A great yearning took possession of her as she stood in her gleaming silks, looking round that happy domestic circle. Mr. Lambert had not as yet stolen back to his beloved study, but sat in the bay-window, discussing parish affairs with Dr. Heriot. Richard had challenged the curate to a game of chess, and Chriss had perched herself on the arm of her brother"s chair, and was watching the game. Polly, in her white dress, was striking plaintive chords with one hand and humming to herself in a sweet, girlish voice.
"Check-mate; you played that last move carelessly, Marsden. Your knight turned traitor!" cried Richard. His handsome profile cut sharply against the lamplight, he looked cool, on the alert, while Hugh"s broad face was puckered and wrinkled with anxiety.
"Please do not let me interrupt you!" exclaimed Ethel, hurriedly, "you look all so comfortable. I only want to say good-night, every one," with a wave of her slim hand as she spoke.
Richard gave a start, and rose to his feet, as he regarded the queenly young creature with her pale cheeks and radiant dress. A sort of perfumy fragrance seemed to pervade him as she brushed lightly past him; something subtle seemed to steal away his faculties. Had he ever seen her look so beautiful?
Ethel stopped and gave him one of her sad, kind smiles.
"You do not often come to see us now, Richard. I think my father misses you," was all she said.
"I will come--yes--I will come to-morrow," he stammered. "I did not think--you would miss me," he almost added, but he remembered himself in time.
His face grew stern and set as he watched her in the lamplight, gliding from one to another with a soft word or two. Why was it her appearance oppressed him to-night? he thought. He had often seen her dressed so before, and had gloried in her loveliness; to-night it seemed incongruous, it chilled him--this glittering apparition in the midst of the family circle.
She looked more like the probable bride of Sir Robert Ferrers than the wife of a poor curate, he told himself bitterly, as he watched her slow lissom movements, the wavy undulating grace that was Ethel"s chief charm, and yet as he thought it he knew he wronged her. For the man she could love, Ethel would pull off all her glistening gewgaws, put away from her all the accessories that wealth could give her. Delighting in luxury, revelling in it, it was in her to renounce it all without a sigh.
Richard knew this, and paid her n.o.bleness its just tribute even while he chafed in his own moodiness. She would do all this, and more than this, for the man she loved; but could she, would she, ever be brought to do it for him?
When alone again with Mildred, Ethel threw her arms round her friend.
"Oh, Mildred! it seems worse than ever."
"My poor dear."
"Night after night he sits opposite to me, and we do not speak, except to exchange commonplaces, and then he carps at every deviation of opinion."
"I know how dreadful it must be."
"And then to be brought into the midst of a scene like that," pointing to the door they had just closed; "to see those happy faces and to hear all that innocent mirth," as at that moment Polly"s girlish laughter was distinctly audible, with Hugh"s pealing "Ha, ha" following it; "and then to remember the room I have just left."
"Hush, try to forget it, or the Sigourneys will wonder at your pale face."
"These evenings haunt me," returned Ethel, with a sort of shudder. "I think I am losing my nerve, Mildred; but I feel positively as though I cannot bear many more of them--the great dimly-lighted room; you know my weakness for light; but he says it makes his head bad, and those lamps with the great shades are all he will have; the interminable dinner which Duncan always seems to prolong, the difficulty of finding a subject on which we shall not disagree, and the dread of falling into one of those dreadful pauses which nothing seems to break. Oh, Mildred, may you never experience it."
"Poor Ethel, I can understand it all so well."
Ethel dried her eyes.
"It seems wrong to complain of one"s father, but I have not deserved this loss of confidence; he is trying my dutifulness too much."
"It will not fail you. "Let patience have her perfect work," Ethel."
"No, you must only comfort me to-night; I am beyond even your wise maxims, Mildred. I wish I had not come, it makes me feel so sore, and yet I could not resist the longing to see you on your birthday. See, I have brought you a gift," showing her a beautifully-chased cross in her hand.
"Dear Ethel, how wrong; I have asked you so often not to overwhelm me with your presents."
"How selfish to deny me my one pleasure. I have thought about this all day. We have had visitors, a whole bevy from Carlisle, and I could not get away; and now I must go to that odious party at the Castle."
"You must indeed not wait any longer, your friends will be wondering,"
remonstrated Mildred.
"Oh no, Mrs. Sigourney is always late. You are very unsociable to-night, Mildred, just when I require so much."
"I only wish I knew how to comfort you."
"It comforts me to look into your face and hold your hand. Listen, Mildred--to-night I was so hungry and desolate for want of a kind word or look, that I grew desperate; it was foolish of me, but I could have begged for it as a hungry dog will beg for a crumb."
"What did you say?" asked Mildred, breathlessly.
"I went and stood by his chair when I ought to have left the room; that was a mistake, was it not?" with a low, bitter laugh. "I think I touched his sleeve, for he drew it away with a look of surprise. "Papa," I said; "I cannot bear this any longer. I do not feel as though I were your child when you never look at me voluntarily.""
"And what was his answer?"
""Ethel, you know I hate scenes, they simply disgust me.""
"Only that!"
"No. I was turning away when he called me back in his sternest manner."
""Your reproach is unseemly under the circ.u.mstances, but it shall be answered," he said, and his voice was so hard and cold. "It is my misfortune that you are my child, for you have never done anything but disappoint me. Now, do not interrupt me," as I made some faint exclamation. "I have not withheld my confidence; you know my ambition, and also that I have lately sustained some very heavy losses; in default of a son I have looked to you to retrieve our fortunes, but"--in such a voice of withering scorn--"I have looked in vain.""
"Bitter words, my poor Ethel; my heart aches for you. What could such a speech mean? Can it be true that he is really embarra.s.sed?"
"Only temporarily; you know he dabbles in speculations, and he lost a good deal by those mining shares last year; that was the reason why we missed our usual London season. No, it is not that. You see he has never relinquished the secret ambition of a seat in Parliament. I know him so well; nothing can turn him from anything on which he has set his heart, and either of those men would have helped him to compa.s.s his end."
"He has no right to sacrifice you to his ambition."
"You need not fear, I am no Iphigenia. I could not marry Sir Robert, and I would not marry Mr. Cathcart. Thank Heaven, I have self-respect enough to guard me from such humiliation. The worst is," she hesitated, "papa is so quick that he found out how his intellect fascinated me; it was the mere fascination of the moment, and died a natural death; but he will have it I was not indifferent to him, and it is this that makes him so mad. He says it is obstinacy, and nothing else."
"Mr. Cathcart has not renewed his offer? forgive me," as Ethel drew herself up, and looked somewhat offended. "You know I dread that man--so sceptical--full of sophistry. Oh, my dear! I cannot help fearing him."
"You need not," with a sad smile; "my heart is still in my own keeping.
No," as Mildred"s glance questioned her archly, "I have been guilty of nothing but a little hero-worship, but nevertheless," she averred, "intellect and goodness must go hand-in-hand before I can call any man my master."
"I shall not despair of you finding them together; but come, I will not let you stay any longer, or your pale cheeks will excite comment. Let me wrap this cloak round you--come."
But Ethel still lingered.
"Don"t let Richard know all this; he takes my unhappiness too much to heart already; only ask him to come sometimes and break the monotony."
"He will come."
"Things always seem better when he is with us; he makes papa talk, and much of the restraint seems removed. Well, good-night; this is sad birthday-talk, but I could not keep the pain in."
As Mildred softly closed the door she saw Richard beside her.
"What have you been talking about all this time?" he asked, anxiously.