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"Man is born to be a doer of good."—MARCUS ANTONINUS, lib. iii.
His teeth he still did grind,
And grimly gnash, threatening revenge in vain.—SPENSER.
IT is now time to return to Lord Vargrave. His most sanguine hopes wererealized; all things seemed to prosper. The hand of Evelyn Cameron waspledged to him, the wedding-day was fixed. In less than a week she wasto confer upon the ruined peer a splendid dowry, that would smooth allobstacles in the ascent of his ambition. From Mr. Douce he learned thatthe deeds, which were to transfer to himself the baronial possessions ofthe head of the house of Maltravers, were nearly completed; and on hiswedding-day he hoped to be able to announce that the happy pair had setout for their princely mansion of Lisle Court. In politics; thoughnothing could be finally settled till his return, letters from LordSaxingham assured him that all was auspicious: the court and the heads ofthe aristocracy daily growing more alienated from the premier, and moreprepared for a Cabinet revolution. And Vargrave, perhaps, like mostneedy men, overrated the advantages he should derive from, and theservile opinions he should conciliate in, his new character of landedproprietor and wealthy peer. He was not insensible to the silent anguishthat Evelyn seemed to endure, nor to the bitter gloom that hung on thebrow of Lady Doltimore. But these were clouds that foretold nostorm,—light shadows that obscured not the serenity of the favouringsky. He continued to seem unconscious to either; to take the comingevent as a matter of course, and to Evelyn he evinced so gentle,unfamiliar, respectful, and delicate an attachment, that he left noopening, either for confidence or complaint. Poor Evelyn! her gayety,her enchanting levity, her sweet and infantine playfulness of manner,were indeed vanished. Pale, wan, passive, and smileless, she was theghost of her former self! But days rolled on, and the evil one drewnear; she recoiled, but she never dreamed of resisting. How many equalvictims of her age and sex does the altar witness!
One day, at early noon, Lord Vargrave took his way to Evelyn's. He hadbeen to pay a political visit in the Faubourg St. Germain, and he was nowslowly crossing the more quiet and solitary part of the gardens of theTuileries, his hands clasped behind him, after his old, unaltered habit,and his eyes downcast,—when suddenly a man, who was seated alone beneathone of the trees, and who had for some moments watched his steps with ananxious and wild aspect, rose and approached him. Lord Vargrave was notconscious of the intrusion, till the man laid his hand on Vargrave's arm,and exclaimed,—
"It is he! it is! Lumley Ferrers, we meet again!"
Lord Vargrave started and changed colour, as he gazed on the intruder.
"Ferrers," continued Cesarini (for it was he), and he wound his armfirmly into Lord Vargrave's as he spoke, "you have not changed; your stepis light, your cheek healthful; and yet I—you can scarcely recognize me.Oh, I have suffered so horribly since we parted! Why is this? Why haveI been so heavily visited, and why have you gone free? Heaven is notjust!"
Castruccio was in one of his lucid intervals; but there was that in hisuncertain eye, and str