CHAPTER VI.
NOUGHT under Heaven so strongly doth allure
The sense of man, and all his mind possess,
As Beauty's love-bait.--SPENSER.
LEGARD was, as I have before intimated, a young man of generous and
excellent dispositions, though somewhat spoiled by the tenor of his
education, and the gay and reckless society which had administered tonics
to his vanity and opiates to his intellect. The effect which the beauty,
the grace, the innocence of Evelyn had produced upon him had been most
deep and most salutary. It had rendered dissipation tasteless and
insipid; it had made him look more deeply into his own heart, and into
the rules of life. Though, partly from irksomeness of dependence upon an
uncle at once generous and ungracious, partly from a diffident and
feeling sense of his own inadequate pretensions to the hand of Miss
Cameron, and partly from the prior and acknowledged claims of Lord
Vargrave, he had accepted, half in despair, the appointment offered to
him, he still found it impossible to banish that image which had been the
first to engrave upon ardent and fresh affections an indelible
impression. He secretly chafed at the thought that it was to a fortunate
rival that he owed the independence and the station he had acquired, and
resolved to seize an early opportunity to free himself from obligations
that he deeply regretted he had incurred. At length he learned that Lord
Vargrave had been refused,--that Evelyn was free; and within a few days
from that intelligence, the admiral was seized with apoplexy; and Legard
suddenly found himself possessed, if not of wealth, at least of a
competence sufficient to redeem his character as a suitor from the
suspicion attached to a fortune-hunter and adventurer. Despite the new
prospects opened to him by the death of his uncle, and despite the surly
caprice which had mingled with and alloyed the old admiral's kindness,
Legard was greatly shocked by his death; and his grateful and gentle
nature was at first only sensible to grief for the loss he had sustained.
But when, at last, recovering from his sorrow, he saw Evelyn disengaged
and free, and himself in a position honourably to contest her hand, he
could not resist the sweet and passionate hopes that broke upon him. He
resigned, as we have seen, his official appointment, and set out for
Paris. He reached that city a day or two after the arrival of Lord and
Lady Doltimore. He found the former, who had not forgotten the cautions
of Vargrave, at first cold and distant; but partly from the indolent
habit of submitting to Legard's dictates on matters of taste, partly from
a liking to his society, and principally from the popular suffrages of
fashion, which had always been accorded to Legard, and which were
nowadays diminished by the news of his accession of fortune, Lord
Doltimore, weak and vain, speedily yielded to the influences of his old
associate, and Legard became quietly installed as the _enfant de la
maison_. Caroline was not in this instance a very faithful ally to
Vargrave's views and policy. In his singular _liaison_ with Lady
Doltimore, the crafty manoeuvrer had committed the vulgar fault of
intriguers: he had over-refined and had overreached himself. At the
commencement of their strange and unprincipled intimacy, Vargrave had
had, perhaps, no other thought than that of piquing Evelyn, consoling his
vanity, amusing his _ennui_, and indulging rather his propensities as a
gallant than promoting his more serious objects as a man of the world.
By degrees, and especially at Knaresdean, Vargrave himself became deeply
entangled by an affair that he had never before contemplated as more
important than a passing diversion; instead of securing a friend to
assist him in his designs on Evelyn, he suddenly found that he had
obtained a mistress anxious for his love and jealous of his homage. With
his usual promptitude and self-confidence, he was led at once to deliver
himself of all the ill-consequences of his rashness,--to get rid of
Caroline as a mistress, and to retain her as a tool, by marrying her to
Lord Doltimore. By the great ascendancy which his character acquired
over her, and by her own worldly ambition, he succeeded in inducing her
to sacrifice all romance to a union that gave her rank and fortune; and
Vargrave then rested satisfied that the clever wife would not only secure
him a permanent power over the political influence and private fortune of
the weak husband, but also abet his designs in securing an alliance
equally desirable for himself. Here it was that Vargrave's incapacity to
understand the refinements and scruples of a woman's affection and
nature, however guilty the one, and however worldly the other, foiled and
deceived him. Caroline, though the wife of another, could not
contemplate without anguish a similar bondage for her lover; and having
something of the better qualities of her sex still left to her, she
recoiled from being an accomplice in arts that were to drive the young,
inexperienced, and guileless creature who called her "friend" into the
arms of a man who openly avowed the most mercenary motives, and who took
gods and men to witness that his heart was sacred to another. Only in
Vargrave's presence were these scruples overmastered; but the moment he
was gone they returned in full force. She had yielded, from positive
fear, to his commands that she should convey Evelyn to Paris; but she
trembled to think of the vague hints and dark menaces that Vargrave had
let fall as to ulterior proceedings, and was distracted at the thought of
being implicated in some villanous or rash design. When, therefore, the
man whose rivalry Vargrave most feared was almost established at her
house, she made but a feeble resistance; she thought that, if Legard
should become a welcome and accepted suitor before Lumley arrived, the
latter would be forced to forego whatever hopes he yet cherished, and
that she should be delivered from a dilemma, the prospect of which
daunted and appalled her. Added to this, Caroline was now, alas!
sensible that a fool is not so easily governed; her resistance to an
intimacy with Legard would have been of little avail: Doltimore, in these
matters, had an obstinate will of his own; and, whatever might once have
been Caroline's influence over her liege, certain it is that such
influence had been greatly impaired of late by the indulgence of a
temper, always irritable, and now daily more soured by regret, remorse,
contempt for her husband,--and the melancholy discovery that fortune,
youth, beauty, and station are no talismans against misery.
It was the gayest season of Paris; and to escape from herself, Caroline
plunged eagerly into the vortex of its dissipations. If Doltimore's
heart was disappointed, his vanity was pleased at the admiration Caroline
excited; and he himself was of an age and temper to share in the pursuits
and amusements of his wife. Into these gayeties, new to their
fascination, dazzled by their splendour, the young Evelyn entered with
her hostess; and ever by her side was the unequalled form of Legard.
Each of them in the bloom of youth, each of them at once formed to
please, and to be pleased by that fair Armida which we call the World,
there was, necessarily, a certain congeniality in their views and
sentiments, their occupations and their objects; nor was there, in all
that brilliant city, one more calculated to captivate the eye and fancy
than George Legard. But still, to a certain degree diffident and
fearful, Legard never yet spoke of love; nor did their intimacy at this
time ripen to that point in which Evelyn could have asked herself if
there were danger in the society of Legard, or serious meaning in his
obvious admiration. Whether that melancholy, to which Lady Vargrave had
alluded in her correspondence with Lumley, were occasioned by thoughts
connected with Maltravers, or unacknowledged recollections of Legard, it
remains for the acute reader himself to ascertain.
The Doltimores had been about three weeks in Paris; and for a fortnight
of that time Legard had been their constant guest, and half the inmate of
their hotel, when, on that night which has been commemorated in our last
book, Maltravers suddenly once more beheld the face of Evelyn, and in the
same hour learned that she was free. He quitted Valerie's box; with a
burning pulse and a beating heart, joy and surprise and hope sparkling in
his eyes and brightening his whole aspect, he hastened to Evelyn's side.
It was at this time Legard, who sat behind Miss Cameron, unconscious of
the approach of a rival, happened by one of those chances which occur in
conversation to mention the name of Maltravers. He asked Evelyn if she
had yet met him.
"What! is he, then, in Paris?" asked Evelyn, quickly. "I heard, indeed,"
she continued, "that he left Burleigh for Paris, but imagined he had gone
on to Italy."
"No, he is still here; but he goes, I believe, little into the society
Lady Doltimore chiefly visits. Is he one of your favourites, Miss
Cameron?"
There was a slight increase of colour in Evelyn's beautiful cheek, as she
answered,--
"Is it possible not to admire and be interested in one so gifted?"
"He has certainly noble and fine qualities," returned Legard; "but I
cannot feel at ease with him: a coldness, a _hauteur_, a measured
distance of manner, seem to forbid even esteem. Yet _I_ ought not to say
so," he added, with a pang of self-reproach.
"No, indeed, you ought not to say so," said Evelyn, shaking her head with
a pretty affectation of anger; "for I know that you pretend to like what
I like, and admire what I admire; and I am an enthusiast in all that
relates to Mr. Maltravers!"
"I know that I would wish to see all things in life through Miss
Cameron's eyes," whispered Legard, softly; and this was the most meaning
speech he had ever yet made.
Evelyn turned away, and seemed absorbed in the opera; and at that instant
the door of the box opened, and Maltravers entered.
In her open, undisguised, youthful delight at seeing him again,
Maltravers felt, indeed, "as if Paradise were opened in her face." In
his own agitated emotions, he scarcely noticed that Legard had risen and
resigned his seat to him; he availed himself of the civility, greeted his
old acquaintance with a smile and a bow, and in a few minutes he was in
deep converse with Evelyn.
Never had he so successfully exerted the singular, the master-fascination
that he could command at will,--the more powerful from its contrast to
his ordinary coldness. In the very expression of his eyes, the very tone
of his voice, there was that in Maltravers, seen at his happier moments,
which irresistibly interested and absorbed your attention: he could make
you forget everything but himself, and the rich, easy, yet earnest
eloquence, which gave colour to his language and melody to his voice. In
that hour of renewed intercourse with one who had at first awakened, if
not her heart, at least her imagination and her deeper thoughts, certain
it is that even Legard was not missed. As she smiled and listened,
Evelyn dreamed not of the anguish she inflicted. Leaning against the
box, Legard surveyed the absorbed attention of Evelyn, the adoring eyes
of Maltravers, with that utter and crushing wretchedness which no passion
but jealousy, and that only while it is yet a virgin agony, can bestow!
He had never before even dreamed of rivalry in such a quarter; but there
was that ineffable instinct, which lovers have, and which so seldom errs,
that told him at once that in Maltravers was the greatest obstacle his
passion could encounter. He waited in hopes that Evelyn would take the
occasion to turn to him at least--when the fourth act closed. She did
not; and, unable to constrain his emotions, and reply to the small-talk
of Lord Doltimore, he abruptly quitted the box.
When the opera was over, Maltravers offered his arm to Evelyn; she
accepted it, and then she looked round for Legard. He was gone.
BOOK VIII.
O Fate! O Heaven!--what have ye then decreed?
SOPHOCLES: _OEd. Tyr._ 738.
"Insolent pride . . .
. . . . . .
The topmost crag of the great precipice
Surmounts--to rush to ruin."
_Ibid._ 874.
