CHAPTER VIII.
"Aestuat ingens
Imo in corde pudor, mixtoque insania luctu,
Et furiis agitatus amor, et conscia virtus."*--VIRGIL.
* Deep in her inmost heart is stirred the immense shame, and madness
with commingled grief, and love agitated by rage, and conscious virtue.
THE next day, punctual to his appointment, Cesarini repaired to his
critical interview with Lady Florence. Her countenance, which, like
that of most persons whose temper is not under their command, ever too
faithfully expressed what was within, was unusually flushed. Lumley had
dropped words and hints which had driven sleep from her pillow and
repose from her mind.
She rose from her seat with nervous agitation as Cesarini entered and
made his grave salutation. After a short and embarrassed pause, she
recovered, however, her self-possession, and with all a woman's delicate
and dexterous tact, urged upon the Italian the expediency of accepting
the offer of honourable independence now extended to him.
"You have abilities," she said, in conclusion, "you have friends, you
have youth; take advantage of those gifts of nature and fortune, and
fulfil such a career as," added Lady Florence, with a smile, "Dante did
not consider incompatible with poetry."
"I cannot object to any career," said Cesarini, with an effort, "that
may serve to remove me from a country that has no longer any charms for
me. I thank you for your kindness; I will obey you. May you be happy;
and yet--no, ah! no--happy you must be! Even he, sooner or later, must
see you with my eyes."
"I know," replied Florence, falteringly, "that you have wisely and
generously mastered a past illusion. Mr. Ferrers allowed me to see the
letter you wrote to Er---to Mr. Maltravers; it was worthy of you: it
touched me deeply; but I trust you will outlive your prejudices
against--"
"Stay," interrupted Cesarini; "did Ferrers communicate to you the answer
to that letter?"
"No, indeed."
"I am glad of it."
"Why?"
"Oh, no matter. Heaven bless you; farewell."
"No; I implore you, do not go yet; what was there in that letter that it
could pain me to see? Lumley hinted darkly; but would not speak out: be
more frank."
"I cannot: it would be treachery to Maltravers, cruelty to you; yet
would it be cruel?"
"No, it would not; it would be kindness and mercy; show me the
letter--you have it with you."
"You could not bear it; you would hate me for the pain it would give
you. Let me depart."
"Man, you wrong Maltravers. I see it now. You would darkly slander him
whom you cannot openly defame. Go; I was wrong to listen to you--go!"
"Lady Florence, beware how you taunt me into undeceiving you. Here is
the letter, it is his handwriting; will you read it? I warn you not."
"I will believe nothing but the evidence of my own eyes; give it me."
"Stay then; on two conditions. First, that you promise me sacredly that
you will not disclose to Maltravers, without my consent, that you have
seen this letter. Think not I fear his anger. No! but in the mortal
encounter that must ensue, if you thus betray me, your character would
be lowered in the world's eyes, and even I (my excuse unknown) might not
appear to have acted with honour in obeying your desire, and warning
you, while there is yet time, of bartering love for avarice. Promise
me."
"I do, I do most solemnly."
"Secondly, assure me that you will not ask to keep the letter, but will
immediately restore it to me."
"I promise it. Now then."
"Take the letter."
Florence seized and rapidly read the fatal and garbled document: her
brain was dizzy, her eyes clouded, her ears rang as with the sound of
water, she was sick and giddy with emotion; but she read enough. This
letter was written, then, in answer to Castruccio's of last night; it
avowed dislike of her character; it denied the sincerity of her love; it
more than hinted the mercenary nature of his own feelings. Yes, even
there, where she had garnered up her heart, she was not Florence, the
lovely and beloved woman; but Florence, the wealthy and high-born
heiress. The world which she had built upon the faith and heart of
Maltravers crumbled away at her feet. The letter dropped from her
hands; her whole form seemed to shrink and shrivel up; her teeth were
set, and her cheek was as white as marble.
"O God!" cried Cesarini, stung with remorse. "Speak to me, speak to
me, Florence! I did wrong; forget that hateful letter! I have been
false--false!"
"Ah, false--say so again--no, no, I remember he told me--he, so wise, so
deep a judge of human character, that he would be sponsor for your
faith--, that your honour and heart were incorruptible. It is true; I
thank you--you have saved me from a terrible fate."
"O, Lady Florence, dear--too dear--yet, would that--alas! she does not
listen to me," muttered Castruccio, as Florence, pressing her hands to
her temples, walked wildly to and fro the room. At length she paused
opposite to Cesarini, looked him full in the face, returned him the
letter without a word, and pointed to the door.
"No, no, do not bid me leave you yet," said Cesarini, trembling with
repentant emotion, yet half beside himself with jealous rage at her love
for his rival.
"My friend, go," said Florence, in a tone of voice singularly subdued
and soft. "Do not fear me; I have more pride in me than even affection;
but there are certain struggles in a woman's breast which she could
never betray to any one--any one but a mother. God help me, I have
none! Go; when next we meet, I shall be calm."
She held out her hand as she spoke, the Italian dropped on his knee,
kissed it convulsively, and, fearful of trusting himself further,
vanished from the room.
He had not been long gone before Maltravers was seen riding through the
street. As he threw himself from his horse, he looked up at the window,
and kissed his hand at Lady Florence, who stood there watching his
arrival, with feelings indeed far different from those he anticipated.
He entered the room lightly and gaily.
Florence stirred not to welcome him. He approached and took her hand;
she withdrew it with a shudder.
"Are you not well, Florence?"
"I am well, for I have recovered."
"What do you mean? why do you turn from me?"
Lady Florence fixed her eyes on him, eyes that literally blazed; her lip
quivered with scorn.
"Mr. Maltravers, at length I know you. I understand the feelings with
which you have sought a union between us. O God! why, why was I thus
cursed with riches--why made a thing of barter and merchandise, and
avarice, and low ambition? Take my wealth, take it, Mr. Maltravers,
since that is what you prize. Heaven knows I can cast it willingly
away; but leave the wretch whom you long deceived, and who now, wretch
though she be, renounces and despises you!"
"Lady Florence, do I hear aright? Who has accused me to you?"
"None, sir, none; I would have believed none. Let it suffice that I am
convinced that our union can be happy to neither: question me no
further; all intercourse between us is for ever over!"
"Pause," said Maltravers, with cold and grave solemnity; "another word,
and the gulf will become impassable. Pause."
"Do not," exclaimed the unhappy lady, stung by what she considered the
assurance of a hardened hypocrisy--" do not affect this haughty
superiority; it dupes me no longer. I was your slave while I loved you:
the tie is broken. I am free, and I hate and scorn you! Mercenary and
sordid as you are, your baseness of spirit revives the differences of
our rank. Henceforth, Mr. Maltravers, I am Lady Florence Lascelles, and
by that title alone will you know me. Begone, Sir!"
As she spoke, with passion distorting every feature of her face, all her
beauty vanished away from the eyes of the proud Maltravers, as if by
witchcraft: the angel seemed transformed into the fury; and cold,
bitter, and withering was the eye which he fixed upon that altered
countenance.
"Mark me, Lady Florence Lascelles," said he, very calmly, "you have now
said what you can never recall. Neither in man nor in woman did Ernest
Maltravers ever forget or forgive a sentence which accused him of
dishonour. I bid you farewell for ever; and with my last words I
condemn you to the darkest of all dooms--the remorse that comes too
late!" Slowly he moved away; and as the door closed upon that towering
and haughty form, Florence already felt that his curse was working to
its fulfilment. She rushed to the window--she caught one last glimpse
of him as his horse bore him rapidly away. Ah! when shall they meet
again?
