In the intervening days, Rocca Marina was in a wonderful state of preparation. The master of it was genuinely and honestly kindly and simple-hearted, and had entertained noble travellers before, who had been attracted by his extensive and artistic works; but no words can describe the satisfaction of his wife. In part there was the heartfelt pleasure of receiving the cousin who had been like one of her brothers in the home of her childhood; but to this was added the glory of knowing that this same cousin was a marquis, and that the society of San Remo, nay of all the Riviera and the Italian papers to boot, would know that she was a good deal more than the quarry- owner's wife. Moreover, like all her family, there was a sense of Lady Rotherwood's coming from a different sphere, and treating them with condescension. Jane and Lily might laugh, but to Adeline it was matter of a sort of aggressive awe, half as asserting herself as "Victoria's" equal and relation, half as protecting her from inferior people.
Geraldine perceived and was secretly amused. Of course all the party dined at the castle on Saturday night, and heard some lamentations that there was no one else to meet the distinguished guests, for the young doctor was not thought worthy.
"But I knew you would like a family party best, and the Underwoods are-almost connections, though-"
In that "though" was conveyed their vast inferiority to the house of Mohun.
"I always understood that it was a very good old family," said Lady Rotherwood.
"Clement Underwood is one of the most valuable clergy in London," said her lord; "I am glad he is recovering. I shall be delighted to hear him again."
Maura was standing under the pergola with Lord Ivinghoe.
"And is not it sad for poor Franceska Vanderkist? -Oh! you know about poor Mr. Gerald Underwood?" said Maura, blushing a little at the awkward subject.
"Of course," said Ivinghoe impatiently. "He is in America, is he not? But what has she to do with it?"
"Oh, you know, after being his Mona, and all. It can't go any further till it is cleared up."
Phyllis and Mysie came up, asking Maura to tell them the name of a mountain peak with a white cap. The party came up to dinner, which was as genial and easy as the host and Lord Rotherwood could make it, and as stiff and grand as the hostess could accomplish, aided by the deftness and grace of her Italian servants. In the evening Theodore came up to assist in the singing of glees, and Clement's voice was a delightful and welcome sound in his sister's ears. Ivinghoe stood among the circle at the piano, and enjoyed. He and his sister were not particularly musical, but enough to enjoy those remarkable Underwood voices. After that Maura never promoted musical evenings.
An odd little Sunday-school for the children of the English workmen had been instituted at Rocca Marina, where Maura had always assisted the chaplain's wife, and Anna and Francie shared the work. Mysie heard of it with enthusiasm, for, as Ivinghoe told her, she was pining for a breath of the atmosphere, but she came down to enjoy the delights thereof alone, taking Maura's small class. Maura was supposed to be doing the polite to Lady Phyllis, but in point of fact Phyllis was lying down in the balcony of her mother's dressing-room, and Maura was gracefully fanning herself under a great cork tree, while Lord Ivinghoe was lying on the grass.
Francie looked languid, and said it was getting dreadfully hot, but Mrs. Grinstead took no notice, trusting that the cessation of attentions would hinder any feeling from going deeper, so that-as she could not help saying to herself-she might not have brought the poor child out of the frying-pan into the fire-not an elegant proverb, but expressing her feeling!
More especially did it do so, when she found that Lord Rotherwood was so much delighted with the beauty and variety of the marbles of Rocca Marina as to order a font to be made of them for the church that was being restored at Clarebridge, and he, and still more his son, found constant diversion in running over by train from San Remo to superintend the design, and to select the different colours and patterns of the stones as they were quarried out and bits polished so as to show their beauty. Their ladies often accompanied them, and these expeditions generally involved luncheon at the castle, and often tea at the parsonage, but it might be gradually observed, as time went on, that there was a shade of annoyance on the part of the great house at the preference sometimes unconsciously shown for the society of the smaller one.
Mysie openly claimed Anna as her own friend of some standing, and both she and Phyllis had books to discuss, botanical or geological discoveries to communicate or puzzle out, with Mrs. Grinstead or her nieces. Lord Rotherwood had many more interests in common with Clement Underwood than with Mr. White, and even the Marchioness, though more impartial and on her guard, was sensible to Mrs. Grinstead's charm of manner and depth of comprehension. She patronized Adeline, but respected Mrs. Grinstead as incapable of and insensible to patronage.
That her gentlemen should have found such safe and absorbing occupation in the opposite direction to Monte Carlo was an abiding satisfaction to her, and she did not analyze the charms of the place as regarded her son. She had seen him amused by other young ladies, as he certainly was now by that Miss White, who was very handsome and very obliging.
She knew and he knew all the antecedents too well for alarm, till one day she saw Maura's face, as she made him pull down a spray of banksia from the side of a stone wall, and watched the air of gallant courtesy with which he presented it.
Francie watched it too, as she had watched the like before, and said nothing, but there was an odd, dull sense of disappointment, and the glory had faded away from sea and sky, spring though it was. Yet there were pressures of the hand in greeting and parting, and kind, wistful looks, as if of sympathy, little services and little attentions, that set her foolish little heart bounding, in a way she was much ashamed to feel, and would have been more utterly ashamed to speak of, or to suppose observed. She only avowed to Anna that it was very warm, weary weather, and that she was tired of absence, and felt homesick, but Aunt Cherry was so kind that she must not be told.
Lady Rotherwood proposed moving away, but her husband and son would not hear of it till their font was finished.
It was not unwelcome to any one of the elder ladies that the young officer's leave would be over in another week. Geraldine was glad that Francie should be freed from the trial of seeing attention absorbed by Maura, and herself so often left in the lurch, so far as that young lady could contrive it, for though not a word was said, the brightened eye and glowing cheek, whenever Lord Ivinghoe brought her forward, or paid her any deference or civility, were dangerous symptoms. Peace of mind in so modest and innocent a maiden would probably come back when the excitement was once over.
As to Adeline, there was nothing she dreaded so much as the commotion that would be excited if Ivinghoe's flirtation came to any crisis. His mother would never forgive her, his father would hardly do so; she would feel like a traitor to the whole family, and all her attempts to put a check on endeavours on Maura's part to draw him on- -an endeavour that began to be visible to her-were met by apparent unconsciousness or by tears. And when she ventured a word to her husband, he gruffly answered that his niece's father had been an officer in the army, and he could make it worth any one's while to take her! Young lords were glad enough in these days to have something to put into their pockets.
CHAPTER XXX. DREAMS AND NIGHTINGALES
Then in that time and place I spoke to her.-TENNYSON.
"Office of 'Lacustrian Intelligencer,' "Jonesville, Ohio, "March 20. "DEAREST CHERIE,
"I told you in my last that the chief boss in the office at New York had written to me that he had been asked to send an intelligent young man to sub-edit the Lacustrian Intelligencer at Jonesville, a rising city on Lake Erie. I thought it would be worth while to look at it, especially as we were booked to give a lecture at Sandusky, and moreover our relations to Gracchus have been growing rather strained, and I do not think this wandering life good for Lida in the long run; nor are my articles paid enough for to be a dependence. So after
holding forth at Sandusky, we took our passage in a little steamer which crosses the little bay in the Lake to Jonesville-one of those steamers just like a Noah's Ark.
"Presently Lida came up and touched me, saying in her little awe- struck whisper (which has never been conquered), 'Brother, I am sure I saw one of mother's cigarettes.' I said 'Bosh!' thinking it an utter delusion; but she was so decided and so frightened, that I told her to go into the saloon, and went forward. A woman was going about the deck, offering the passengers a basket of candies, lights, cigarettes, and cigars. Saving for Lida's words, I never should have recognized her; she was thin to the last degree, haggard, yellow, excessively shabby and forlorn-looking, and with a hollow cough; but as her eyes met mine (those eyes that you say are our water-mark) both of us made a sort of leap as if to go overboard, and I went up to her at once, and would have spoken, but she cried out, 'What have you done with Lida?' I answered that she was safe, and demanded in my turn where were O'Leary and Jellicoe. 'Drowned, drowned,' she said, 'in the wreck of the Sirius. They'll never trouble you more. But Lida!' I thought that it was safe to take her into the saloon to see Lida, when they fell into each other's arms, and afforded the spectators a romantic spectacle. Don't think I am making a joke of it, for it was tragic enough in the result of the agitation. Blood was choking the poor woman. We could only lay her down on the couch, and happily there were lemons on board. There was a good-natured Irishman who gave me all the help he could, even to the carrying her to his house, where his wife was equally kind. He fetched the priest, a French Canadian, and the doctor, and Lida has been watching over her most tenderly; poor things-they seem really to have cared for one another, and Lida will be the happier for having done these last duties.
"21st. She is a little better. So far as we have gathered from one who must not talk nor be agitated, the circus had got into difficulties and debt to Bast, the van proprietor. I believe Lida's voice was their last hope, and they had some ghastly scheme of disposing of her in Belgium. When they lost her, their chances were over, and with the proceeds of their last exhibition, Jellicoe and the O'Leary pair left the elephant, etc., to take care of themselves and make their excuses to Mr. Bast, and started for Liverpool and the U. S. in the Sirius. Storms overtook them, the women were put into the first boat, those which followed were swamped. Poor fellows, I own I can't sing a pious dirge for them. There were three days of hunger and exposure before the boat was picked up, and she was finally landed at Quebec, where she was laid up with pleurisy in the hospital. And there was a subscription for the wrecked when she came out, which enabled her to set up this reminiscence of her old trade, drifting from one pier or boat to another till she came to this one, but all the time with this awful cough. The doctor thinks it her knell; her lungs are far gone, but she may probably rally in some degree for the summer, though hardly so as to be moved.
"That being the case, I have been to the Lacustrian office, and engaged myself to be its hack, since I must have some fixed pay while she lives. Perhaps I shall be able to do a little extra writing and lecturing, especially if she gets better, enough to spare Lida to help me. Her voice really is a lovely soprano, and draws wonderfully, but I don't want it to be strained too early. Our good Irishwoman, Mrs. Macbride, is willing to let us have her two rooms, left empty by her sons going west, and her daughter marrying, on fair terms, Lida promising to be a sort of help and to teach the children. We shall eat with them. I shall be at the office all day and half the night, so I don't need a sitting-room. Don't be anxious, dear old Cherie. We shall do very well, and it is only for a time. Lida is like a little angel, and as thankful for a smile from her mother as if she had been the reprobate runaway. "Your ever-loving "GERALD."
This was the letter that came to Mrs. Grinstead, and one with similar information went to Dolores Mohun at her college at Cambridge. Dolores, who had found Mysie much more sympathetic than Gillian, could not but write the intelligence to her, and Mysie was so much struck with the beauty of the much-injured brother and sister devoting themselves to their mother, that she could not help telling the family party at breakfast.
"That's right," said Lord Rotherwood. "The mother can clear up the doubt if any one can. Is there nothing about it?"
"No," replied Mysie; "I should think the poor woman was too ill to be asked."
"They must not let her slip through their fingers without telling," added Ivinghoe.
"I have a mind to run over to Rocca Marina and see what more they have heard there," said Lord Rotherwood. "I suppose your letter is from one of the girls there?"
"Oh no, it is from Dolores."
"Dolores! She is at Cambridge. Then this news must have been round by Clipstone! They must have known it for days past at Rocca!" exclaimed Lord Rotherwood.
"No," said Mysie, "this came direct to Dolores from Gerald Underwood himself. -Oh, didn't you know? I forgot, nobody was to know till Uncle Maurice gave his consent."
"Consent to what?" exclaimed Ivinghoe.
"To Dolores and Gerald! Oh dear, mamma said so much to me about not telling, but I did think Cousin Rotherwood knew everything. Please-"
Whatever she was going to ask was cut short by Ivinghoe's suddenly striking on the table so as to make all the cups and saucers ring as he exclaimed-
"If ever there lived a treacherous Greek minx!" Then, "I beg your pardon, mother."
He was off: they saw him dash out of the house. There was a train due nearly at this time, as all recollected.
"Papa, had not you better go with him?" said Lady Rotherwood.
"He will get on much better by himself, my dear," and Lord Rotherwood threw himself back in his chair and laughed heartily and merrily, to the amazement and mystification of the two girls. "You will have a beauty on your hands, my lady."
"Well, as long as it is not that horrid White girl-" said her ladyship, breaking off there.
"A very sorry Rebecca," said her lord, laughing the more.
But the Marchioness rose up, and the two cousins had to accept the signal.
The train, after the leisurely fashion of continental railways, kept Ivinghoe fuming at the station, and rattled along so as to give travellers a full view of the coast, more delightful to them than to the youth, who had rushed off with intentions, he scarce knew what, of setting right the consequences of Maura's-was it deception, or only a thought, of which the wish was father?
He reached the station that led to the works at Rocca Marina. The sun was high, the heat of the day coming on, and as he strode along, the workmen were leaving off to take their siesta at noontide. On he went, across the private walks in the terraced garden, not up the broad stone steps that led to the house, but to a little group of olive trees which cut off the chaplain's house from the castle gardens, and where stood a great cork tree, to whose branches a hammock had been fastened, and seats placed under it. As he opened the gate a little dog's bark was heard, and he was aware of a broad hat under the tree. Simultaneously a small Maltese dog sprang forward, and Francie's head rose from leaning over the little table with a start, her cheeks deeper rose than usual, having evidently gone to sleep over the thin book and big dictionary that lay before her.
"Oh!" she said, "it is you. Was I dreaming?"
"I am afraid I startled you."
"No-only"-she still seemed only half awake-"it seemed to come out of my dream."
"Then you were dreaming of me?"
"Oh no. At, least I don't know," she said, the colour flushing into her face, as she sat upright, now quite awake and alive to the question, between truthfulness and maidenly modesty.
"You were-you were; you don't deny it!" And as she hung her head and grew more distressfully redder and redder, "You know what that means."
"Indeed-indeed-I couldn't help-I never meant! Oh-"
It was an exclamation indeed, for Uncle Clement's head appeared above the hammock, where he too had been dozing over his book, with the words-
"Halloo, young people, I'm here!"
&
nbsp; Franceska would have fled, but Ivinghoe held her hand so tight that she could not wrench it away. He held it, while Clement struggled to the ground, and then said-
"Sir, there is no reason you or all the world should not know how I love this dearest, loveliest one. I came here this morning hoping that she may grant me leave to try to win her to be my own."
He looked at Francie. Her head drooped, but she had not taken her hand away, and the look on her face was not all embarrassment, but there was a rosy sunrise dawning on it.
All Clement could say was something of "Your father."
"He knows, he understands; I saw it in his eyes," said Ivinghoe.
To Clement the surprise was far greater than it would have been to his sister, and the experience was almost new to him, but he could read Francie's face well enough to say-
"My dear, I think we had better let you run in and compose yourself, or go to your aunt, while I talk to Lord Ivinghoe."
Trembling, frightened, Francie was really glad to be released, as her lover with one pressure said-
"I shall see you again, sweetest."
She darted away, and Clement signed to Ivinghoe to sit down with him on the bench under the tree.
"I should like this better if you had brought your father's full assent," he said.
"There was no time. I only read his face; he will come to-morrow."
"No time?"
"Yes, to catch the train. I hurried away the moment I learnt that- that her affections were not otherwise engaged. I never saw any one like her. She has haunted me ever since those days at Rockquay; but- -but I was told that she cared for your nephew, and I could not take advantage of him in his absence. And now I have but three days more."
"Whoever told you was under a great error," said Clement gravely, "and you have shown very generous self-command; but the advantages of this affair are so much the greatest on one side, that you cannot wonder if there is hesitation on our part, till we explicitly know that our poor little girl would not be unwelcome to your parents."
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