brance that a few hours, and they would be 
 parted — land and sea between them. Why 
 had he left her thus abruptly ? Should she 
 not see him again ? A sort of terror seized 
 her; all the partings of former days, the 
 death-agony she had so lately struggled 
 through, came back to her. No, she could
 
 138 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 not bear it again, she could not, when a 
 word from her, only one little word per- 
 haps, was needed to heal the gaping wound 
 of pride, and make him all her own. 
 Jeanne did not think now, she only felt 
 thought and reason were alike losing their 
 hold over her — love was in the ascendancy. 
 Catching up a shawl from the sofa, she 
 threw it round her, ran quickly from her 
 own room to the drawing-room, and, throw- 
 ing open the window, stepped out upon the 
 balcony, straining her eyes in the direction 
 of the Chateau ; but Charles de Lutz had 
 long since disappeared. 
 
 A moment's hesitation ; then Jeanne ran 
 down the steps, along the garden path he 
 had trod only a few minutes before, and, in 
 her turn, never paused until she stood at the
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 139 
 
 door of the studio, with her hand upon the 
 lock. Only for one moment did she hesi- 
 tate; then she opened the door, and entered 
 with quick steps the room she had left so 
 carelessly only three days before. The 
 Spring day was fast drawing to a close, twi- 
 light • was creeping on. In front of the 
 empty hearth, his hands resting on the 
 marble mantelpiece, his head bent, and his 
 face sad and stern, stood Charles de Lutz. 
 Straight up to him Jeanne went, and laid 
 her hand upon his shoulder. He did not 
 start, he did not turn, he felt whose hand 
 it was, and his whole frame responded to 
 the touch. 
 
 " Jeanne," he said, " I thought you were 
 at home." 
 
 "So I was," she answered; "but I have
 
 140 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 come here once more. Charles, I am going 
 
 a way." 
 
 Now he turned and looked at her, her 
 face was very pale, and her eyes, as she 
 raised them to his, were pleadingly, ago- 
 nizingly sad. She was frightened — he was 
 so cold ; a chill was creeping over her 
 heart. 
 
 " Jeanne, child, it is too late for you to 
 be out. The night is cold — go home, 
 dear." 
 
 His voice sounded forced and hollow. 
 Jeanne tried to speak, she tried to answer 
 him, but her white lips were silent, the 
 words would not come. Did he not see? 
 Could he not forgive her ? 
 
 " Jeanne, Jeanne, go !" said the Count, 
 almost fiercely ; but even as he spoke he
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 141 
 
 took her hands in both of his, crushing them 
 in his powerful grasp, till Jeanne moaned 
 out in pain. 
 
 "What brought you here, Jeannette — 
 what brought you?"' said the Count. " Leave 
 me alone, child, to my solitude. You can- 
 not, must not love me !" 
 
 " But I do, I do !" cried Jeanne. " Oh ! 
 Charles, forgive me!" 
 
 She stood close beside him now, her 
 sweet womanly face raised to his, and 
 the rich blood mantling cheek and brow. 
 What could he do, that man with the full 
 heart and loving nature ? What could he 
 do, save gather her to his bosom, and cover 
 hands, face, hair with kisses? A delirium 
 of joy overwhelmed Jeanne, bathing her 
 soul in the clear sparkling waters of a deep,
 
 142 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 true love. Closer she nestled in his arms, 
 lying there at rest at last, the struggle, and 
 the fever, and the battle over. No thought 
 of the past, no dream of the future, interfer- 
 ing with the present moment. It was com- 
 plete in itself — perfect ! And yet, holding 
 her thus, Charles de Lutz did not speak, he 
 did not sav, 
 
 " Forgive, me darling, I love you too, and 
 would not lose you, or let you go, for aught 
 in this world ! I was but trying you, to see 
 the strength of your love, sweet one !" 
 
 No, he did not speak, but stood holding 
 her to him. Jeanne could hear the quick, 
 loud beating of his heart, but she could not 
 see his flashing eyes, and his whole form, 
 erect, defiant, as if in every corner of the 
 room, out of every shadow, he saw a hand
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 143 
 
 stretched forth to steal his treasure out of 
 his very arms. 
 
 A few minutes of that stillness, and Jeanne 
 raised her drooping head, and passed one 
 arm familiarly, as in her childish days, around 
 his neck, thus drawing his face down almost 
 on a level with her own. The look in his 
 eyes startled her. She remembered he had 
 not spoken to her. What had she done ? 
 Had she shocked him with her lack of 
 maidenly reserve ? The happiness was 
 marred, the brief joy troubled. 
 
 " Charles, speak to me," she murmured, 
 "Tell me that you love me now." 
 
 " Be still, my darling — be still for one 
 minute longer," said the Count, pleadingly, 
 and he drew her closer to him, holding her 
 to his heart ; he could not let her go. Would
 
 144 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 she ever come fluttering back again of her 
 own sweet will ? 
 
 Obedient as a little child in her perfect 
 love and faith, she laid her head once more 
 upon his shoulder and waited. 
 
 " Oh ! Jeanne ! oh ! my darling ! — too 
 late ! too late !" half groaned the Count, 
 while a fierce struggle seemed almost to 
 convulse his features. Gently he stroked 
 her hair back from her forehead, linger- 
 ingly, as if he were loth to withdraw his 
 hand. 
 
 " Jeannette," he said at last, " I have a 
 tale to tell. Can you listen to me, darling ?" 
 
 Low and sad was his voice, very white 
 his face ; he was evidently under strong 
 self-control, striving to command his words, 
 his actions, his very thoughts.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 145 
 
 Jeanne looked up smiling, throwing back 
 her head with soft gladness. " He had a 
 tale to tell." She had known it all along. 
 Of course he had — that old, old tale, still 
 ever new and fresh to each of us in turn, 
 which she had waited for ; that strain of 
 music floating round the world, and never 
 losing its first harmony ; the last best gift 
 God gave to man to comfort and to strength- 
 en him ; the perfume from the sweetest 
 flower He culled and bore with Him out of 
 the sacred garden. 
 
 Gently, tenderly, the Count placed Jeanne 
 in his own arm-chair, where he had passed 
 so many hours of weary sickness, with her 
 to minister beside him. Then he once more 
 took her hand, saying, " Let me hold it yet 
 a little longer, Jeanne?" 
 
 VOL. II. l
 
 146 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 She turned a troubled look upon him. 
 Did he not understand her? Had he not 
 heard she loved him ? Why then should he 
 not take his own ?
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " TE ANNETTE, it is growing dark. Shall 
 I light the lamp, dear ?" 
 
 She nodded her assent ; and, rising, he 
 lifted a small Roman lamp of curious work- 
 manship from off a richly-carved oak-bracket 
 occupying one corner of the room, and in a 
 few minutes a soft subdued light overpowered 
 the last rays of day ; and then the Count 
 returned to Jeanne's side, and, kneeling 
 down beside her, took both her hands in 
 hi-, saying, in a voice of deep emotion, 
 
 " Jeannette, darling, from the hour of 
 
 l2
 
 148 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 your birth unto this day I have had but one 
 thought, one wish as regards yourself — that 
 of caring for you, of sparing you even the 
 shadow of pain or sorrow. You were to 
 have been my wife. I loved you as one 
 loves something that is one's own, of the 
 possession of which one has never doubted ; 
 you were pure, and good, and fair, ignorant 
 of the world. How could I dream that 
 your woman's heart, expanding of itself, 
 would learn the difference between a bro- 
 ther's and a lover's love ? When vou 
 refused to be my wife, I took it as a child- 
 ish whim, a lesson learnt from your mother, 
 and was more angered than really hurt. 
 That feeling grew later. After all, you 
 were right, Jeanne, I never really loved you 
 until a dying man I awoke, beneath my own
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 14 ( J 
 
 ancestral roof, in the dim twilight, and saw 
 an angel kneeling at my hearth — an angel 
 I thought you, Jeanne, until I learnt to 
 recognise in you something more fitted for 
 the daily food of our poor human hearts — 
 a perfect woman ; and even then I knew 
 not that I loved you. I had no right to do 
 so. Alas ! the human heart will claim its 
 own, come what may. I know I love 
 you now, my darling, with all the best, 
 the finest instincts of my nature, with the 
 tenderness of a mother for a child, a man 
 for the wife of his bosom. I would fain 
 take you in my arms, hide you from all the 
 world, shield and shelter you from the 
 slightest blast of evil. Oh, Jeanne, Jeanne, 
 do men's hearts ever break with sorrow? 
 If so, I think mine must. Never again
 
 150 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 may I speak of love to you, dear, never 
 again may I call you my beloved. Ready 
 to lay down my life for you, yet knowing 
 I must wound you to the very quick. 
 Jeanne, forgive me, dear ; and may God 
 help both you and me to bear our common 
 lot ! " 
 
 He bowed his head low upon her lap, 
 seeking for strength ; and she, stooping over 
 him with her angel face, wound her arms 
 about him, and sought to comfort him. She 
 knew now that a great sorrow was over- 
 shadowing her — that the mystery of his life 
 would darken hers ; but she knew, too, that 
 no barrier rising between them, no sin he 
 might have committed, could alter the fact 
 that she loved him — not with one of those 
 every-day affections which flourish only
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 151 
 
 while the sun shines, but with a love which 
 formed the chief part of her being — which 
 had borne much, but which knew itself ca- 
 pable of bearing more. 
 
 u Tell me what our trouble is, Charles ; 
 we can but share it," said Jeanne gently. 
 
 11 And be parted, Jeanne." 
 
 "Let us hope not quite," she answered. 
 "Tell me — pray, tell me quickly !" And the 
 white, anxious face was lifted pleadingly to 
 him, as he now stood before her. 
 
 " You have never asked me the secret of 
 those three years of absence, darling. You 
 must solve it now. Look !" As he spoke, 
 he went to a secretary, unlocked, and drew 
 forth a packet, which he laid in Jeanne's 
 lap, Baying, " I never thought you would 
 read it till I was far away or dead ; now it
 
 152 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 is yours. I have not the courage to tell the 
 tale, Jeanne — pardon me. I am another 
 woman's husband 1" 
 
 A sharp cry of pain parted the girl's lips, 
 and she rose as if to fly. 
 
 " Jeanne, listen to me," said the Count, 
 throwing himself in her way, and speaking 
 passionately. " Remember you cast me off. 
 I have a right to be heard. Wilfully, know- 
 ingly, I have not wronged you. I tell you, 
 it is only within the last few days that I have 
 even suspected that I loved you with other 
 thau a brother's love. And you — you were 
 so calm, so self-possessed ; how could I guess 
 your heart throbbed for me ? Oh ! Jeanne, 
 I erred in one moment of passion ! My life 
 is wrecked, all hope is dead within me ; but 
 I would gladly suffer ten thousand times
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 153 
 
 more, rather than have brought this misery 
 on you." 
 
 Jeanne did not speak. She was wounded 
 — all over wounded — in her love, in her 
 pride, in her woman's dignity. She only 
 shivered visiblv. 
 
 "Child, child!" exclaimed the Count, 
 looking at her, and the agony of his voice 
 vibrated through her whole frame — " have 
 you no word, cannot you pardon me ?" He 
 took her passive hands in his, and covered 
 
 them with kisses. 
 
 She did not shrink from him, no sound of 
 reproach parted her pale lips, but raising her 
 eyes to him like a stricken deer, she mur- 
 mured, 
 
 "Take me home, Charles — take me to 
 inv mother."
 
 154 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 He awaited no second bidding. Catching 
 up a large travelling-cloak that lay close at 
 hand, he threw it over her ; then, taking her 
 in his arras, strode towards the cottage. 
 Fortunately, Miss Ivor met them on the 
 threshold. Before she could speak, the 
 Count had said, in quick, harsh tones, 
 
 " I think I have killed her, Miss Ivor." 
 
 A presentiment of the truth shot through 
 the Englishwoman's heart, but she had pre- 
 sence of mind enough to throw open the 
 door of her room, and sign to the Count to 
 lay her on her bed. He did so, and then 
 stood gazing down upon the insensible 
 marble-like face, while Miss Ivor chafed her 
 hands and bathed her brow with Eau de 
 Cologne. 
 
 " How did it happen ?" she asked, feeling
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 155 
 
 that anything was better than the Count's 
 dead silence. "How did it happen?" she 
 repeated. 
 
 " Why, we have discovered too late that 
 we love each other, as well as even my 
 aunt could desire ; only, unfortunately, I 
 am a married man, and cannot make Jeanne 
 my wife now ; and so we must part. Thus 
 much for your English system I" And he 
 laughed a mocking laugh. It seemed to 
 rouse Jeanne. She half opened her eyes. 
 
 " Go," said Miss Ivor, turning to the 
 Count peremptorily, her usually quiet face 
 expressive of angry indignation. 
 
 One more look of mingled love and pain 
 the Count turned upon Jeanne, and then he 
 obeyed. Once in the hall, he passed his 
 hand across his brow, like a man trying to
 
 156 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 drive away an evil vision, then slowly lie 
 directed his steps towards his aunt's room. 
 He found her still in the midst of her pre- 
 parations for departure, and her first word 
 of greeting was, 
 
 " Where is Jeanne?" 
 
 " With Miss Ivor, aunt," answered her 
 nephew. 
 
 The tone of voice arrested her attention. 
 She looked up in some alarm, saying, 
 
 " Has anything happened, Charles ?" 
 
 "Nothing new, aunt," he answered. 
 41 Will you send your maid away ? I Avant 
 to speak to you before you leave." 
 
 She signed to the woman to quit the room, 
 and then turned towards her nephew. 
 
 "Aunt," he said, going up to her, "I 
 have sinned against you and against Jeanne.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED 157 
 
 My only excuse is that when I came back 
 to Lutz I truly thought I came back to die. 
 When life returned I ought to have spoken ; 
 but I was so weary of the past, so longing 
 for a little calm and quiet, that I silenced 
 my conscience, thinking no harm could come. 
 I only awoke from my dream three days 
 ago, when Jeanne went to Amonville ; 
 then I felt that she had grown so dear to 
 me, life was worthless without her. And I 
 dare not say I love her, aunt, for I am wed- 
 ded to another woman !" 
 
 11 Oh ! Charles !" exclaimed Madame de 
 Lutz, with minded indignation and sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Yes, it is true. Three years ago, in a 
 moment of wild excitement, I married an 
 Italian girl, my inferior in rank. Therefore
 
 158 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 I determined to hide my marriage for a 
 time, until I had educated her, and raised 
 her by degrees to the position she was des- 
 tined to occupy. But I found out my mis- 
 take only too soon. Marietta's was not a 
 character to be moulded, and I foresaw such 
 wretchedness for us all if I brought her to 
 Lutz, that I preferred exile for myself. 
 Sickness and death overtook us. Of her 
 own free will she returned to her father's 
 house, and I came home to die, without a 
 regret for life, glad to have done with it. 
 But you and Jeanne mended the broken 
 links, and drew me back to life. You had 
 better have let me go, aunt." 
 
 "Why did you not speak then, Charles? 
 Why did you not tell us you had a wife ?" 
 said his aunt, bitterly.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 159 
 
 "Because I was a coward, and longed 
 for home and peace, at least for a few 
 months. Love was so far from my thoughts, 
 and the weariness of the two years weighed 
 me down to the earth. So I sent Louis to 
 make arrangements for Marietta to remain 
 with her father. I was liberal, and she was 
 content. She does not know my real rank. 
 I had dropped the title of Count when I 
 first went to Italy, and thought it best never 
 to assume it again." 
 
 "All wrong! all wrong!" exclaimed Ma- 
 dame de Lutz. 
 
 " I know it," he answered sternly. " You 
 cannot judge me more harshly than I do 
 myself." 
 
 Madame turned away, longing, yet dread- 
 ing to speak of Jeanne, her mother's pride
 
 160 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 forbidding her to suppose that her daughter 
 was wounded. But the Count spoke again, 
 low and sad — 
 
 " Aunt, you will take Jeanne to Eng- 
 land r 
 
 She faced him then ; and he, bowing his 
 head, said simply, 
 
 " I love her better than my life !" 
 
 "And you have told her so?" she ex- 
 claimed, with indignation. 
 
 Once more he bowed his head. 
 
 " Shame on you, Charles de Lutz ! — ten 
 thousand times shame ! You are unwor- 
 thy of your name!" And, drawing herself 
 up to her full height, she left him stand- 
 ing where he was, and went in search of 
 Jeanne. 
 
 The Count drew a long, deep sigh, and
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 161 
 
 then alone retraced his steps to his own 
 solitary home. 
 
 Entering Miss Ivor's room, Madame found 
 that Jeanne had gone to bed. 
 
 " Mamma !" she exclaimed, " Amie would 
 make me take possession of her bed. I 
 was tired and over-excited, and we were 
 afraid of alarming you. If I can sleep for a 
 couple of hours, I shall be quite ready for 
 our journey." 
 
 '• My daughter, we will delay our journey 
 till to-morrow," answered Madame. "The 
 Count has just left me, Jeanne." 
 
 The blood rushed to Jeanne's face. 
 
 •• And he lias told you, mamma?" 
 
 " Yes, Jeanne, he lias told me he is a 
 married man. and that he has ventured to 
 speak of love to you." 
 
 Vol. II. M
 
 162 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 "Mamma, he could not help it — it was 
 not his fault. Do not ask me more," said 
 Jeanne, clasping her hands, and raising 
 them beseechingly towards her mother. 
 
 " It cannot be !" exclaimed Madame de 
 Lutz. 
 
 " Mother, it has never ceased to be," an- 
 swered Jeanne. 
 
 " My daughter, you have deceived me 
 too." 
 
 " Nay, mother, you would not have had 
 me say I loved him without knowing if his 
 heart were really mine." 
 
 " And now, Jeanne ?" 
 
 " It is a mistake, mother. We will not 
 speak of it," said the girl, hastily. " I was 
 tired and excited — parting with Clotilde, 
 parting from my home. Let me rest to-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 163 
 
 night. Then take me to England. After- 
 wards, we will begin life afresh." 
 
 She was quite calm ; her manner strange- 
 ly cold ; she did not, as usual, when even a 
 trifle troubled her, seek a caress from her 
 mother; her eyes had a strange, startled 
 expression in them, as if she were in pain. 
 
 Madame de Lutz took the pale face, and 
 nestled it on her shoulder, saying gently, 
 
 " I have brought this on you, Jeanne." 
 
 " No, mother, you have ever acted rightly. 
 Do not grieve; I shall take no harm. I 
 am only startled. Go and rest. Leave me 
 here. To-morrow all will be well." 
 
 w * You will not come to your own room, 
 Jeanne ?" 
 
 11 No — I am so tired, I cannot move," 
 was the weary answer. "Take Amie with 
 
 M 2
 
 164 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 you, mamma, and leave me alone ; and do 
 not fret, for I shall be all right to-morrow." 
 
 Her mother saw she needed, almost 
 craved for solitude ; and so, smoothing the 
 hair back from her brow, and kissing her 
 tenderly, she and Miss Ivor left the room 
 together. A sigh of relief escaped Jeanne 
 as she saw the door close on her mother. 
 Then stealthily she rose, slipped the bolt, 
 placed with trembling hands the lamp on a 
 little table beside her bed, felt in the pocket 
 of her dress for the packet, then lay down 
 again, and buried her face in the pillows. 
 But not long did she lie thus. Rousing 
 herself, she broke the seal, and read a date 
 three days old ; then followed : — 
 
 " Jeanne, why did you leave me, and 
 thus break my dream ? The desolation of
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 165 
 
 your absence is so great that I have awoke 
 to a great fear. It cannot, may not be that 
 I should love you ! Back to Italy — back 
 to mv chain I must go. Would I had never 
 laid it down — would you had let me die ! 
 But this is no time for idle regrets. I must 
 leave you ; my very love has pronounced 
 the decree. Farewell, my gentle Jeanne — 
 the very essence of purity and womanly 
 sweetness — thy like I shall never meet 
 again. You grew long years beside me, 
 and I was blind ; light came to me too late. 
 Oh ! Jeanne, my lesson has been dearly 
 bought. Even as I write, I seem to see 
 you, the night of your first ball, floating 
 past me, with your wreath of rose-buds and 
 your white dress, pure and simple like 
 yourself, hiding a woman's true heart and
 
 166 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 noble nature. Oh ! Jeanne, pardon me my 
 proud blindness ! I asked you to be my wife, 
 and refused you what you, with your true 
 instinct, rightly judged was alone worth 
 having — my love. It is yours now ; you 
 have conquered, but too late — too late ! 
 Oh ! child, how often have those words 
 been uttered with wild despair, but never 
 with more bitterness, with deeper sadness, 
 than I write them now ! I may not even 
 tell you that I love you. 
 
 " You must never know until years 
 hence, when, as the happy wife of another, 
 with children climbing round your knee, 
 you will hear that your cousin, the Count 
 de Lutz, has died in some distant country, 
 and left you his heiress. That is my only 
 comfort, Jeanne, to think that a child of
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 167 
 
 yours will enliven the old Chateau, making 
 a home of it instead of a stately pile. And 
 then, turning over the papers in my secret- 
 ary, you will find this. Read, and judge 
 me gently, Jeanne, for the love I bear you. 
 I have erred — but who shall say where the 
 root of the error lies ? 
 
 " You and your mother have been fight- 
 ing against a national institution — a national 
 evil — a thing which is the curse of our land, 
 but which nothing, save a complete revolu- 
 tion in society, can change. In the main 
 you were right. There is something ig- 
 noble, revolting, in a woman who gives 
 herself to a man unloving and unloved. 
 But enough ; I cannot enter upon that now. 
 To what purpose ? — it would not restore 
 my lost happiness. Read, then, Jeanne ;
 
 168 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 and if you are old, try to remember our 
 youth — be a girl again. 
 
 " Do you recollect the first time I went 
 to Rome, how full I was of my art — how 
 determined I was to leave no stone unturn- 
 ed to gain for myself an artist's name ? I 
 felt, or thought I felt, the power within me. 
 My original idea had been to go to Rome 
 after our marriage. I knew you would not 
 interfere with my career, engrossing my 
 attention, rivalling my art — pardon me, 
 Jeanne — as another woman would have 
 done. But when I found this marriage was 
 not to be, I determined for two years to 
 lead a purely artistic life. With this inten- 
 tion I left Lutz, you weeping your child- 
 like tears, I dreaming my artist's dream. 
 
 " Arrived at Rome, there came a pause.
 
 HOPE DEFERKED. 169 
 
 Only those can understand what I mean who 
 have visited the Eternal City. There is 
 something overpowering when one treads 
 for the first time the city of the Ceesars, 
 teeming with memories, the past mingling 
 with the present, the antique with the 
 modern, heathendom with Christianity. But 
 not now can I tell you of all this, Jeanne — 
 as I write, our own individuality absorbs 
 every other feeling. Would to God I had 
 never seen Rome! — that I had never trodden 
 the marble floors of St. Peter's, or gazed on 
 the turbid waters of the Tiber. After the 
 first sensation of novelty was over, I began 
 to think of carrying out my plans. My idea 
 was to enter any Italian artist's family, to 
 live their life ; and though by this means 
 freed from all outside cares and the neces-
 
 170 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 sity of mixing in society, I might still not 
 feel myself entirely isolated from the world. 
 While ruminating how to accomplish this, 
 circumstances favoured me, and almost with- 
 out my interference matters were arranged. 
 It happened thus. One afternoon I was rid- 
 ing up and down the Corso; it was the fash- 
 ionable hour, and more than usually crowd- 
 ed. Arrived at the corner of the Via Con- 
 dotti, my attention was attracted to a priest. 
 A priest is such a common sight in Rome, 
 that I should doubtless never have looked 
 at him a second time, had it not been for 
 the wan, worn look on his face ; indeed he 
 appeared so ill, I wondered to see him 
 standing there, apparently alone. However, 
 I passed on ; but returning a second time, I 
 saw my priest attempting to cross the
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 171 
 
 Corso. Had I not myself drawn back, I 
 must of necessity have ridden over him ; as 
 it was, he stumbled and fell. In a second I 
 had dismounted, and throwing my horse's 
 bridle over one arm, with the other I lifted up 
 the fallen man. Fortunately the Corso is very 
 narrow, and he had only taken a few steps 
 off the pavement ; but the crowd of equi- 
 pages and horses is so great at this hour that 
 even this attempt of mine was attended with 
 considerable danger, and caused the by- 
 standers to look on with no little interest. 
 I gave my horse in charge to one of the 
 many loungers, and half supported, half 
 carried the priest into a neighbouring shop, 
 for he had fallen into a dead faint, which 
 lasted some time. When he came to him- 
 self, and learnt that I was his preserver, he
 
 172 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 was profuse in his thanks, begging earnestly 
 to know the name of the person to whom 
 he was indebted for his life. I made light 
 of the matter, gave him my card, and find- 
 ing I could be of no further use, withdrew, 
 and remounting my horse, continued my 
 ride. 
 
 " The following morning, at an early hour, 
 Louis came into my room and announced 
 two visitors, the Padre and the Signor 
 Rocco. In the former I recognised at once 
 my priest of the day before, and the like- 
 ness was so strong between the two men 
 that I needed not the similarity of name to 
 tell me they were brothers. The only real 
 difference lay in the tonsured head and close- 
 shaven face of the priest, and the flowing 
 hair, somewhat thickly sprinkled with grey,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 173 
 
 the full moustache and beard of the artist ; 
 for that he was au artist was evident at the 
 first glance. They were both tall, hand- 
 some men, of the pure Roman type. Fine, 
 clearly-marked features, and black, piercing 
 eyes ; they were no longer young — past 
 fifty. I judged the Padre to be the elder of 
 the two, notwithstanding 'that the Signor 
 stooped slightly, and had a more settled, 
 careworn look. 
 
 " The Padre had quite recovered from his 
 indisposition of the previous day, and after 
 once more thanking me for my timely 
 assistance, explained that he was subject to 
 these fainting-fits — that, unfortunately, he 
 had been called out suddenly to visit a 
 dying woman: that he had already reached 
 the corner of the Via Condotti, when he
 
 174 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 felt his incapacity to proceed further ; that, 
 unwilling to disappoint his penitent, he had 
 nevertheless persevered, with what result I 
 had seen. But for me he would doubtless 
 have been killed. ' My brother is ever 
 thus,' said the Signor. ' When he has an 
 object in view, nothing stays him ; he would 
 sooner die than yield, even to bodily weak- 
 ness. 
 
 " By degrees we conversed on different 
 subjects — of Rome, and art, the common 
 talk of all men there ; but when the Signor 
 learnt that I desired to take my place in 
 the rank of artists, he expanded — offered to 
 conduct me to the galleries, and to some 
 private collections then on view. I willing- 
 ly accepted, and we started at once, spend- 
 ing a very pleasant day together. The
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 175 
 
 Signor consenting to dine with ine, I was 
 enabled to explain my future plans to him, 
 asking his advice, and whether he could 
 not recommend me an Italian family of his 
 acquaintance. * Si! si /" he answered, after 
 listening to me attentively — ' I will think it 
 over — let you know.' 
 
 " The following morning the Padre made 
 his appearance, and after some hesitation 
 proposed the following plan. He told me 
 that his brother, the Signor Rocco, occupied 
 a large apartment in the Via Gregoriana ; 
 his wife had died the previous year of a 
 malignant fever, which had attacked the 
 whole household. After the Signora's 
 death, half the rooms had been shut up. 
 1 We did not need them, only my brother, 
 myself, and the child Marietta, the one in
 
 176 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 his studio, the other at his altar, and with 
 his people ; besides, there was the expense. 
 Death, illness, and the long-after inaction 
 had undermined the Signor's funds ; his 
 school of art had been broken up, and only 
 of late had he been able to re-organise 
 it.' 
 
 "The Padre then proceeded to propose 
 to me the occupation of the long-discarded 
 rooms. They were wholly at my service, he 
 said, and, at the same time, I should be 
 able to avail myself of the Signor's artistic 
 advice. The thing seemed just what I 
 wanted, and I immediately proposed visit- 
 insr the Via Gresoriana. On our wav the 
 Padre was careful to inform me that the 
 rooms had been well fumigated, papered, 
 and re-painted, and that I need not fear
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 177 
 
 infection. I assured him I had no such 
 fear, and perfectly trusted him. 
 
 " Arrived at the house, we ascended to the 
 upper story by a wide, stately stone stair- 
 case, with many doors on every landing, 
 showing it to be inhabited by numerous 
 families. On the top story, however, there 
 was only one door, and a certain stillness 
 seemed to pervade the atmosphere ; and 
 when the Padre, making use of his latch- 
 key, admitted us into a sort of ante-room, 
 we seemed to pass into quite another world, 
 so calm, so still. 
 
 " Our first visit was to the Signor in his 
 studio, when I at once became aware that 
 he was a man of no ordinary talent, and 
 one under whom I might be proud to study. 
 Afterwards we surveyed the apartments 
 
 VOL. II. N
 
 178 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 destined for my use. No need to describe 
 them ; they consisted of three rooms, salon, 
 atelier, and bedroom. I was content, and 
 agreed to occupy them as soon as a few 
 necessary changes had been effected. 
 
 "Ina couple of days I found myself estab- 
 lished in my new quarters. It had been 
 settled that I should take my meals with 
 the family, which I had understood to con- 
 sist of the Padre, the Signor, and a little 
 girl, whom the Padre always spoke of as 
 ' the child Marietta.' Judge, then, of my 
 surprise when, the first time I took my 
 place at table, I saw opposite me one of the 
 most beautiful women I had ever seen. She 
 was alike perfect in form and face. It 
 needed no artist's eye to appreciate her 
 beauty — it was self-evident. I have seen
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 179 
 
 many lovely women in nature as in art, 
 but never have I met with Marietta's rival. 
 My face must have betrayed my admiration, 
 for, as the maiden bowed her head in recog- 
 nition of my presence, I remember well the 
 rich deep colour which mantled her cheek 
 and brow. She still wore mourning for her 
 mother — a plain black dress, fitting tight to 
 her exquisitely-moulded form ; no orna- 
 ment, no jewel marred the simplicity ; and, 
 in truth, she needed none — she was herself 
 a jewel of Nature's own making. 
 
 " I will not dwell upon that fatal beauty, 
 Jeanne. It is enough you understand. 
 Days and weeks glided on — I worked hard 
 and well ; nothing disturbed me. Marietta 
 I only saw at meal times ; but, alas ! I learnt 
 
 look upon those hours as the best, the 
 
 N 2
 
 1 80 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 happiest in the day. It was a delight to sit 
 opposite and gaze from time to time upon 
 her beauty. It was a feast of itself — an 
 epicure's feast, which never for one moment 
 palled upon my taste, Her father and 
 uncle were both proud of her after their 
 fashion ; but they paid little or no attention 
 to the motherless girl. She lived a life 
 perfectly apart from ours, with only her old 
 nurse, Teresa, for friend and companion. 
 
 " It was from Teresa I learnt that 
 Marietta's mother had been a common pea- 
 sant girl from the Campagna — that seeing 
 her one day selling fruit upon the market- 
 place, the Signor Rocco had been struck 
 with her marvellous beauty, and had sought 
 to obtain her for a model, but the girl's 
 parents had refused. Whether through
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 181 
 
 cunning, or in the ordinary course of events, 
 
 the Signor had by degrees been so drawn 
 
 on, that at last he asked and obtained the 
 
 peasant girl for his wife. ' He lived to rue 
 
 the day,' said Teresa, in conclusion ; ' she 
 
 never loved him, onlv married him from 
 
 ambition ; and what with her jealousy, 
 
 fierce temper, and poor relations, the Signor 
 
 lias had a hard life of it. As for the child, 
 
 I believe the mother was jealous of its 
 
 beautv from the time she weaned her to her 
 
 dying day. I never saw her caress her as 
 
 other mothers do their little ones. The 
 
 Signor would have sent her to the convent, 
 
 and had her taught, but his wife would not 
 
 hear of it.' 'What, make her daughter 
 
 wiser than herself, that she might scorn her 
 
 mother I No, she should not go, but stay
 
 1 82 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 at home and learn to help Teresa.' ' So. 
 but for the Padre, her uncle, Marietta had 
 not so much as learnt to read.' 
 
 "Thus, Jeanne, something more was 
 added to the charm of Marietta's beauty — 
 namely, pity. Pity for the lovely girl grow- 
 ing up in such perfect loveliness between 
 those two old men. She never went out, 
 save to early mass, before the rest of the 
 household was astir, when Teresa accom 
 panied her, who, with her large market- 
 basket, profited by the occasion to do her 
 day's marketing. 
 
 "I sometimes found myself wondering how 
 Marietta bore her solitary existence. She 
 seemed to stand in great awe both of her 
 father and uncle, and seldom spoke to any 
 one. I do not suppose I exchanged a dozen
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 183 
 
 phrases with her in the course of the first 
 three mouths. 
 
 "At last, one day, seeing some choice 
 flowers during my afternoon's 6troll, I pur- 
 chased them, brought them home, and laid 
 them by Marietta's plate at dinner. I cannot 
 describe her astonishment and delight. Her 
 gratitude for so small a gift showed me how 
 entirely uncared for and unspoilt the girl had 
 been. From henceforth never a day passed 
 but what Marietta had her flowers. It was 
 reward enough for me to see the beautiful 
 face brighten up and glow with pleasure. 
 Her father and uncle were always present, 
 and showed almost as much astonishment 
 and gratitude as Marietta herself. One day, 
 however, 1 had procured for her a bunch of 
 most lovely rosea — they were beautiful even
 
 1 84 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 tor Rome, where flowers are so abundant — 
 but instead of, as usual, laying them beside 
 her, I placed them in a vase in the centre 
 of the table. Great was the general admi- 
 ration bestowed upon them, but Marietta 
 said never a word, and avoided looking at 
 me. Once, however, I saw her beautiful 
 eyes rest upon the flowers, full to overflow- 
 ing; with tears. The meal was half over, 
 when I turned carelessly to the Signor, 
 saying, ' Signor, I have two favours to ask 
 you, may I count upon your granting them?' 
 ' Most assuredly, if within my power,' he 
 answered, courteously. ' The first is, then,' 
 I replied, ' to permit me to make a sketch 
 of your daughter ; and the second is, that, 
 feeling disinclined for work to-day, I have 
 ordered a carriage to take me to Tivoli, and
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 185 
 
 should esteem it a favour if you and the 
 Padre would accompany me, and also per- 
 suade the Signorina to break through her 
 seclusion for one afternoon.' The Roman 
 dearly loves a holiday, and I saw that my 
 proposition gave satisfaction. The Signor 
 answered, smiling, ' As for the sketch, I 
 give my consent ; Marietta is now the person 
 to decide whether she is willing. You will 
 find it troublesome, Signor ; I never take 
 amateur models.' 'Merely for a sketch,' I 
 interposed.' ' Well, well, you will settle it 
 between you. As to Tivoli, I think we are 
 all agreed that it will be a pleasant excur- 
 sion.' And so, without further discussion, 
 the matter was settled, and an hour later 
 we were on our way to those far-famed 
 gardens.
 
 ] 86 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " It was such a rare holiday for Marietta, 
 and she looked so radiantly beautiful sitting 
 opposite me in the carriage. As we drove 
 through the town I became aware that she 
 attracted considerable attention. Arrived 
 at Hadrian's Villa, we left the carriage at 
 the gate, and began strolling through the 
 grounds. Jeanne, child, you cannot ima- 
 gine the effect of that climate, of those 
 scenes, on certain temperaments. It is 
 something enervating, overpowering. It 
 seemed to me as if I were dreaming some 
 strange, intoxicating dream, wandering thus, 
 with Marietta beside me, through long ave- 
 nues of trees, amidst ruins of vast temples and 
 ancient theatres, up banks laden with flowers, 
 the air around us heavy with perfume, and 
 the sky above one ethereal blue. It was
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 187 
 
 one of those dreamy days in which one lives 
 for the moment only, caring neither for the 
 past nor for the future. No word was ex- 
 changed between Marietta and myself which 
 the whole world might not have heard, 
 only I obtained her promise that she would 
 sit for me to make a sketch of her face. 
 That night, on our return, I took my vase 
 of roses, and giving them to Teresa, bade 
 her place them in the Signorina's room. On 
 a slip of paper I had written the words, 
 'In remembrance of Tivoli !' From that day 
 forth, I hardly know how, it was so gradual, 
 the tone of my intercourse with Marietta en- 
 tirely changed in character. I did not see 
 her oftener alone ; true, I took the desired 
 sketch, but it was in her fathers atelier. Her 
 words were few, but her looks and her
 
 188 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 gestures warned me that we were both play- 
 ing a hazardous game. 
 
 " Why uselessly linger over the tale ? 
 You guess how it was. Day by day I grew 
 more deeply entranced with Marietta's 
 beauty, and day by day she grew to love 
 me with all the passion of her Italian 
 nature. I could feel her glance follow me 
 as I moved about the room — that mellow, 
 speaking glance which rouses all our pas- 
 sions. So Marietta fascinated me, and I 
 never paused to ask myself whither we 
 were tending, until, one morning, the Padre 
 came into my atelier, looking grave and 
 anxious, and after examining my work for 
 some time, said, 'My brother and myself 
 are much troubled, Signor.' ' Ah !' I said, 
 ' and wherefore ? — has anything happened ?'
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 189 
 
 ' It is about Marietta,' he answered. ' In- 
 deed !' I said, continuing my painting — 
 • what has the Signorina done ?' ' She has 
 refused to marry a most estimable youth,' 
 was the answer, ' an artist, like her father, 
 the Signor Antonio. You have seen him 
 in the atelier. The young man has a little 
 property, and is well to do ; it is a good 
 match. Marietta must be mad.' ' Has she 
 given any reason for her refusal ?' I asked. 
 1 None, save a flood of tears, and an en- 
 treaty not to force her — that the Signor 
 Antonio was not pleasing to her — as if the 
 girl knew what sort of man would make a 
 good husband ! This is what comes of hav- 
 ing no mother. If the Signora Rocco had 
 been alive, Marietta would not have dared 
 i>> utter a dissenting word; now we are at
 
 190 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 a loss. What do you recommend, Signor?' 
 ' To leave her alone, Padre, and she will 
 come round. Try to force a woman, and 
 you only make her obstinate.' ' Sit sit I 
 think you have hit the mark, Signor. I 
 will tell my brother, and persuade Signor 
 Antonio to patience ;' and therewith he left 
 my atelier. But the impetus to thought 
 had been given, and for the first time I 
 asked myself what my intentions with re- 
 gard to Marietta were. I knew she was no 
 wife for me. I could not bring her home, 
 and place her beside you and my aunt as 
 the Countess de Lutz ; yet Marietta laved 
 me, and might well interpret into a similar 
 feeling my admiration. I threw down my 
 paint-brushes impatiently, and taking up my 
 hat, sallied forth.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 191 
 
 " Passing by the Piazza di Spagna, I 
 stood for a moment gazing at the numerous 
 models lying in all sorts of positions, in 
 every variety of costume, the whole length 
 of the steps. There were some beautiful 
 women in the different groups, but I sought 
 in vain for one worthy to stand beside 
 Marietta. Turning away, I entered the 
 Accademia di Francia, and stretching mv- 
 self on a bench, took myself seriously to 
 task, and at last decided upon a course of 
 action which would react upon Marietta. 
 
 " I did not make my reappearance at the 
 Via Gregoriana till the next morning at the 
 late breakfast. As I took my usual seat, I 
 
 »ked across at Marietta. Her eyes were 
 bent, and the long dark silken lashes swept 
 her cheek ; the usually bright colour had
 
 192 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 quite faded ; she looked pale and careworn 
 — those few hours had changed her strange- 
 ly. Seeing her thus, I felt that, unless I 
 spoke at once, my own courage would 
 surely fail me ; so, turning to Signor 
 Rocco, I said — ' I am much annoyed at 
 being obliged to leave Rome immediately 
 for an indefinite time, but I received last 
 night letters from France which require my 
 return without delay. I regret the inter- 
 ruption in my studies, but am forced to sub- 
 mit to circumstances.' 
 
 " This was true, Jeanne. The bank at 
 Amonville had just failed, and my presence, 
 if not absolutely necessary, was desirable, 
 and proved most useful, as you know. 
 Both the Padre and Signor were loud in 
 their regrets, assuring me that my apart-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 193 
 
 ment should be kept in readiness against 
 mv return. I thanked them warmly, and 
 told them my departure was fixed for the 
 next day — that Louis was already packing 
 my things. 
 
 * k During our conversation, Marietta never 
 once lifted her eyes — she seemed not even to 
 hear — not a look could I obtain from her ; 
 but her pale face spoke to my heart far 
 more eloquently than words. Only once, 
 when I announced my departure for the 
 next day, I saw all her features quiver, 
 with suppressed pain. Disinclined to 
 work, irritated, and ill at ease, I left the 
 house late that afternoon, and wandered 
 carelessly about, through narrow back-streets, 
 utterly indifferent where I went, till sud- 
 denly, and without knowing it, I found my- 
 
 VOL. II. O
 
 194 HOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 self at the foot of the Capitol. It was 
 evening now — near upon sunset, and, re- 
 turning on my footsteps, I became conscious 
 of two muffled figures close behind me. I 
 should have passed on without further notice, 
 but something familiar in the graceful bear- 
 ing of the taller of the two attracted my 
 attention. I paused, and looked more 
 steadily at them. In another minute I re- 
 cognised Marietta, and was at her side. 
 ' Marietta, what are you doing here at this 
 time of night ?' I asked. ' I have come to 
 bid you farewell,' she answered, in her 
 sweet, musical voice. ' But not here/ I re- 
 plied ; ' surely not here.' 'And wherefore 
 not ?' she answered. ' What spot more ap- 
 propriate for a Roman maiden to bid fare- 
 well to her lover than her own Capitol —
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 195 
 
 but, ah ! I forgot,' she continued, speaking 
 quickly, ' there is one other place still better 
 suited, where woman's trust and weakness 
 met with their reward, crushed mercilessly 
 beneath men's iron shields. Lend me your 
 arm, Signor, for I am weary, and I will 
 guide you thither.' 
 
 " I did as she bade me, for her manner 
 awed me. Never before had I heard her 
 speak in that tone, breathing alike pride 
 and passion. I took her hand, and placed 
 it on my arm, without speaking. Then we 
 both moved quickly on, Teresa following 
 at a discreet distance. An Italian woman 
 loves an intrigue, and Teresa belonged 
 thoroughly to her class and nation. Up 
 the great flight of stops, past the statues of 
 Castor and Pollux, and the mutilated form 
 
 o2
 
 196 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 of Marcus Aurelius, all shadowy in the grow- 
 ing shades of evening, we passed rapidly ; 
 then down a narrow street, until we stopped 
 at a gate. A piece of money given to the 
 gate-keeper, a word to Teresa, bidding 
 her await our return, and once more we 
 moved rapidly on. I could not stay Mari- 
 etta's steps, until we stood together on the 
 brow of the Tarpeian rock, overlooking all 
 the north part of Rome and the distant 
 Campagna. 
 
 " 'Now,' she said, throwing back her veil, 
 and stretching out her hand towards me, 
 ' now I will say addio.' Her great black 
 eyes were flashing out upon me like two 
 stars gleaming in the darkness. 
 
 " There are moments in our existence 
 when we cease to be ourselves, when all that
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 197 
 
 is true and noble in our natures seems sud- 
 denly overwhelmed, submerged, and pas- 
 sions, the very subtlest in our being, rise up 
 and hold us in subjection, unless by some 
 mighty effort we can cast them off. How 
 rarely, alas ! does one come forth un- 
 scathed from such a combat ! 
 
 "' That lovely June night I knew not that 
 the moon was shining and the stars had 
 risen when we retraced our steps, and found 
 Teresa impatiently awaiting us at the 
 postern gate. 
 
 " ' Ah ! what will the Signor say, Mari- 
 etta, when he misses us ?' was the hurried 
 
 * 
 
 greeting. ' He will not miss us,' answered 
 .Marietta, shortly. ' He has an engage- 
 ment, and will not be home till late.' 
 
 " Then, once more wrapping her veil
 
 198 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 around her, and now leaning on my arm, 
 we turned homewards. It was a long dis- 
 tance, and I thought she must be weary, so 
 asked her gently, ' Marietta, shall I call a 
 vettura?' She lifted her head, and I felt 
 her lean more heavily upon me as she mur- 
 mured, ' And so shorten our last hour to- 
 gether.' ' Nay, nay.' So we went on ; nor 
 paused until we reached the Fontana di 
 Trevi. There Marietta stopped of her own 
 accord, and, leaving my arm, passed round 
 to where there was a small opening in the 
 balustrade. The white moonlight was pour- 
 ing down upon the streams of foaming 
 water gushing out from the huge horses' 
 mouths like glistening silver ; while bearded 
 Neptune, holding high his trident, looked 
 down upon the scene.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 199 
 
 " ' Come, come,' said Marietta, impatient- 
 ly, signing for me to advance to her side. 
 At the same moment she stooped, and fill- 
 ing the palms of her hands with water, held 
 them up to my lips, saying, ' Drink, drink 
 quickly,' and I obeyed. 'Now you will 
 come back,' she said, breathing a long sigh 
 of relief, ' I know you will. The Fontana 
 never lies.' It is a Roman legend, he who 
 drinks of the Fontana di Trevi is sure to 
 come back to Rome. 
 
 11 Once more we moved on ; but Marietta 
 had ceased weeping now, and walked with 
 a lighter step. Arrived at the comer of the 
 Via Condotti, she held out her hand, saying, 
 1 Here we part, Addio, ed a rivederti, caro 
 mio. Each morning and each night I will 
 pray the Blessed Virgin for you, and await
 
 200 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 your return. Now, do not follow me.' 
 " Thus speaking, she disappeared round 
 the corner, followed by Teresa. The next 
 morning I left Rome for Lutz. At that 
 moment I loved Marietta with one of those 
 subtle passions which, when it takes possession 
 of a man, blinds him to all else save the plea- 
 sure of the hour. Our nature is twofold — it 
 has its coarser and its finer elements. Some 
 women appeal only to the former, and by 
 them alone hold us in sway ; but with a man 
 worthy of the name their power rarely lasts 
 — passion is followed by satiety, and the 
 links are broken. 
 
 " When I left Rome my passion for 
 Marietta was still too fresh for me to feel 
 this. Had I remained, I know now that it 
 must have been so ; but we parted almost
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 201 
 
 before I had realized the fact that I was 
 loved. The charm was new, and lingered 
 round me like a pleasant dream, which I 
 was never weary of recalling. On my 
 journey homeward I reviewed my situation, 
 and determined at once to carry out my 
 uncle's wishes, and conclude the marriage 
 he had arranged. I never for one moment 
 anticipated opposition from you, nor from 
 my aunt, at this my second demand. You 
 would fulfil your duty, I should accomplish 
 mine, and Marietta would sink into a 
 memory, a regret. What man had not ex- 
 perienced the same? I reasoned that I 
 should differ in nothing from others. It 
 was in this frame of mind that I came 
 amongst you, and found my aunt as un- 
 reasonable, from my point of view, as
 
 202 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 ever. It irritated me. What right had 
 she to sound the depths of my feelings ? 
 Other men took wives, caring for them far 
 less than I cared for you ! Besides, you 
 belonged to me, I had waited for you, no 
 other human being had a right to lay his 
 hand upon you. I remember the idea cross- 
 ing me once that Gordon was seeking to 
 win you, and I accused your mother of en- 
 couraging him. I was angered, I scarcely 
 knew why or wherefore ; it was as if an in- 
 justice were being perpetrated upon me. On 
 the same day I asked you to be my wife, and 
 you refused. I have had an inkling since of 
 what you were waiting for, Jeanne. I have 
 thought within the last few days how I might 
 have wooed you gently to me by one word 
 of love. Alas ! I would not recognize the
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 203 
 
 fact that the child had become the woman. 
 You seemed cold to me, and doubtless I 
 seemed so to you. How could it be other- 
 wise, coming, as I did, freighted with passion 
 from that land of passion, with the image of 
 Marietta, and her marvellous beauty, haunt- 
 ing me, and making all things else look 
 tame and shallow in comparison ? Knowing 
 what I had left behind me for duty's sake, 
 and seeing myself rejected, I craved after 
 the forbidden fruit, as an accustomed opium- 
 eater craves after the forbidden morsel. 
 Your mother was right — I did not love 
 you ; and had you been my wife, I doubt 
 whether we should have been happy. Our 
 love would never have developed ; the 
 image of that other woman would have 
 come between you and me. But enough;
 
 204 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 wherever the wrong lay, we cannot undo it 
 now. It seems to me, looking back, as if 
 at this time all things combined to drive 
 me to the very place I ought, of all others, 
 to have avoided. It is difficult for me to 
 relate the next event which bore upon my 
 life, because it is alwavs difficult for a man 
 to cast the least reflection upon one of the 
 opposite sex ; yet I cannot pass it over in 
 silence, and time will have mellowed all 
 things when you read this. 
 
 " Louise de la Croix had only been mar- 
 ried a few months when I met her at the 
 ball your mother gave at the Chateau. Do 
 you remember, Jeanne ? She was young 
 and beautiful, careless and gay ; she had 
 been thrown, utterly without preparation, 
 into the vortex of Parisian society. Her
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 205 
 
 husband left her perfect and entire freedom, 
 glad to buy his own liberty on such easy 
 terms. Marriage with him, as with most 
 men of his class, had been merely a matter 
 of calculation. His fortune required repairs 
 before it was too seriously damaged, and he 
 required an heir to perpetuate the family 
 name. The former Louise's wealth assured 
 him, the latter he had every reason to be- 
 lieve would follow in due course of time. 
 But, beyond this, a wife was an encum- 
 brance to him. Not for any woman in the 
 world would he have altered the even tenor 
 of hifl life ; he never dreamt of doing so, 
 and after the first month of matrimony 
 Louise was perfectly aware that she was 
 her own mistress, entirely and completely 
 independent. She was rich; she was
 
 206 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 young ; she was beautiful. Naturally men 
 gathered round her, flattering and exalting 
 her to the skies ; she saw daily, hourly, 
 other women, holding their heads high, and 
 moving the queens of society, whom she 
 learnt in a few weeks to recognise as faith- 
 less wives and mothers — women whose 
 only object it was to observe the outward 
 forms of decency — who, had they borne 
 other names — had the glitter of gold not 
 created a sort of aureole around them — 
 would have been pointed at by the finger 
 of scorn, and every door closed in their 
 faces. 
 
 "Doubtless — in fact, I know it — the Mar- 
 quise shrunk at first from this state of 
 things, and kept herself aloof. But habit, 
 alas ! is second nature ; the edge of her
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 207 
 
 conscience was blunted by degrees ; she 
 had many adorers, but no especial preux 
 chevalier, like all the other ladies of her 
 society — no one addicted to her service 
 above all others, and she felt aggrieved. 
 There could be no harm in that — it was 
 useful, agreeable; he would fulfil the 
 thousand little nothings so necessary to a 
 woman's comfort, and which her husband 
 utterly ignored. Such was her frame of 
 mind when she came to Lutz, and her eye 
 fell on me. I was single, an old acquaint- 
 ance, a man who had never given occasion 
 for gossip — in fact, a safe man ; so she 
 threw herself somewhat in my way, and 
 drew me to her house. She meant no harm 
 at first ; she felt sure of her own honour- 
 able intentions ; she was only amusing her-
 
 208 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 self. But I did not meet her half-way. 
 The position she would have had me assume 
 has ever seemed to me the lowest, the 
 vilest a man can stoop to. 
 
 " By degrees rumours, courteous congratu- 
 lations, respecting my liaison with the Mar- 
 quise, reached me from more than one quarter. 
 How they got wing I cannot tell, but I de- 
 termined speedily to close the mouths of men 
 once and for all. In four-and-twenty hours 
 after taking the briefest adieux, I left Paris 
 for Rome. I did not care to return to 
 Lutz, and the moth will hover round the 
 candle until its wings are singed. I rea- 
 soned that, though in Rome, I need not see 
 Marietta. I knew how seldom she went 
 out — how easy, therefore, it would be to 
 avoid her. A school-boy might have rea-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 209 
 
 soned as wisely — I know it now, but I did 
 not see it then. I think there are moments 
 in every man's life when he is mentally 
 blind as regards his own feelings, and per- 
 fectly incapable of justly weighing the im- 
 portance of his own actions. I doubt even 
 if another can open his eyes. We must 
 each and all buy our own experience ; it 
 was even so with me. 
 
 " For one month, however, true to my 
 resolution, I religiously avoided the Via 
 Gregoriana ; only at night, sometimes, I 
 would walk slowly along on the other side 
 of the street, and gaze upwards at Marietta's 
 window, hoping to see, if it were but her 
 shadow. Once or twice I succeeded in do- 
 ing 80, and went home reasoning against 
 reason — that there could be no possible 
 
 VOL. II. P
 
 210 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 harm in my presenting my addresses to the 
 family in general. Through Louis T learnt 
 that Marietta was not married. 
 
 " I had been about six weeks in Rome, 
 when Louis came into my room one morn- 
 ing earlier than usual ; he fidgeted about 
 for some time, and at last said abruptly, 
 ' Monsieur will be angry, I fear, but as I 
 was passing by the Chiesa della Trinita 
 this morning, I saw Teresa coining down 
 the steps, with the Signorina leaning on her 
 arm. They had seen me before I was 
 aware of it, and Teresa, calling out to me, 
 obliged me to remain and greet them. The 
 Signorina was just as white as a sheet, Mon- 
 sieur le Comte ; she did not speak a word, 
 and I think she would have fallen to the 
 ground, had it not been for the support of
 
 HOPE DEFERRED 211 
 
 Teresas strong arm, who explained to me 
 eagerly that the young lady had been ill, 
 very ill, near unto death — that she was now 
 only just able to crawl about, but that she 
 would drag herself to the Blessed Virgin's 
 altar night and morning, kneeling before 
 the shrine until she almost dropped from 
 exhaustion. "Ah! it is cruel — cruel !" she 
 exclaimed ; adding, " And so you and your 
 master are back in Rome, Signor Louis, and 
 have forgotten your old friends. Truly the 
 French are a volatile people ; their memo- 
 ries cannot extend over six months ;" and 
 as she spoke, her piercing black eyes looked 
 at me indignantly. I ventured to say we 
 had only arrived lately, were but passing 
 through Rome on our way south, but that I 
 doubted not Monsieur le Comte would pay 
 
 p2
 
 212 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 his respects to the family before leaving. 
 She hardly seemed to believe me, shook 
 her head doubtingly, and muttering some- 
 thing in Italian to the Signorina, nodded to 
 me, and passed on.' 
 
 " I had listened in silence, but not with- 
 out emotion. What he told me concerning 
 Marietta moved me to the quick. I, how- 
 ever, only asked if he had given my ad- 
 dress ; and being answered in the negative, 
 desired him to leave me. Once alone, my 
 thoughts flew to Marietta. Had she been 
 pining thus for me ? — had I in reality so 
 wounded her heart as to change the beauti- 
 ful bright girl into the sickly, ailing woman, 
 who day by day dragged her weak limbs to 
 the Virgin's shrine, there to pray for the 
 return of her beloved ? And for thirty
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 213 
 
 days I had been within a stone's-throw of 
 her, indifferent to her sufferings, careless, 
 though she might be dying, when a single 
 word, a look, would have gladdened her ! 
 " I hesitated now no longer. That very 
 day I would seek Marietta. If I could 
 only wait patiently till the evening, I was 
 sure of finding her alone ; the Signor and 
 Padre would both be at their cafes. So I 
 waited wearily. The hours that day seemed 
 weighted with lead. Remember, it was the 
 first time I had ever felt the charm — the 
 full power of being loved entirely, exclu- 
 sively, as I believed Marietta loved me ; for 
 you, Jeanne, have no idea what Italian wo- 
 men are, especially of Marietta's standing. 
 Uneducated, unguided, save by priests and 
 superstition, they have no employment, no
 
 214 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 mental culture, and live but for one thing — 
 love. When it comes to them, their whole 
 nature expands, and goes forth to meet it ; 
 they never hesitate ; they never think. An 
 Italian woman gives herself up wholly and 
 entirely to her passion, neither counting the 
 cost, nor regretting it when paid. Love 
 constitutes their being ; it knows no rival ; 
 they live in and for it. To realise aright 
 the loves of Romeo and Juliet, we must 
 tread their land and breathe its atmosphere. 
 And I knew that such a woman was waiting 
 for me even then — one to whom I alone 
 could bring sunlight and joy — to whom my 
 presence was light, my absence almost 
 death. No marvel, then, if my whole soul 
 went forth in gratitude to the woman who 
 could thus think and feel for me. Friend-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 215 
 
 ship, affection, I had known ; but love — 
 never until this day. 
 
 "Evening came at last, and once more 
 I ascended the great stone staircase and 
 stopped at the door of Marietta's home. A 
 moment I hesitated, as one involuntarily 
 does at every great crisis of his life. It is 
 as if an invisible hand were laid upon us, 
 bidding us pause ere we risk our all. Then I 
 knocked a low knock and waited — a minute, 
 and T heard Teresa's shuffling walk along 
 the corridor. She turned the lock ; I 
 entered. She would have screamed aloud 
 in her Italian excitability, but I placed my 
 finger on my lips in token of silence, and 
 whispered in her ear, ' Marietta.' She an- 
 swered with a shake of the head, and tears 
 rising in her still bright black eyes, while
 
 216 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 she pointed towards a little room, which I 
 knew was Marietta's habitual retreat. It 
 opened out of Teresa's, and was more 
 shabbily furnished than the rest of the 
 house. I followed the direction indicated, 
 and quietly, without knocking, opened the 
 door. It was growing dark. A few embers 
 on the hearth faintly lighted the room, and 
 showed its only ornament, a large and ex- 
 quisite picture of the Mother and Child. On 
 a low, quaintly-carved prie-diea, placed front- 
 ing the hearth, knelt Marietta, her head 
 raised, her eyes fixed on the Madonna, while 
 from between her clasped fingers the beads 
 of a rosary dropped one by one. 
 
 " Yes, Jeanne, you see it now. My pic- 
 ture of ' Waiting " was a life-picture. My 
 entrance was unheard. The suppliant did
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 217 
 
 not stir, but continued her devotions, her 
 lips moving silentlv. Even in that half-light 
 I saw how changed she was. The glow of 
 health had faded from her cheeks, her hands 
 looked long and thin, and there was the 
 lassitude of despair in the bowed attitude of 
 the graceful figure. It needed but a minute 
 to see all this ; then, in a low voice, I said, 
 "Marietta!' She started, turned, saw me 
 standing, made one step towards me, stopped 
 short, turned her head towards the Madonna, 
 sinned herself, murmured, ' Grazie, Madonna 
 miaf and the next instant was lying in my 
 arm-. 
 
 " I will pass over the following hour. 
 What can I tell you, save that the passionate 
 love of this woman intoxicated me? Had I 
 never woke up, had I died then, it would
 
 218 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 have been well for her and me. How the 
 time passed I know not, but suddenly we 
 were roused by hearing footsteps in the 
 corridor. We thought it was Teresa, and 
 did not stir, but in another minute facing 
 us stood the Padre. I can scarcely recall 
 the angry words which passed between us, 
 words the like of which I had not borne, 
 save from a man of his class. He attempted 
 to take Marietta out of my arms, where she 
 lay sobbing wildly. ' To-night she shall be 
 hidden in the convent,' said the Padre. 
 ' Better that my brother should return to a 
 childless rather than a dishonoured home.' 
 ' I will not go,' cried Marietta, springing up 
 and facing her uncle. ' I will follow him, 
 my heart's delight ! You shall not part us. 
 Has not the Madonna given him back to me?
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 219 
 
 Have I not prayed day and night to win 
 him ? Thou shalt not part us, I say F 
 
 " 'Foolish girl,' answered the priest, shrug- 
 ging his shoulders, ' thou thinkest he loves 
 thee ! Ask him to make thee his wife, and 
 see then what his love is worth ! And yet 
 I tell thee thou must be his wife to-night, or 
 to-morrow, at dawn of day, the convent 
 gates close on thee and thy dishonour for 
 ever. Thou knowest me, thou knowest my 
 power ; now plead with thy lover.' 
 
 " He spoke scoffingly, and, as he did so, 
 moved away to the further end of the room ; 
 and, before I could answer him, Marietta 
 was lying white as marble, prone to the 
 ground at my feet. ' Oh \ forsake me not, 
 forsake me not !' she cried, in her passionate 
 Italian. ' Consign me not to a living tomb I
 
 220 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Give me but the name of wife, and I will 
 serve thee as no woman ever served man 
 before.' 
 
 " She would have said still more, but I 
 raised her, and holding her in my arms, 
 sought to comfort her. I knew well the 
 powers of the Church at Rome, and I knew 
 the Padre both could and would fulfil his 
 threat. To save Marietta at any cost, that 
 was my only thought. 'Lead on, Signore 
 Padre,' I said haughtily. 'Marietta shall 
 not be consigned to a convent. Go and 
 prepare your altar. In an hour she shall be 
 my wife.' 
 
 " He turned and looked at me with a 
 stupefied air of astonishment. A minute's 
 silence; then, seeing I did not move, nor 
 utter another word, ' Follow me,' he said.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 221 
 
 We did so, Marietta clinging to me. Her 
 momentary strength had left her ; she was 
 weeping now like a terrified child. ' Hush, 
 hush, Marietta, all is well. No one shall 
 harm you at my side.' Thus I sought to 
 cheer and re-assure her, as, preceded by the 
 Padre, and followed by Teresa, we descend- 
 ed the staircase, passed along the dimly- 
 lighted street, and mounted the steps lead- 
 in L r to the Monte della Trinita. With the 
 conflicting passions of love, anger, and pity 
 warring within me, I still knew what I was 
 doing — I knew that I was sealing my fate 
 for life, my misery perhaps. As I entered 
 the church your father's face arose before 
 me, sad and earnest, even as I had known 
 and loved it in life ; but Marietta, in all her 
 marvellous, luring beauty, was clinging to
 
 222 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 my arm. Through the dim church we fol- 
 lowed the dark form of the Padre, until we 
 stood before the grating which separated us 
 from the high altar. Taking a small key 
 from his pocket, the priest opened the iron 
 gate, passed through, and signed to us to do 
 the same. All was dark and still. No 
 sound broke the silence, and the sacred lamp 
 swinging above the altar alone cast a pale, 
 wavering light over the scene. There, ac- 
 cording to the rights of the Romish Church, 
 Marietta and I were made man and wife I"
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 HAVE not much more to tell. Com- 
 ing out of the church, my resolution 
 was at once taken. I would leave Rome 
 that very night, taking Marietta with me, 
 and for a time, at least, our marriage should 
 be kept secret, until, by force of association 
 and education, Marietta should have grown 
 up to her new position. Standing therefore 
 on the steps, I turned quickly and haughtily 
 to the Padre, saying shortly, ' Marietta is 
 now my wife, and will follow me. Addio !' 
 I gave him no time for opposition, but half-
 
 224 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 carrying Marietta, hurried her into a carriage, 
 and drove straight to my hotel. Bidding 
 Louis pack, I arranged everything for our 
 immediate departure, and before midnight 
 we were on our way to Naples. In the 
 environs of that beautiful city I took a villa. 
 Retired, hidden from all the world, we lived 
 for five months. But long ere that time 
 had elapsed I knew that I had bound my- 
 self to a woman who, beyond her perfect 
 beauty, and her passionate love for me, had 
 not one thought, one idea in common with 
 myself; and as her reserve wore off, and we 
 grew accustomed to each other, I found her 
 develop into just the same woman Teresa 
 had told me her mother had been. She 
 could not endure my having anything, even 
 an idea, apart from her; she was jealous of
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 225 
 
 ray art, she was jealous of my books. I 
 sufficed to her existence, and she felt she 
 ought to complete mine ; but, alas ! she 
 could not! Day by day the fact grew 
 plainer and plainer, and the breach widened 
 between us. In vain I strove to heal it, and 
 for a-while succeeded, lulling myself to rest 
 with the delusion that time and association 
 would draw us closer together, and make 
 unlike like. 
 
 " It was now that I painted my famous 
 picture of ' Waiting.' Marietta was a good 
 model, and the employment suited her. It 
 needed no exertion, kept me occupied with 
 Ixr alone ; and she asked nothing better than 
 to kneel thus before me hours together. 
 
 " Have you ever on a very cold day sud- 
 denly entered a hot-house? The heat is 
 
 VOL. II. Q
 
 226 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 pleasant at first, and seems to penetrate 
 and warm the whole body ; but after the 
 first ten minutes a feeling of lassitude, almost 
 of suffocation, follows. Air — fresh, free air 
 — one must have at any cost ; that artificial 
 atmosphere becomes unbearable. * One hur- 
 ries out, drawing a long breath, glad to feel 
 the clear fresh air ; even though it make one 
 shiver, at least it is life. 
 
 " A sensation something akin to this was 
 gradually, but surely, creeping over me in 
 my Neapolitan villa. A restlessness, a wild 
 longing for change, drove me forth at times. 
 I thought of Lutz, I thought of you all with 
 strange, eager desire ; but I was less willing 
 than ever to bring Marietta amongst you. 
 If I absented myself for an hour or two, on 
 my return I was sure to be greeted with
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 227 
 
 bitter reproaches and wild bursts of passion, 
 followed by remorse equally exaggerated. 
 At first I soothed her, as one would a child ; 
 then I reasoned gentry, kindly ; but it was 
 of no avail, and in the long run only made 
 matters worse, so I finished bv taking little 
 or no notice of these outbursts. 
 
 ' Thus time went on, when one day we 
 received the news that the Padre was dying, 
 
 I desired most earnestly to see us. We 
 hurried to Rome, and arrived just in time 
 to see him in life ; but he was unconscious, 
 and recognised neither of us. After his 
 death we still lingered in Rome, and it was 
 at this time that by some means or other 
 Madame de hi Croix found me out, and 
 d me in my atelier. My reception of 
 bei wa- not such as to induce her to return ; 
 
 Q2
 
 228 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 but it had the effect of making me decide 
 upon a new course of action. 
 
 " To bring Marietta to Lutz would, I felt 
 more than ever persuaded, be entailing 
 misery on us all. I could not have intro- 
 duced her into society — such a step could 
 only have been productive of humiliation to 
 me, and deep sorrow to my aunt. I deter- 
 mined, therefore, to break off all connection 
 with my home, and to spend the next few 
 years travelling with my wife ; and thus gra- 
 dually initiate her into the forms of society, 
 by mixing with what should fall in our way, 
 as occasion offered. I arranged my affairs 
 accordingly, writing to my aunt and to my 
 lawyer, making my will, and putting all 
 things in order. Then I informed the Signor 
 Rocco of our immediate departure. The
 
 HOPE DEFERRED 229 
 
 Signer made some objections to our travel- 
 ling, which, however, I made light of; and 
 once more we left Rome. This time 
 Teresa accompanied us, for on the eve of 
 our departure Marietta told me she ex- 
 pected to be a mother. 
 
 " You may imagine, Jeanne, how this 
 knowledge stirred up once more my dying 
 love for her — how I forced myself to be 
 gentle and patient, bestowing all my time 
 and care to give her pleasure. No whim 
 but what I sought to gratify ; she asked but 
 to receive. It was in vain Teresa warned 
 me I was doing wrong. ' You will suffer 
 for it,' she said. ' It was just the same with 
 her mother. You are spoiling her, and she 
 cannot bear it ; she will make you pay a 
 heavy penalty.'
 
 230 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " But I would not heed her ; I could 
 but believe that once a child upon her 
 bosom, Marietta would learn wisdom, and 
 we should be, if not happy, at least at 
 peace. But I had yet to learn, Jeanne, 
 that Italian women, of Marietta's temper- 
 ament, are capable of but one feeling — pas- 
 sion. All milder forms of love are as nought 
 to them — they do not satisfy them ; they do 
 not comprehend them; and so when Marietta 
 became a mother, instead of a link, the 
 child widened the gap between us. From 
 the hour of its birth, Marietta lived in 
 mortal dread lest my love should pass 
 from her to it. There was not a device 
 she did not practise to hide the child from 
 me. For a time I seemed to ignore the 
 fact, hoping thus to lull her jealousy to
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 231 
 
 rest ; but in vain. It was a girl, Jeannette 
 — a De Lutz in every feature ; and it grew 
 to be such a bright, merry little thing. I 
 gave her your name, dear, thinking of the 
 time when I should bring her home to you, 
 and you would welcome the mother for the 
 child's sake. 
 
 " I also at this time had my marriage 
 ratified according to French law, fearful lest 
 any stain should rest upon my little daugh- 
 ter. This angered Marietta. Why had I 
 not done so sooner ? — why need the child 
 be considered where she had been neg- 
 lected? But I had long since ceased to 
 argue, and let matters take their course. I 
 need hardly tell you how I loved ray baby- 
 daughter ; how she grew daily closer and 
 closer to ray heart — it was all I had left.
 
 232 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Between Marietta and myself love was now 
 but a name — a thing to be wrangled about ; 
 and we had never had anything else in 
 common. All my hopes died out one by 
 one. I knew that nothing was left me save 
 to bear the burden I had taken upon my- 
 self, the weight of which would have been 
 intolerable to a man of my temperament, 
 save for my art and my little girl's caresses. 
 Oh ! the charm of those baby-arms about 
 my neck, those soft baby-kisses ! I seern as 
 I write to feel them still. She soon learnt 
 to know me in her little way, and when she 
 caught sight of me would shout for joy, 
 and almost leap out of Teresa's arms to 
 meet me. This angered her mother beyond 
 all bounds, and two or three times harsh 
 words passed between us — harsher words
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 233 
 
 than I had ever thought to utter to a 
 woman. 
 
 "So time passed on, I working hard, 
 and winning, as you know, some success. 
 At times I asked myself what my future 
 would be ? I could not for ever remain an 
 exile; and yet to take Marietta to Lutz 
 seemed daily less and less desirable. I 
 knew that once passed babyhood, my daugh- 
 ter would require other guidance than her 
 mother's. I need not have troubled my- 
 self, for suddenlv there broke over our 
 home, such as it was, a storm which laid it 
 low even to the ground. The child sick- 
 ened with one of those low fevers so com- 
 mon in Italy. We did not think much of 
 it at first; and Marietta laughed at my 
 anxiety. But suddenly she grew worse,
 
 234 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 and before many hours had elapsed, I held 
 the lifeless body of my child in my arms. 
 Oh ! how gladly I would have died in its 
 stead ! 
 
 " Marietta's loud wailing and boisterous 
 grief were more than I could bear — they 
 seemed a mockery; yet I soothed and 
 calmed her, and after a time persuaded her 
 to take some repose, leaving Teresa to 
 watch beside her ; and I — I took up my 
 watch beside my dead child, and in those 
 long hours of agony I painted her sleeping 
 her last sleep. It seems to me now, look- 
 ing back, as if my very life oozed away in 
 the work. How I did it — how I moulded 
 those little hands, lying so listless now — 
 those tiny feet, that would never run to meet 
 me — how I committed to canvas that baby-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 235 
 
 face, in all its sleeping beauty, I know not. 
 Niszht and dav I laboured as one eon- 
 demned to do so. Another will, not ray 
 own, seemed to drive me on ; and ever as 
 I painted, the finger of death grew more 
 and more visible on my darling. It seemed 
 as if I and the grave were fighting for the 
 victory, which of us should hold our own 
 the longest. It was finished at last ; and hid- 
 ing her beneath flowers as fresh and fragile 
 as herself, I laid my darling in her last 
 resting-place. A marble cross above her 
 head, her name, the date of her birth and 
 death — sole records of her short and stain- 
 less life. 
 
 " Scarcely had the child been dead a week 
 when Marietta sickened of the same disease. 
 For weeks we despaired of her life, watch-
 
 236 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 ing night and day beside her. Before she 
 was fairly out of danger, my turn came. 
 I was already so weakened that the fever 
 prostrated me directly; and yet I lived. 
 Week after week I lay there helpless. 
 From my room I could hear Marietta's con- 
 tinual moan and wail — it was hard, very 
 hard to die away from Rome. At last, 
 wearied, I asked the doctor what it were 
 best to do. He said it was a sick whim, a 
 fancy which it would be well to satisfy. 
 She was too weak to be reasoned with. If 
 possible she ought to go home. So, at my 
 request, he wrote to her father, enclosing 
 travelling expenses, and bidding him come 
 and fetch his daughter. Gently I broke it 
 to Marietta, telling her the doctor ordered 
 her home. She seemed to have lost all
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. !?37 
 
 self-control — her love, her jealousy, every- 
 thing had disappeared before the terror of 
 death. Yes, she would go home ; and I 
 should follow her as soon as I recovered — 
 for of course I should recover — I was a man, 
 and strong. So when her father came, she 
 went contentedly, and left me with Louis 
 for my nurse. I have not seen her since. 
 I lay long ill — three months, I think ; and 
 then, when I thought death could not be far 
 off, came home to die ; but God willed it 
 otherwise, and I have lived to love you, 
 Jeanne, and now I must leave you. 
 
 " Oh ! how blind we are ! I know that in 
 the future your image alone will haunt me ! 
 You have taken possession of all that is best 
 and holiest in my nature. Oh ! Jeanne, 
 Jeanne, I shall see you once again, darling. 
 
 &>
 
 238 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 and then farewell. If I stayed beside you, 
 a word, a look might betray me. A man is 
 not always master of himself ; and I would 
 rather die than wound you. Yet how 
 gladly I would read your inmost soul. It is 
 hard to leave you, to know that others may 
 take that which I onee neglected, but 
 which now I have learnt to value only too 
 highly." 
 
 Jeanne closed the manuscript, and lay 
 back upon her pillows. Who shall say what 
 her thoughts were — how they went and 
 came ? A strange mixture of pain and 
 pleasure. The knowledge that she was 
 loved, loved so dearly, made her heart beat 
 with a strange, wild longing. She closed 
 her eyes, and, forgetful of all else, dreamt 
 of that paradise of earthly love, and so she
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 239 
 
 fell asleep. Martyrs and criminals sleep 
 the eve of their execution. God, in His 
 mercy, wills it so ! With early morning she 
 awoke, and then the remembrance of the 
 events of the day before came rushing back 
 to her. She closed her eyes again for one 
 minute, as if to shut out the light of day ; 
 but not long did she lie thus. Rising, she 
 dressed herself, threw open the window, 
 and stood breathing the fresh morning 
 air. Her brain and heart recovered their 
 balance, acting together — she was herself 
 again ; and when, at their usual early break- 
 fast hour, she went into her mother's room, 
 and wished her good morning, few would 
 have guessed that she had fought a great 
 battle with herself, and had come forth vic- 
 torious.
 
 240 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 She knew that from henceforth her life, 
 her love, her all must be hidden away from 
 the world, away from her friend, away even 
 from that much-loved mother, who had 
 nurtured and tended her ; it must be hidden 
 down in the very depths of her own heart ; 
 her love ! her secret ! the hope and joy of 
 her youth ! Alas ! she ignored, how few 
 of her sex there are who do not bear 
 burdens equal to her own ! We grow ac- 
 customed to them, sometimes even finish by 
 forgetting their existence, until one day the 
 perfume of a flower, a ray of sunshine, the 
 tone of a voice, a mere nothing, and yet 
 the thing awakes the dead, and surges up 
 within, the loves, the memories long since 
 laid to rest. 
 
 So, with womanly tact and quickness,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 241 
 
 Jeanne recognized and picked up the thread 
 of her life, snapped for one little moment. 
 To screen herself and her cousin, that was 
 her object. Not if she could help it should 
 blame attach to him. None, before her, 
 should speak harshly of his past, or judge 
 his wife. All that belonged to him was 
 dear and sacred to her. And therefore, 
 when her mother, coming towards her, spoke 
 softly, caressingly, desirous, yet fearful of 
 probing the wound, Jeanne said, quite 
 calmly, 
 
 " Mamma, I have had so many things to 
 vex and trouble me for the last few days, I 
 was tired last night, and grieved. Clotilde's 
 farewell, our sudden departure, and Charles's 
 announcement, were too much for me ! I 
 behaved like a child, and am ashamed of 
 
 VOL. II. R
 
 242 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 myself. I was vexed, too, for I knew you 
 would think yourself aggrieved at his having 
 kept silence so long. Of course he was 
 wrong, and he knows it himself. He thought 
 to act for the best, to spare us, but was mis- 
 taken. Doubtless he has told you the whole 
 tale. Why he did not immediately upon his 
 return tell us of his marriage, I do not know, 
 save that he and his wife were not happy 
 together ; and she wishing to remain at 
 Rome, he was content she should do so. It 
 is very sad, but, mother, his is not a solitary 
 case." 
 
 Anxiously Jeanne had watched her mo- 
 ther's darkening brow, and at last she said, 
 with sad sternness, 
 
 " And he has lived in the midst of us all 
 these many months, Jeanne, and has kept
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 243 
 
 this secret from me — I who have been al- 
 most a mother to him." 
 
 " He was wrong, mother, but there are 
 extenuating circumstances ; he feared for us 
 that the association — that the close intimacy 
 which has ever existed between the Chateau 
 and the Cottage might suffer. Only be pa- 
 tient and gentle with him now. Remember 
 how you have loved him, with what respect 
 and tenderness he has ever treated you, and 
 so pardon him this, his first, almost his only 
 offence. I think he has suffered much." 
 
 " How Charles de Lutz came to marry a 
 woman inferior to himself in birth and edu- 
 cation, astonishes me beyond all things," an- 
 swered Madame. " I could have believed 
 it of any other man sooner than of him." 
 
 " And I could have believed it of him 
 
 R 2
 
 244 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 sooner than of most men," replied her 
 daughter, " because he is the soul of honour 
 and of truth. His wife's family considered 
 Marietta's honour compromised, and insisted 
 on her entering a convent ; he, to save her 
 from that death-in-life, married her. Mo- 
 ther, I think, even while you blame him, 
 you ought to remember this. We drove 
 him to Italy, and we are now bound, for 
 the honour of our house and name, to re- 
 ceive and stand by his wife, whoever she 
 may be. You will receive him well, for 
 my sake, when he comes, will you not ?" 
 And as she spoke, she threw her arms lov- 
 ingly round her mother's neck, the softened 
 look of whose face told her she had gained 
 the day. She insisted no longer, and 
 changing the subject, said,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 245 
 
 " I had better go and look after Marie and 
 the packing. By what train do we leave? " 
 
 " By the mid-day or the evening train," 
 said Madame — " it depends." 
 
 "Then we have no time to lose," answer- 
 ed Jeanne ; and leaving her mother's room, 
 she crossed the grand salon, when suddenly 
 Charles de Lutz stood before her. She did 
 not attempt to avoid him, but remained 
 quite still in the middle of the room. 
 
 " Jeanne, can you pardon me ?" he said. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' she answered, after a 
 momentary struggle. " If error there 
 has been, I am as much to blame as 
 you are, for I have loved you from my 
 earliest girlhood. Nothing ever came to 
 break the charm. With you it was differ- 
 ent ; the thought that I was to be your wife,
 
 246 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 while it awakened tenderness, did not — 
 could not engender love. My mother saw 
 and felt this. I felt it too, and loving you 
 so well, how could I bear to be everything, 
 yet nothing? Had I married you when 
 vou came back from Rome the first time, 
 Charles, what would your life, and what 
 would mine have been ? You would have 
 wearied and hankered after what you had 
 not, and I — I think my heart would have 
 broken." 
 
 " And now, Jeannette ?" asked the Count, 
 sadly. 
 
 11 Now," she answered, holding out both 
 her hands towards him — " now we will 
 take life such as it comes to us — nobly, 
 bravely, stilling our hearts, hushing our 
 regrets, living and acting in the present 

 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 247 
 
 earnestly and faithfully— you for the wife 
 you have chosen — I for God and for my 
 mother." 
 
 Her voice trembled as she uttered the 
 last words, but she still held her head high, 
 and her eyes were tearless. No word of 
 reproach that he had not spoken sooner, no 
 thought that he might have spared her some 
 part of the present sorrow, seemed to cross 
 Jeanne's mind. She shivered visibly once — 
 it was when she remembered he was another 
 woman's husband ; but that her love was 
 sin, never came home to her. It was not, 
 it could not be — her heart was pure, and her 
 love inborn; only it could never be per- 
 fected — she must stand alone. 
 
 The Count realized their position better. 
 He knew that stoic calmness could not last ;
 
 248 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 he knew the barrier that had arisen between 
 them ; he knew how their hearts would 
 beat, and perhaps break from behind the 
 ramparts, let them raise them ever so high. 
 Not now, not yet — this was only the be- 
 ginning ; but in time to come. God help 
 them both ! 
 
 " Charles," said Jeanne, in the same voice, 
 " where is Marietta now ?" 
 
 " At Rome — with her father," he an- 
 swered. 
 
 "She must come home — her place is 
 here," was the rejoinder. 
 
 "Nay, I think not," replied the Count. 
 " I know Marietta well. She would bring 
 misery on us all. A few months ago I sent 
 Louis to Rome, with a proposal to her 
 father to keep her with him for the present,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 249 
 
 I paying her a yearly income sufficient to 
 provide her with every luxury. She her- 
 self consented to the arrangement. We are 
 better apart, Jeanne." 
 
 " Nay, it cannot, must not be," answered 
 Jeanne. " Your position here is a false 
 one — your marriage must be openly de- 
 clared, and Marietta must be recognised 
 as " — Jeanne paused and hesitated — it was 
 so hard to give that title to another ; then 
 she added softly, " as your wife. She is a 
 foreigner — no one will inquire deeply into 
 her birth ; and if she is so beautiful, that 
 and your name will give her her right place 
 in society. The rest will come in time. 
 Grant me this request, cousin. Believe me 
 it will make matters straight, and silence 
 many evil tongues. Remember, she is the
 
 
 250 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 mother of your child ! She has not sinned 
 against you. Her place is at your side. 
 Fetch her home, Charles." 
 
 "Jeanne, Jeanne, you know not what 
 you ask ! How would you bear it ? — how 
 should I for you ?" 
 
 A moment's hesitation, then Jeanne an- 
 swered, 
 
 " I am going away, Charles. When I 
 come back, we will begin a new life." She 
 did not look at him again, but continued 
 quietly, " Good-bye. Go to my mother 
 now, and tell her the Countess de Lutz will 
 be here to receive us when we return." 
 
 So speaking, she left the room. He did 
 not attempt to follow her — he could not. 
 He knew what those quiet words, that 
 stern outward calm, meant ; he felt how
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 251 
 
 strong was the love and tenderness surging 
 in his own heart, and how a word, a syllable, 
 would make the tide overflow. And so he 
 watched her go — his lost love, his lost happi- 
 ness; loving her too well to hold her 
 back. 
 
 And she moved slowly away through the 
 very room she had left lightly a few hours 
 back, then so full of growing hope and joy, 
 now so utterly alone. She felt as one be- 
 numbed with pain. Oh ! could she only 
 have lain down and died 1 And she knew 
 that she must live and act! Life seemed 
 never-ending, the grave where she might 
 rest at last, so far, so very far away. 
 
 In the meantime, left alone, Madame de 
 Lutz and Miss Ivor looked inquiringly at 
 each other. They both knew only too well
 
 252 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 the question and thought uppermost in their 
 hearts. 
 
 " Does she really love him ? What 
 brought about this explanation?" 
 
 " I never could have believed the Count 
 would have acted thus," was Madame de 
 Lutz's first exclamation, with more of sor- 
 row than of anger in her voice. 
 
 •'He is not alone to blame," answered 
 Miss Ivor, whose accepted position of friend 
 and counsellor, rather than dependent, au- 
 thorised her freedom of speech. " When 
 he returned in the Autumn, he openly ac- 
 knowledged that a mystery enveloped his 
 life; nevertheless you took him home, en- 
 gaging to ask no questions. He must have 
 some powerful reasons for keeping his wife 
 away from Lutz, and doubtless was con-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 253 
 
 vinced he could only do so by letting all the 
 world ignore his marriage. He was wrong, 
 but I cannot believe he was wilfully so ; it 
 was an error of judgment, arising, as most 
 of the Count's mistakes do arise, from an 
 over-tenderness, a fear of wounding others." 
 
 " And my Jeanne ?" said the mother, 
 anxiously. 
 
 "Dear Madame," answered Miss Ivor, 
 going up and taking the Countess's hand in 
 hers, " do not deceive yourself any longer. 
 Jeanne has loved her cousin for the last 
 three years. The day she refused to be his 
 wife I found her weeping her heart out in 
 the boudoir, and, girl-like then, she told 
 her love — woman now, she hides it." 
 
 " You knew this, and did not tell me !" 
 exclaimed the mother.
 
 254 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 " To what purpose?" answered Miss Ivor. 
 " You had refused the Count, Jeanne had 
 done so likewise ; you could not, then, call 
 him back, and say you had changed your 
 minds. Human hands had been so busy 
 from early days with this marriage, that I 
 determined, come what might, I would not 
 interfere, but leave it in God's hands. Had 
 I told you Jeanne loved her cousin, you 
 would have been miserable, watching the 
 child's every word and action ; she would 
 not have been free to rise above her love, 
 and grow into a noble woman." 
 
 " But when he came home you should 
 have told me then," continued Madame. 
 
 "I think not," answered Miss Ivor. 
 "Though no word had passed between us, I 
 felt sure Jeanne had been true to her love,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 255 
 
 and, I believed, free and unshackled. The 
 Count could not fail to return it when he 
 saw her in her ripened beauty. How could 
 I surmise that other ties bound him ?" 
 
 " And now her heart will break," said 
 Madame. "Why did I thus oppose my 
 husband's will, deeming myself wiser than 
 others?" 
 
 The door had opened even while she 
 spoke, and the Count had entered. As 
 he did so Miss Ivor left the room. His 
 face was composed, but very sad. He went 
 straight up to his aunt, and standing before 
 her, said, 
 
 " You were right, nevertheless, aunt, and 
 we were all wrong. You, in your woman's 
 purity, judged marriage to be no idle specu- 
 lation, no family compact, no momentary
 
 '256 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 passion — these sooner or later bring misery 
 and degradation. You would not allow me 
 to fall into the first two errors. I have 
 committed the third, and now suffer for it ; 
 but, nevertheless, I thank you. You would 
 not do wrong that right might come. I tell 
 you freely now I did not love Jeanne then, 
 though, God pardon me, I worship her 
 
 now ! 
 
 " Charles de Lutz, how dare you speak 
 thus ?." exclaimed Madame, her eyes flash- 
 ing, and her lips trembling with indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 " Because I have erred once, and will 
 not do so again," he answered calmly. 
 " Yes, I have told her, aunt, and I tell you 
 now, that I love Jeanne as one never loves 
 save once in a lifetime."
 
 HOPE DEFERKED. 257 
 
 " You told her that, knowing she could 
 not be your wife ?" 
 
 " It was my heart and soul that spake, 
 not my reason. I could not be silent. 
 Listen, aunt. Take Jeanne home to England. 
 We cannot kill the love that has grown to 
 its full growth in both our hearts, but we 
 can crush it and keep it down — ive must. 
 I love so well that I would sooner die than 
 wilfully harm her in word or deed. Why 
 have I kept my wife away from Lutz ? — 
 why have I not announced my marriage? 
 Jeanne has told you, doubtless. Because 
 Marietta is not my equal in rank, and, still 
 worse, in education. But, aunt, you ought 
 to know better. W T hat matters birth or 
 education now-a-days, where there is the 
 gloss of wealth and the prestige of such 
 
 VOL. II. S
 
 258 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 beauty as Marietta boasts? Nay, it is her 
 temper, her arrogance, her jealousy, which 
 has kept me silent. I feared alike for your 
 peace and my own. Now Jeanne bids me 
 bring my wife home — she says it is necessary 
 for my honour and her own. I believe she 
 is right. This is, therefore, what I propose 
 doing. While you are in England I will 
 bring Marietta to Lutz, introduce her in the 
 county, and then, if you desire it, return for 
 the Winter to Italy. It will be as well 
 perhaps for us not to meet for the next year 
 or two." 
 
 " Yes, I think it will be as well," an- 
 swered Madame, coldly. 
 
 " Aunt," said the Count, sadly, " can you 
 not pardon me ? I have sinned truly ; but 
 I am grievously punished too."
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 259 
 
 " And ray Jeanne — how shall I answer 
 to her father for her saddened life ?" 
 
 The Count paused ; then answered, with 
 serious reverence, 
 
 " We may not blame the dead, yet I am 
 ofttimes tempted to believe that, could 
 those who have gone before look back upon 
 the deeds and results of their earthly career, 
 they would willingly unlive half their lives 
 on earth. My uncle, by education, and 
 from the effects of example, was led to 
 form projects for Jeanne, not reckoning on 
 counter-influences. Had he left us both free, 
 that which he most desired, and which now 
 has failed, would in all probability have 
 been consummated happily ere this. If the 
 power is granted him now to look down on 
 earth, believe me, aunt, he sees and judges 
 
 s2
 
 2 GO HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 events very differently from what he did 
 when, a dying, anxious man, he feared to 
 leave his child in God's hands, and strove 
 with his finite judgment to regulate her 
 future. His errors have been pardoned 
 him ; we trust he will not be less merciful 
 to you and me. And Jeanne — our good, 
 our gentle Jeanne — I cannot cease to love 
 her, aunt — as soon bid me cease to breathe 
 the fresh, free air of heaven, yet live ; but 
 from henceforth my task shall be to smoothe 
 her path, to stand aside and let her pass ; 
 never by word or deed to rouse into being 
 hopes and thoughts that may not be. It is 
 a hard task, but where there is will and 
 strength, surely there is also power." 
 
 " God grant it, Charles de Lutz !" said 
 Madame, doubtfully ; " you speak bravely,
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 261 
 
 and you mean truly, I know, but, alas ! 
 eyes will speak, hands will meet, and love 
 is strong — stronger than death. You have 
 done a grievous wrong." 
 
 " I know it, aunt — farewell !" and slowly 
 he moved towards the door. 
 
 She saw him go regretfully, for he had 
 been almost a son to her ; still, she would 
 not stay his steps — she was angered for 
 Jeanne's sake. Thus had they parted, save 
 that the opposite door opened, giving ad- 
 mittance to Jeanne herself. Anxiously she 
 looked from one to the other, a pained, 
 troubled expression gradually overspreading 
 her face. 
 
 " You are going, Charles ?" she said, 
 after a minute. He bowed his head in 
 token of assent ; then she went up to him,
 
 262 HOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 and holding out her hand, said gently — 
 " Good-bye, my cousin. When next we 
 meet, remember we shall expect to wel- 
 come the Countess Charles de Lutz. Mo- 
 ther, you are parting friends, surely ?" and 
 still holding the Count's hand, she half 
 drew him towards Madame. " I have had 
 pain enough to-day," she said, in a low 
 tone — " do not make it greater !" 
 
 " God knows I would not, Jeanne," an- 
 swered the Count, sadly, holding out his 
 hand to the angered Countess ; and Jeanne, 
 taking her mother's, laid it in his palm. 
 
 " Mother, for my sake," she pleaded. 
 
 " Let it be so, then," answered the Coun- 
 tess, bursting into tears. " For her sake I 
 forgive you, Charles de Lutz." 
 
 And as the Count bent his head, she
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 263 
 
 kissed him on the brow. He waited not to 
 hear another word, fearful lest his own emo- 
 tion should overpower him. Without even 
 looking at Jeanne, with hasty steps he left 
 the room. 
 
 " Thank you, mother," was all Jeanne 
 said ; and, moving about quietly, she gather- 
 ed various little knicknacks together, until 
 she saw that Madame de Lutz had some- 
 what recovered her composure. Then she 
 spoke of the hour, of various things that 
 had to be arranged ; and was so entirely 
 herself that Madame began gradually to lose 
 her fear, and to think that perhaps, after all, 
 she had exaggerated the evil. 
 
 That night they left the Cottage, and pro- 
 ceeded on their road to England, ignorant 
 of the fact that the Count de Lutz accom-
 
 264 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 parried them the whole way as far as Calais. 
 He must watch over Jeanne awhile longer; 
 he could not let her go thus alone ! From 
 a distance, in secret, henceforth, he must 
 follow her ; but none the less faithfully, 
 none the less truly. As long as she was in 
 sight, he watched the vessel that bore away 
 all that was brightest, purest in his life. 
 Then, when it had quite disappeared beyond 
 the horizon, he turned homewards, looking 
 stern duty steadily in the face, determined 
 not to shrink henceforth from it, let it come 
 in what form it might. 
 
 And Jeanne, speeding through the green 
 fields of England, gazed for the first time 
 on her mother's land. Rich and fair it 
 seemed to her, with villages dotted here 
 and there ; church spires rising upwards to
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 265 
 
 the sky, as if to sanctify the land ; tran- 
 quillity, wealth, and peace everywhere. 
 And she was fain to ask herself if, in those 
 ancestral homes lying imbedded amidst 
 those ancient trees, if beneath those thatched 
 cottage roofs, with their smiling gardens, 
 there could be many hearts struggling, lov- 
 ing, aching, as hers did ? 
 
 In London they were met by Gordon, 
 whose account of his father was such as to 
 determine Madame de Lutz to continue her 
 journey without further delay. The Reve- 
 rend James Elliot had begun life a poor 
 man. One of a large family, he knew that, 
 once his education completed, he had no- 
 thing more, in a pecuniary sense, to expect 
 from his parents. Whatever remained at 
 their death, must naturally go to his sisters.
 
 266 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 From choice, and because he felt it to be 
 his own especial mission, he had entered the 
 Church, and for some years had worked 
 hard in one of the worst London parishes. 
 Gradually, year by year, the brothers and 
 sisters of that once united household had 
 been laid to their rest, until at last only two 
 remained, Mary and James Elliot. They 
 lived together in their modest home, cheer- 
 ing and comforting each other, until the 
 brother one day brought home a wife, a 
 noble-hearted, generous woman, who made 
 the lonely sister thoroughly and completely 
 welcome in her home. 
 
 Shortly previous to his marriage, James 
 Elliot had been presented with a living in 
 Wiltshire ; and from henceforth his diffi- 
 culties were removed. In his country home
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 267 
 
 plenty and peace awaited him. The follow- 
 ing year Mary Elliot married the Count De 
 Lutz, and only once since had brother and 
 sister met, though they had ever maintained 
 an affectionate and frequent correspondence. 
 That once had been on the occasion of his 
 wife's death, when Gordon was about twelve 
 years old. Several children had been born 
 to the Vicar, but with the exception of the 
 eldest they had all died in infancy ; and at 
 last the wife and mother followed, and was 
 laid in the peaceful churchyard beside her 
 babes. Mr. Elliot had never really recovered 
 the shock of her death ; his was one of those 
 sensitive natures which cannot throw off 
 sorrow, and which clings as tenaciously to a 
 lost as to a living love. All his energy, all 
 his ambition, was from henceforth concen-
 
 268 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 trated on his only son. No expense was 
 spared to give him a first-rate educa- 
 tion — Eton, the University, foreign travel 
 — nothing was denied him, and his career 
 promised thus far to be a brilliant suc- 
 cess. He had chosen the law as a profes- 
 sion, and his talents were already highly 
 spoken of. 
 
 He was keeping his second term when his 
 father, who had been somewhat ailing for 
 the last few months, was suddenly laid low 
 by a stroke of paralysis. Then it was that 
 the earnest desire to see his only remaining 
 sister came to the dying man. It is strange, 
 but nevertheless true, that when life is ebb- 
 ing away one returns in spirit to the days of 
 one's childhood, retracing step by step each 
 incident in life's journey. Vividly the memory
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 269 
 
 of early friends arises — of brothers and sis- 
 ters long since gone to their rest ; and the 
 craving to feel once more the touch of long- 
 forgotten hands grows painfully strong. And 
 so Gordon had sent for his aunt ; and with 
 feverish impatience James Elliot awaited her 
 arrival. They met at last, not without sad- 
 ness; how could it be otherwise? — they who 
 had parted in the full strength of life and 
 health — and now ! 
 
 But Mr. Elliot, in his long life of preach- 
 ing to others, had not failed to learn for him- 
 self the true lesson of Christianity. He 
 knew the time was close at hand when he 
 must bid farewell to the world and worldly 
 things ; and from the moment his dimmed 
 eyes met the tearful gaze of his dearly-loved 
 sister, he was content, his soul was satisfied ;
 
 270 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 he could have exclaimed with Simeon of 
 old, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant 
 depart in peace." After the first day or 
 two the Vicarage resumed its usual aspect 
 of quiet cheerfulness ; no one could have 
 imagined that beneath that roof a human 
 soul awaited from hour to hour its great, its 
 final call. 
 
 Jeanne had never seen her uncle since her 
 early childhood. Her remembrance of him 
 was therefore very vague, and he would 
 certainly not have recognized, in the fair, 
 graceful girl, the merry, romping child of 
 twelve years back. There is a strange af- 
 finity in sorrow, and, from the first hour of 
 their meeting, uncle and niece felt drawn 
 towards each other. There was a charm 
 for Jeanne in that calm, noble face, with its
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 271 
 
 soft white hair, brushed back from the 
 marble brow ! That almost motionless 
 figure seemed to soothe her impatience; and 
 the dying man, with the acute instincts of 
 the dying, looking into her face, saw there 
 what others in life and health seemed to 
 ignore, namely, a struggle of the soul, a 
 sort of life agony; he, going to his rest, 
 pitied the young soldier just entering the 
 battle-field, and seeing her so frail, marvelled 
 how she would demean herself; while 
 Jeanne, on her side, almost envied him the 
 battle fought, and nearly over. 
 
 Pleasant and home-like was that country 
 Vicarage. A long, low building, stretching 
 in front of a well-kept lawn, bestudded with 
 standard rose-trees and bright flower-beds. 
 It consisted actually of two buildings, the
 
 272 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 old and the new. To the former belonged 
 the library and dining-room, both somewhat 
 low and dark, with small Gothic, pointed 
 windows ; then came the projecting porch, 
 covered with climbing plants — the yellow 
 bankshire rose and honeysuckle intermingled 
 — on the other side of which ran the large 
 new drawing-room, which Mr. Elliot had 
 built to please his wife, and furnished with 
 elegant comfort. Alas! ere the gloss had 
 worn off the pretty chintz and many- 
 flowered carpet, the mistress was sleep- 
 ing her last sleep in the churchyard 
 yonder; and from henceforth the new draw- 
 ing-room was rarely used, save for a chance 
 guest, who was not considered intimate 
 enough to be introduced into the Vicar's 
 private sanctum.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 273 
 
 But these occasions grew more and more 
 rare, and, after his illness, ceased altogether. 
 When he could leave his own room he was 
 rolled into the library, and remained there 
 the livelong day. So, though the drawing- 
 room had been duly aired and put in order, 
 in anticipation of Madame de Lutz's arrival, 
 it was scarcely more frequented than before, 
 both mother and daughter showing a marked 
 preference for the somewhat sombre, yet 
 quaint and home-like, library, with its shelves 
 of books, great ecclesiastical volumes, ancient 
 pictures of celebrated divines looking down 
 grimly on the occupants, so passionless, so 
 calm, one inwardly wondered if they ever 
 moved, and felt, and acted as living men. 
 
 vol. ir.
 
 274 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 fTIWO or three evenings after their arrival 
 the whole family was assembled in this 
 same library — Mr. Elliot, in his large easy- 
 chair, watching each in turn, Madame work- 
 ing beside him, Gordon reading, and Jeanne 
 leaning listlessly against the framework of the 
 open lattice window ; for although the lamp 
 was lit, the warm, early Summer air was 
 pleasant. Listlessly, I said, Jeanne stood, 
 her white dress scarcely less colourless than 
 her face. A sort of grey, shadowy look 
 seemed to hang over her ; she was doing
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 275 
 
 nothing, seeing nothing, though her eyes 
 were fixed upon the flowery lawn. Her 
 soul was far away, living over again the 
 hour when she had seen the pitiless barrier 
 arise which must for ever separate her fate 
 from him she loved. Standing thus, it 
 seemed as if she still felt his kiss upon her 
 lips, and heard his gentle words breathing 
 mingled love and pain. 
 
 Gradually — very gradually — Jeanne was 
 learning to realize her position. Alone — 
 from henceforth ever alone ! The idea that 
 another could fill her heart never presented 
 itself to her ; her heart was full — full to 
 overflowing. There was no vacant place in it. 
 
 " Gordon," said Mr. Elliot, suddenly 
 breaking the silence, " couldn't you go into 
 Salisbury to-morrow, and see if Barret has 
 
 T 2
 
 27() HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 not a couple of decent saddle-horses ? A 
 good gallop over our downs would help to 
 bring the colour into Jeanne's pale cheeks." 
 
 " Oh ! uncle, you are very good ! I am 
 quite well. My pale cheeks are no criterion 
 of ill-health — I am always pale." 
 
 " Then we must try and see what Eng- 
 lish air can do for you," he answered, smil- 
 ing. " Gordon, do you think it possible to 
 find a safe lady's horse ?" 
 
 " Quite possible, sir. I will go over the 
 first thing to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Do so, and let us see how well you can 
 do the honours of Wiltshire." 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, you are too kind," said 
 Jeanne, going up to him, and stooping over 
 his chair, she kissed him in token of grati- 
 tude.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 277 
 
 "Too kind, Jeanne, one cannot be in this 
 world," answered the invalid ; and drawing 
 her towards him, he continued, in a voice 
 so low as only to reach her ears — " Re- 
 member, child, there is an end to every 
 sorrow. Patience, Jeanne ; life is only 
 dawning for you." 
 
 The girl drew back, startled and pained. 
 How had she thus betrayed herself that 
 even a comparative stranger had become 
 master of her secret? 
 
 That night, for the first time since her 
 love had been so rudely nipped in the bud, 
 Jeanne, laying herself down on her bed, 
 wet her pillow with tears — not bitter tears ; 
 no anger, no jealousy found place in her 
 heart ; they flowed as the blood flows from 
 the wounds of the untended, uncared-for
 
 278 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 soldier on the battle-field. Since she had 
 left Lutz, she had lived like one walking in 
 her sleep ; but it was a restless, wearying 
 sleep. Never for one moment had she 
 been unconscious — never for one moment 
 had her soul been lightened of its pain. 
 Night after night she had lain with her eyes 
 wide open, not thinking, not dreaming — 
 simply counting the hours as they passed, 
 and existing. Now the flood-gates were 
 opened, and moaning in her agony, Jeanne 
 lay, until, towards morning, wearied out, 
 she rose, and throwing open the window, 
 let the cool air blow upon her heated 
 brow. 
 
 Day was just breaking. The stars had 
 faded from the sky, all save one, which, as 
 Jeanne lifted her heavy eyes, shone down
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 279 
 
 upon her from its place above the ivy-grown 
 church-tower. Its clear, silvery light, pierc- 
 ing to her troubled heart, seemed to say, 
 
 " Peace, peace, child ! From everlasting 
 I have looked down on sorrows such as 
 thine. Learn thou to look upwards, to 
 pierce beyond the skies, to tell all your sor- 
 row, all your love, to that Christ who is so 
 pitiful, so tender. Fearest thou men — their 
 misconstruction, their unkindness? Him 
 thou needst not fear. Thy weaknesses are 
 known, thy struggles are appreciated. He 
 will comfort thee in thy despair, and 
 strengthen thee in thy feebleness." 
 
 And standing at that open window, Jeanne 
 prayed. Floating across her mind there 
 came the remembrance of her last conver- 
 sation with Clotilde, in which she had de-
 
 280 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 clarecl so proudly that she asked not to be 
 exempted from the trials and temptations 
 of this world, only to be kept " unspotted, 1 ' 
 and now, at the very outset, should she 
 shrink away? Nay, that were impossible ! 
 Within those convent walls, far away in that 
 fair land of France, she knew that one was 
 praying for her night and day ; surely 
 thus wrestling together against evil, they 
 might conquer fate. And the dew of comfort 
 penetrated the young girl's heart, refreshing 
 and soothing her ; and when the first rays 
 of the morning sun overpowered and hid 
 from view the little star, her gentle com- 
 forter, she turned back into her room, and 
 lying down on her bed, fell into a deep 
 slumber. 
 
 Her mother, coming in to look at her a
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 281 
 
 few hours later, and seeing her pale and 
 wean', had not the heart to wake her, and 
 so let her sleep on. She knew her child 
 was struggling and suffering ; but she dared 
 not probe the wound. Sometimes she was 
 tempted to do so, but Jeanne was outwardly 
 so composed, so still, she never gave her the 
 opportunity ; and so Madame waited, and 
 hoped that all might yet be well. 
 
 When, thus refreshed, Jeanne once more 
 joined the family circle, her uncle, looking in 
 her face, saw that a change had come over 
 her. It was as if a cloud had burst, and 
 a ray of sunshine had become visible. She 
 fell so easily into the habits and ways of 
 life at the Vicarage, that one would have 
 thought she had ever been a daughter of the 
 house. Mr. Elliot succumbed at once to the
 
 282 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 charm of her presence. Her tender care of 
 him, her delicate attentions, and, above all, 
 her clear intelligence and power of sym- 
 pathy, rendered her invaluable to him as a 
 companion, and soon he could not bear her 
 out of his sight for any length of time. Still, 
 every afternoon he insisted on her taking 
 long rides over the country with Gordon, 
 and would have his invalid chair rolled to 
 the open window to see her mount, declar- 
 ing he could never have believed a French 
 girl could sit a horse so well. He thought 
 to tease her by calling her " a French girl," 
 but Jeanne retorted quickly, with flushed 
 cheeks, 
 
 " Nay, uncle, if French girls were brought 
 up as English girls are, I am not sure but
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 283 
 
 what they would carry off the palm in more 
 ways than one." 
 
 And though Mr. Elliot poo-pooed the 
 idea, he could not but think, looking at his 
 niece, that the exquisite grace and courtesy, 
 the vivacity and ready wit, the simplicity 
 yet perfect taste of her dress, were very 
 charming, and would add not a little to the 
 value of those sterling qualities which un- 
 mistakably adorn an English girl, but which 
 are often hidden beneath a rough uncouth- 
 ness and want of tact which mar what is of 
 itself intrinsically beautiful. 
 
 And so days and weeks passed calmly by, 
 and Jeanne rested in her English home. 
 Often, often she looked back, in after- times, 
 to this period of her existence as given her
 
 284 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 by God to gather up her strength for the 
 combat. Here for a time we will leave 
 her, and see what is passing at the Chateau 
 de Lutz.
 
 285 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 T10R a few weeks after the inhabitants 
 of the Cottage had left, the Count 
 still remained at the Chateau, not inactive, 
 for he caused the long shut-up apartments to 
 be opened, and sent for workmen from Paris, 
 who began rapidly to effect various altera- 
 tions and improvements ; for the Count 
 knew and appreciated the necessity of re- 
 ceiving the Countess with all due honour. 
 When the neighbourhood became aware of 
 what was taking place at the Chateau, curi- 
 osity was aroused to the highest pitch. The
 
 286 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Count was at last about to enter into 
 the estate of matrimony, and of course 
 Mademoiselle Jeanne was the future Count- 
 ess. There was no divided opinion on that 
 point. 
 
 It was not long before Charles de Lutz 
 heard these rumours, and at once he deter- 
 mined to silence them. Assembling his 
 principal tenants, he informed them quietly 
 that he had been married for the last two 
 years ; that his wife was an Italian lady, 
 who, through severe illness, had been pre- 
 vented up to the present from joining him in 
 France. They knew how near to death he 
 himself had been, and that he had returned 
 amongst them simply to arrange his affairs. 
 He had been spared, and his wife also had 
 so far recovered her health that, as soon as
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 287 
 
 the Chateau was ready to receive its new 
 mistress, he should fetch her from her 
 father's home to his. 
 
 Such was the only explanation he vouch- 
 safed. He received the customary con- 
 gratulations with courteous sang-froid, and 
 there the matter dropped. People talked 
 and wondered for a few days, delighted to 
 imagine there might be ground for scandal. 
 A vast number of suppositions were made, 
 an unlimited amount of stories told, all 
 alike without the shadow of foundation ; 
 but as no one took the trouble to contradict 
 or to verify them, they one by one fell to 
 the ground, and people became content to 
 await the arrival of the new Countess, be- 
 fore they pronounced an opinion upon her. 
 
 On the estate, however, there was a cer-
 
 288 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 tain feeling of disappointment and regret. 
 Jeanne was so well beloved, they could ill 
 brook another Countess. When the news 
 first reached the Marquise de la Croix, she 
 was for a moment stunned. This, then, was 
 the secret she had been unable to solve. 
 Quickly she reviewed her position, and came 
 to the conclusion that at last it was pro- 
 pitious to her desires. Besides love for the 
 Count, another passion now occupied no insig- 
 nificant place in her heart — namely, hatred 
 for Jeanne. The girl had despised, had ven- 
 tured to reprove her — that she could never 
 pardon ; and, moreover, she felt instinctively 
 that, married or not, there was still a link be- 
 tween the Count and Jeanne, which roused 
 her utmost jealousy. One thing was evi- 
 dent to her — let the new Countess be who
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 289 
 
 or what she might, she could not hold any 
 very powerful grasp on the Count's heart, 
 for him to remain nearly a year quietly at 
 Lutz, while she was in Italy. It seemed to 
 her that with a little tact and flattery she 
 might easily initiate herself into favour. A 
 foreigner, a stranger, would be thankful to 
 anyone who would stand by, support and 
 help her. Once a footing gained in the 
 Count's household, she knew it would be 
 no easy matter to oust her again. So she 
 would wait patiently, see where the weak 
 point in the fortress lay, make the breach, 
 and enter. Such was her plan. 
 
 The Count, on his arrival at Rome, found 
 his wife absent — she had gone to Sorrento 
 with her father for the Summer months. 
 Thither he followed her. Marietta did not 
 
 VOL. II. U
 
 290 HOPE DEFE11RED. 
 
 expect her husband, and was but half 
 pleased when he presented himself before 
 her. The violent, passionate love she had 
 once borne him had long since died out, as 
 all love not based on something better than 
 mere passion must do sooner or later. She 
 had grown accustomed to the easy life of 
 luxurious idleness which the ample in- 
 come her husband provided enabled her 
 to maintain. The freedom, too, was agree- 
 able. Her great beauty now ripened into 
 perfection, attracted admirers, whom, with- 
 out passing the bounds of propriety, she 
 allowed to hover round her. Naturally her 
 position was a difficult one ; and, be it said 
 to her honour, no breath of scandal had 
 attached itself to her name. 
 
 Madame Lutz (for Marietta had never
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 291 
 
 known either her husband's title or the 
 position he held in his own country, other- 
 wise she had not been content to remain in 
 the background) was admired wherever she 
 went ; and people wondered at her hus- 
 band leaving so young and beautiful a wife 
 to her own devices. For Marietta, now in 
 her convalescence, would by many have 
 been considered far more attractive than 
 formerly. Her beauty had matured, as 
 Italian women's do rapidly. There was no 
 longer the shadow of the girl about her — 
 she was a fully developed, magnificent wo- 
 man, looking more than her age, stately 
 and dignified in every movement. Her 
 husband was somewhat surprised at the 
 change he found both in her manner 
 and appearance. He did not deceive him- 
 
 u 2
 
 292 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 self — he knew that her passion for him had 
 died out, but he knew, too, she would be 
 even more jealous, more exigeante than for- 
 merly, if that were possible. The form, 
 now for the substance. 
 
 So husband and wife met, with an out- 
 side show of pleasure ; but the one with a 
 lazy annoyance at being disturbed in an 
 easy mode of existence, and the other with 
 a determination to perform a duty which he 
 felt to be burdensome, and the result of 
 which he feared. 
 
 There is something strange and ineffably 
 sad in the meeting of two persons who, to 
 all intents and purposes, have once loved 
 each other, and have now ceased to do so. 
 The Count felt this acutely, though Marietta 
 could scarcely do so. With her all was
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 293 
 
 instinct — she loved, and she ceased to love ; 
 she desired, and she ceased to desire. 
 
 The evening after the Count's arrival, the 
 two strolled out together towards the sea. 
 It was a lovely Italian night ; the air soft 
 and balmy, impregnated with the fresh sea 
 breeze. 
 
 " After all," thought Charles de Lutz, 
 " Marietta is quiet and happy here. Why 
 should I seek to change her life ?" 
 
 The answer came. " She is your wife. 
 Her place is at your side. In duty you are 
 bound to her, and she to you." 
 
 And the Count, standing on the sea- 
 shore, recognised the truth, and, turning to 
 his wife, said gently, 
 
 " Marietta, do you know I have come to 
 take you to my home in France ? "
 
 294 HOrE DEFERRED. 
 
 " Ah !" she said, her brow clouding over. 
 " We are well here. Why cannot we re- 
 main in Italy?" 
 
 " Because, Marietta, we have duties to 
 perform in France which we may not ignore. 
 In giving you my name, I imposed them 
 upon you. I knew that, unused to them, 
 they would appear both hard and difficult ; 
 and so I hid th^rn from you, hoping that 
 time and custom would render them less 
 irksome. But now it is imperative that 
 you should assume your real position. You 
 are not simply Madame Lutz, but Madame 
 la Comtesse de Lutz, the wife of one of the 
 richest men in France, and belonging to one 
 of the oldest and most honoured families. 
 Marietta, it is no light task that lies before 
 you — the Countesses de Lutz have ever
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 295 
 
 been beloved and honoured by the peasants 
 who tilled their lands, and the nobles 
 who bowed in courteous homage before 
 them." 
 
 " A Countess ! — am I a real Countess ?" 
 exclaimed Marietta, looking up in bewil- 
 dered astonishment. 
 
 " Yes — a real Countess, Marietta," said 
 her husband, smiling. 
 
 A lightning flash of pleasure shot over 
 Marietta's face, but died out instantly, as she 
 answered quickly, 
 
 " If I am a Countess, I ought to have a 
 castle, diamonds, jewels. Why have I not 
 had all this for these last three years that I 
 have been your wife ?" 
 
 "Because," he answered firmly, "you 
 were unprepared for, uneducated to your
 
 296 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 position. A simple artist's daughter, shut 
 out as you had been from the world, you 
 could with difficulty have assumed at once 
 the cares and responsibilities of rank and 
 wealth. I thought to raise you gently to 
 your throne, Marietta." 
 
 " You have deceived and robbed me of 
 my rights," she answered doggedly. 
 
 " Do you think so ?" answered the Count, 
 quite calmly. "Still, in reality you have 
 been no loser. I have denied you nothing. 
 All the luxuries that wealth can give you 
 have enjoyed. You married me as simply 
 Monsieur de Lutz, the artist. I was no 
 Count to you in those days ; and had we 
 reallv loved and understood each other, I 
 think we should have been happier with our 
 simple artist's name than we ever shall be
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 297 
 
 now as Count and Countess de Lutz. But 
 this is no time for recriminations. Let us 
 begin life anew," he continued. " Never 
 fear, Marietta, the Castle has not run away, 
 but is in due preparation for the reception 
 of its mistress. Jewels and diamonds, and 
 all that you covet, shall be yours ; and, in 
 truth, no Countess de Lutz in the past will 
 ever have graced them better." 
 
 Pleased with the compliment, flattered by 
 the prospect of her future grandeur, Mari- 
 etta's good-humour rapidly returned, and 
 taking her husband's arm, they re-com- 
 menced their walk along the shore, while 
 she eagerly launched into every possible in- 
 quiry concerning their future home, their 
 wealth and position. And the Count was 
 contented to gratify her whim. From
 
 298 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 henceforth his course was clear — to satisfy, to 
 make her happy, and thus to keep in check 
 the undisciplined passions of her nature. 
 
 When they once more reached home, and 
 Marietta had informed her father of her 
 new position, and her intention of following 
 her husband to France, a new difficulty 
 arose. Signor Rocco had grown accustomed 
 to the easy life he had of late led with his 
 daughter, and looked forward with marked 
 dissatisfaction to once more depending on 
 his own exertions. He therefore at once 
 intimated his intention of following his child 
 into her new country. But against this the 
 Count stood firm. He knew he should 
 have a difficult task with Marietta, and he 
 determined it should not be rendered more 
 so by her father's presence. So he at once
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 299 
 
 told the Signor that from henceforth he 
 might consider him as his banker; that a 
 yearly income would be settled upon him, 
 his debts paid, and a certain sum given him 
 for present outlay. This generosity so over- 
 came the Signor, that he was ready to go or 
 to remain wherever the Count desired; and 
 as it was especially stipulated that he should 
 remain in Italy, the idea of following Mari- 
 etta fell to the ground. 
 
 The Count and Countess lingered a few 
 days longer at Sorrento, and then went to 
 Rome to make their final preparations. 
 Marietta hurried everything on. She was 
 impatient to assume her rank ; she consider- 
 ed herself as a queen long kept out of 
 her kingdom, and who is in haste to reign. 
 Not so Charles de Lutz. He was in no
 
 300 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 hurry to return. He looked things steadily 
 in the face, and saw the difficulties of his 
 position. Still lie knew there was nothing 
 left but do go straight forward. Marietta 
 in society at Amonville would pass muster 
 — he no longer feared that ; her beauty and 
 his name would steer her safely through that 
 by no means intricate labyrinth. He doubted 
 not that in time she mi^ht even become the 
 fashion. Anything peculiar in her manners 
 would be put down to her foreign education. 
 She would be something new — an excite- 
 ment, a novelty. 
 
 Only she must not ruffle his aunt's and 
 Jeanne's life. That he must euard against 
 at every hazard. He therefore spoke to 
 Marietta of the only two beings left in his 
 home. He told her how his aunt had
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 301 
 
 brought him up, and how he, in his turn, 
 had acted as Jeanne's guardian. 
 
 " And was it after this cousin you called 
 our little child?" asked Marietta. 
 
 " Yes," answered the Count. " It was a 
 pleasant, familiar name to me ; now it is 
 sacred !" 
 
 " How old is Jeanne, and is she beauti- 
 ful ?" asked Marietta. 
 
 " She must be a little younger than you, 
 just about twenty," answered the Count. 
 " You ask if she is beautiful. I scarcely 
 think so. Strangers do not say so, and, as 
 for me, I am no judge. Her face has al- 
 ways been familiar to me. It is very sweet 
 — that is all I can tell you, Marietta. And 
 Jeanne is good and gentle. I desire nothing 
 so much as that perfect union should exist
 
 302 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 between the Chateau and the Cottage. You 
 will strive to maintain it, will you not ?" 
 
 " Why should I do otherwise," she an- 
 swered, sharply, " if they do not interfere 
 with me ? I shall be the real Countess, 
 shall I not?" 
 
 "Yes," said Charles, "you will be the 
 reigning Countess — the mistress of the Cha- 
 teau — if that is what you mean, Marietta." 
 
 " Then it is well," was the answer ; and 
 Marietta drew herself up with dignity and 
 proud satisfaction. " If they keep their 
 place, I shall keep mine. A Countess ! — 
 who ever thought of plain Marietta Rocco, 
 the artist's daughter, becoming a Countess !" 
 
 Her husband smiled at her childish delight 
 and wonder, but the smile was succeeded 
 by a sigh, as involuntarily he thought of one
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 303 
 
 who would have cared so little for the title 
 of " Countess," could she have borne that of 
 " wife." 
 
 About the time of his return, he received 
 two or three letters from his aunt, in all of 
 which her intention of prolonging her stay 
 in England grew more and more evident. 
 
 " My brother's health," she wrote in one, 
 " does not improve. It would be almost 
 •-cruel to leave him now. Besides, he has 
 grown so attached to Jeanne, that I think 
 the pain of parting from her would be very 
 injurious to him ; the least shock or worry 
 to his nervous system would doubtless bring 
 on another and a fatal attack. We shall 
 therefore remain here, unless something 
 especial should recall us to Lutz. If the 
 Winter is mild, we may not return till the
 
 304 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 Spring ; but that will depend upon Jeanne's 
 health. If she can stand the English cli- 
 mate, I should prefer wintering here — you 
 understand why ; if forced to return, I shall, 
 of course, unhesitatingly do so." 
 
 Silently he read and sadly recognised the 
 barrier rising higher and higher between 
 him and Jeanne. He closed his eyes to 
 shut out her image, but clear and distinct 
 she stood before him in her bright girlhood, 
 in her gentle womanhood ; only when, in 
 his wild longing, he stretched out his hands 
 towards her, she faded from his sight. She 
 was to him like the running streams of pure 
 limpid water which the thirsty traveller in 
 the desert dreams he sees, but which he 
 may not taste of — may not realize. On 
 through the Sahara he must go, with the
 
 HOPE DEFEERED. 305 
 
 glittering, golden sand beneath his feet, and 
 the burning sun pouring down upon him 
 without mercy, glorying in its power, while 
 he faints for thirst. 
 
 At last they started homewards, Marietta, 
 in high good temper, curious and excited. 
 They travelled rapidly, and at their last 
 resting-place having taken a night-train, 
 arrived with early morning at Amonville. 
 A carriage was awaiting them, and so they 
 drove at once out to Lutz. It was a fresh, 
 bright morning early in September ; there 
 was a ruddy tint over the woods ; the leaves 
 from the great forest trees had scarcely 
 begun to fall, but their hue had changed 
 from green to a rich yellowish red, as if the 
 sun, in bidding them farewell, had stooped 
 and kissed them lingeringly, and so left his 
 
 VOL. II. x
 
 300 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 shadow behind. The scene had a sort of 
 strengthening, renovating effect on Charles 
 de Lutz. A tender feeling crept into his 
 heart for the wife he was bringing home. 
 So young and beautiful ! He did not de- 
 ceive himself; he knew how essentially 
 selfish Marietta was ; but, after all, that 
 midit be the effect of climate and of educa- 
 tion. The entire change might work won- 
 ders — the force of home influence, the 
 power of example — who could tell, they 
 might be happy even yet ? 
 
 I have said once before, in the early part 
 of my story, that Charles de Lutz, notwith- 
 standing the mistakes and errors of his life, 
 was a good man ; therefore he was merci- 
 ful, and always inclined to look on the bright 
 rather than the dark side of human nature.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 307 
 
 And so his courage and his hopes rose high 
 as he crossed the boundary of his ancestral 
 home. They were young, and time was all- 
 powerful ; he would do his duty to his young 
 wife, and surely a blessing would follow. 
 And Jeanne ? — she might be happy too. 
 Another man's wife — Gordon Elliot's, per- 
 haps ! A great pain shot across his heart at 
 the thought; and, raising his hat, he passed his 
 hand across his brow, as if to dispel an evil 
 vision. At the same moment the carriage 
 swept past the first outpost on the Lutz 
 estate. Turning to his wife, he took her 
 hand, saying, 
 
 " Marietta, welcome to Lutz ; we are on 
 our own lands now." 
 
 "Where is the Chateau?" she asked, 
 
 eagerly. 
 
 x 2
 
 308 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 "You will not see it for a quarter of 
 an hour yet ; it is embedded in trees," he 
 answered. 
 
 " You did not tell me the estate was so 
 large," replied the new Countess. " Is all 
 we see from here your property ?" she asked, 
 with evident pride. 
 
 " Not quite," he answered, " all on the 
 right hand belongs to the Chateau ; but out 
 yonder to the left Jeanne's land begins. 
 Formerly, you know, it was but one estate, 
 and is now only separated by the high road ; 
 in some parts, indeed, the vineyards touch 
 each other." 
 
 " Then Mademoiselle Jeanne is as rich as 
 you are !" said Marietta. 
 
 " Not quite," answered her husband, 
 " though she ought to have been. During
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 309 
 
 my minority, while my uncle kept a strict 
 eye and hand over my property, he was less 
 particular about his own affairs, and not 
 thinking he should ever marry, was some- 
 what careless as to his expenditure. Then 
 there is my aunt's third out of the estate. 
 So Jeanne, though well off, is not so wealthy 
 as she might have been." 
 
 " Who manages her estate ?" asked Mari- 
 efcta. 
 
 " Her man of business and myself. You 
 know, I told you 1 was her guardian." 
 
 " Strange they never thought of marrying 
 you, and making the two estates one ; it 
 would have been only natural," said Mari- 
 etta. 
 
 " My aunt is an English woman, and in 
 her country marriages of interest are not
 
 310 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 looked on with a favourable eye," answered 
 the Count. 
 
 "So," said Marietta, thoughtfully. At 
 the same moment the carriage stopped at 
 the lodge gates. 
 
 " Will you get out here and walk up to 
 the house ?" said the Count ; " you will see 
 the Chateau better." 
 
 Marietta assented ; and, alighting, they pro- 
 ceeded leisurely on foot up the long avenue 
 of stately trees, until the Chateau in all its 
 grandeur broke upon them. Then they 
 paused, and Marietta looked half wonder- 
 ingly upon her future home. There it stood, 
 with all its noble facade, flanked on either 
 side by turrets ; its long terrace walk, with 
 the double row of linden trees, and sloping 
 down the soft green lawn, the pride of all
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 311 
 
 the country round, which had been made 
 under Madame's orders. A real English 
 lawn, smooth as velvet, with its border of 
 many-coloured flowers and rich shrubbery, 
 out of the midst of which rose the tall gyneri- 
 um, now in its full glory, with its white wavy 
 plumes nodding in majestic pride. Yes, it 
 was something to find one's self thus sud- 
 denly the mistress of such a home. 
 
 " Come e bella!" said Marietta, holding up 
 her hands in admiration. 
 
 " Yes," said Charles de Lutz, with earnest 
 pride ; " the Chateau de Lutz has always 
 been noted for its beauty. God grant, 
 Marietta, that we may find rest and happi- 
 ness beneath its roof! " 
 
 " Why not?" she answered hastily — " why 
 not ?" But she spoke carelessly, not troub-
 
 312 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 ling herself to think from whence true happi- 
 ness springs and flourishes, ignoring that it 
 needed tender nurture and great care. 
 Seeing only the grandeur and wealth of her 
 new position, she deemed that these could 
 suffice, for ambition and pride had taken the 
 place of love in her heart, and were now 
 her ruling passions. Triumphantly leaning 
 on her husband's arm, she entered the 
 Chateau, and passed through the great hall, 
 where the servants and chief tenants had 
 assembled to greet their new mistress. 
 Cordially Charles de Lutz spoke to each as 
 he presented to them his wife. A loud mur- 
 mur of admiration arose as Marietta threw 
 back her veil, and one and all, even the 
 least skilled in the appreciation of beauty, 
 became aware of the strange, marvellous
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 313 
 
 loveliness of the new Countess. They had nei- 
 ther been prepared nor inclined to receive 
 Marietta with alacrity, angered as they were 
 that any one else should occupy the place 
 they had so long associated with Jeanne; but 
 now, in one second, they forgot their pre- 
 judices, they forgot gentle, simple Jeanne, 
 with her almost child-like grace. Fascinated, 
 charmed, they looked upon the beautiful 
 woman before them, and proudly accepted 
 her as worthy of their masters choice. 
 
 " Vivent le Comte et la Comtesse de 
 Lutz !" broke simultaneously from each and 
 all. 
 
 With stately grace, Marietta bowed her 
 thanks, saying in her soft Italian, " Grazie ! 
 
 grazie /" 
 
 Then her husband led her through the
 
 314 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 grand salons, to that wing of the Chateau 
 which had been prepared for her. Throw- 
 ing open the door, he said, 
 
 " Marietta, these are your own rooms — 
 your own especial sanctum." 
 
 So saying, they entered, and Marietta 
 gazed around in bewildered admiration. 
 The apartment consisted of three rooms — 
 boudoir, bedroom, and dressing-room, open- 
 ing one into the other, and each furnished 
 for its own peculiar use. Nothing had been 
 forgotten, nothing neglected, all that wealth 
 and taste could do to make a new abode 
 pleasant and beautiful had been done. 
 Everything was in its place. The eye rested 
 everywhere on richly-sculptured wood, soft- 
 coloured satins, and thick carpets, half cover- 
 ing the polished oak floors.
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 315 
 
 Loud were Teresa's exclamations of de- 
 light as she followed her mistress. Silently 
 Marietta looked around her, but no word 
 escaped her lips, until, leaving her husband's 
 arm, she threw herself languidly on the sofa, 
 saying, 
 
 " I cannot imagine why you did not bring 
 me here sooner. This is better — much 
 better even than Italy." 
 
 " I am glad you are pleased with your 
 home, Marietta," was the Count's only 
 answer. 
 
 A cold, strange feeling of isolation was 
 creeping over him — he looked at the beau- 
 tiful woman beside him, and asked himself 
 if he were not dreaming? Was all love 
 gone out between them ? Must they live
 
 316 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 henceforth together without any deeper 
 feeling coming to hallow and sweeten their 
 existences than that of mutual interest? It 
 could not, must not be I 
 
 Rousing himself, he went up to his wife, 
 and speaking a few tender words of wel- 
 come, kissed her brow. She hardly seemed 
 to hear or see him, for, rising, she proceeded 
 to examine the rooms in detail. Ignorant 
 of the use of many of the objects she saw, 
 at every moment she applied to him for ex- 
 planations, and he gave them gently and 
 patiently, as he would have done to a child, 
 until, wearied out, Marietta declared she 
 would lie down and rest. Then her husband 
 left her, and bent his steps towards his own 
 studio, which, in accordance witli his orders, 
 had remained unchanged. Throwing him-
 
 HOPE DEFERRED. 317 
 
 self into the nearest chair, and leaning his 
 head upon his hands, he fell into deep 
 thought. It was not perhaps the wisest 
 thing for him to do, especially in that room, 
 where everything spoke so eloquently of 
 the last hour he had spent with Jeanne. 
 But we are not always wise, and in moments 
 of weakness, insensibly our strength and 
 wisdom fail us. 
 
 It were useless to try to describe what 
 his feelings were at this time ; sad and re- 
 gretful they could not fail to be. Unfaith- 
 ful to his wife, dishonouring to Jeanne — 
 that they never were. Bound to one woman, 
 he knew he loved another, yet he recog- 
 nized the fact that in fulfilling his duty to 
 one he fulfilled it virtually to both ; and he 
 never swerved in his determination not to
 
 318 HOPE DEFERRED. 
 
 pass the line — narrow though it might be, 
 and was — which lay between actual right 
 
 and wrong. 
 
 END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TOG WELL, BLENHEIM HOUSE. 
 
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