"Why did you sing that?" he asked abruptly, when she had done.
"Don"t you like it?"
"No; I don"t like cynicism set to music. Here is a French chansonnette--sing me that."
Kate sang for him song after song. The momentary pain the announcement of his departure had given her wore away.
"It is natural he should like change," she thought, "and it is dull here. I am glad he is going to Ottawa, and yet I shall miss him. Dear Reginald! What would life be worth without you?"
The period of M. La Touche"s stay was rapidly drawing to a close. March was at its end, too--it was the last night of the month. The eve of departure was celebrated at Danton Hall by a social party. The elder Misses Danton on that occasion were as lovely and as much admired as ever, and Messrs. Stanford and La Touche were envied by more than one gentleman present. Grace"s engagement to the Captain had got wind, and she shared the interest with her step-daughters-elect.
Early next morning the two young men left. There was breakfast almost before it was light, and everybody got up to see them off. It was a most depressing morning. March had gone out like an idiotic lamb, and April came in in sapping rain and enervating mist. Ceaselessly the rain beat against the window-gla.s.s, and the wind had a desolate echo that sounded far more like winter than spring.
Pale, in the dismal morning-light, Kate and Rose Danton bade their lovers adieu, and watched them drive down the dripping avenue and disappear.
An hour before he had come down stairs that morning, Mr. Stanford had written a letter. It was very short:
"Dear Old Boy:--I"m off. In an hour I shall be on my way to Ottawa, and from thence I will write you next. Do you know why I am going? I am running away from myself! "Lead us not into temptation;" and Satan seems to have me hard and fast at Danton Hall. Lauderdale, in spite of your bad opinion of me, I don"t want to be a villain if I can help it. I don"t want to do any harm; I do want to be true! And here it is impossible. I have got intoxicated with flowing curls, and flashing dark eyes, and all the pretty, bewitching, foolish, irresistible ways of that piquant little beauty, whom I have no business under heaven to think of. I know she is silly, and frivolous, and coquettish, and vain; but I love her! There, the murder is out, and I feel better after it. But, withal, I want to be faithful to the girl who loves me (ah! wretch that I am!), and so I fly. A month out of sight of that sweet face--a month out of hearing of that gay, young voice--a month shooting, and riding, and exploring these Canadian wilds, will do me good, and bring me back a new man. At least, I hope so; and don"t you set me down as a villain for the next four weeks, at least."
The day of departure was miserably long and dull at the Hall. It rained ceaselessly, and that made it worse. Rose never left her room; her plea was headache. Kate wandered drearily up stairs and down stairs, and felt desolate and forsaken beyond all precedent.
There was a strange, forlorn stillness about the house, as if some one lay dead in it; and from morning to night the wind never ceased its melancholy complaining.
Of course this abnormal state of things could not last. Sunshine came next day, and the young ladies were themselves again. The preparations for the treble wedding must begin in earnest now--shopping, dressmakers, milliners, jewellers, all had to be seen after. A journey to Montreal must be taken immediately, and business commenced. Kate held a long consultation with Rose in her boudoir; but Rose, marvellous to tell, took very little interest in the subject. She, who all her life made dress the great concern of her existence, all at once, in this most important crisis, grew indifferent.
She accompanied Kate to Montreal, however, and helped in the selection of laces, and silks, and flowers, and ribbons; and another dressmaker was hunted up and carried back.
It was a busy time after that; the needles of Agnes Darling, Eunice, and the new dressmaker flew from morning until night. Grace lent her a.s.sistance, and Kate was always occupied superintending, and being fitted and refitted, and had no time to think how lonely the house was, or how much she missed Reginald Stanford. She was happy beyond the power of words to describe; the time was near when they would never part again--when she would be his--his happy, happy wife.
It was all different with Rose; she had changed in a most unaccountable manner. All her movements were languid and listless, she who had been wont to keep the house astir; she took no interest in the bridal dresses and jewellery; she shrank from every one, and wanted to be alone. She grew pale, and thin, and hysterical, and so petulant that it was a risk to speak to her. What was the matter?--every one asked that question, and Grace and Grace"s brother were the only two who guessed within a mile of the truth.
And so April wore away. Time, that goes on forever--steadily, steadily, for the happy and the miserable--was bringing the fated time near. The snow had fled, the new gra.s.s and fresh buds were green on the lawn and trees, and the birds sang their _glorias_ in the branches so lately tossed by the wintry winds.
Doctor Danton was still at St. Croix, but he was going away, too. He had had an interview with Agnes Darling, whose hopes were on the ebb; and once more had tried to engraft his own bright, sanguine nature on hers.
"Never give up, Agnes," he said, cheerily. "Patience, patience yet a little longer. I shall return for my sister"s wedding, and I think it will be all right then."
Agnes listened and sighed wearily. The ghost of Danton Hall had been very well behaved of late, and had frightened no one. The initiated knew that Mr. Richards was not very well, and that the night air was considered unhealthy, so he never left his rooms. The tamarack walk was undisturbed in the lonely April nights--at least by all save Doctor Frank, who sometimes chose to haunt the place, but who never saw anything for his pains.
May came--with it came Mr. Stanford, looking sunburned, and fresh, and handsomer than ever. As on the evening of his departure from the Hall, so on the eve of his departure from Ottawa, he had written to that confidential friend:
"Dear Lauderdale.--The month of probation has expired. To-morrow I return to Danton Hall. Whatever happens, I have done my best.
If fate is arbitrary, am I to blame? Look for me in June, and be ready to pay your respects to Mrs. Stanford."
CHAPTER XV.
ONE OF EARTH"S ANGELS.
Mr. Stanford"s visit to Ottawa had changed him somehow, it seemed to Kate. The eyes that love us are sharp; the heart that sets us up for its idol is quick to feel every variation. Reginald was changed--vaguely, almost indefinably, but certainly changed. He was more silent than of old, and had got a habit of falling into long brown studies in the midst of the most interesting conversation. He took almost as little interest in the bridal paraphernalia as Rose, and sauntered lazily about the grounds, or lay on the tender new gra.s.s under the trees smoking endless cigars, and looking dreamily up at the endless patches of bright blue sky, and thinking, thinking--of what?
Kate saw it, felt it, and was uneasy. Grace saw it, too; for Grace had her suspicions of that fascinating young officer, and watched him closely. They were not very good friends somehow, Grace and Kate Danton; a sort of armed neutrality existed between them, and had ever since Kate had heard of her father"s approaching marriage. She had never liked Grace much--she liked her less than ever now. She was marrying her father from the basest and most mercenary motives, and Kate despised her, and was frigidly civil and polite whenever she met her. She took it very quietly, this calm Grace, as she took all things, and was respectful to Miss Danton, as became Miss Danton"s father"s housekeeper.
"Don"t you think Mr. Stanford has altered somehow, Frank, since he went to Ottawa?" she said one day to her brother, as they sat alone together by the dining-room window.
Doctor Danton looked out. Mr. Stanford was sauntering down the avenue, a fishing-rod over his shoulder, and his bride-elect on his arm.
"Altered! How?"
"I don"t know how," said Grace, "but he has altered. There is something changed about him; I don"t know what. I don"t think he is settled in his mind."
"My dear Grace, what are you talking about? Not settled in his mind! A man who is about to marry the handsomest girl in North America?"
"I don"t care for that. I wouldn"t trust Mr. Reginald Stanford as far as I could see him."
"You wouldn"t? But then you are an oddity, Grace. What do you suspect him of?"
"Never mind; my suspicions are my own. One thing I am certain of--he is no more worthy to marry Kate Danton than I am to marry a prince."
"Nonsense! He is as handsome as Apollo, he sings, he dances, and talks divinely. Are you not a little severe, Grace?"
Grace closed her lips.
"We won"t talk about it. What do you suppose is the matter with Rose?"
"I wasn"t aware there was anything the matter. An excess of happiness, probably; girls like to be married, you know, Grace."
"Fiddlestick! She has grown thin; she mopes in her room all day long, and hasn"t a word for anyone--she who used to be the veriest chatterbox alive."
"All very naturally accounted for, my dear. M. La Touche is absent--doubtless she is pining for him."
"Just about as much as I am. I tell you, Frank, I hope things will go right next June, but I don"t believe it. Hush! here is Miss Danton."
Miss Danton opened the door, and, seeing who were there, bowed coldly, and retired again. Unjustly enough, the brother came in for part of the aversion she felt for the sister.
Meantime Mr. Stanford sauntered along the village with his fishing-rod, nodding good-humouredly right and left. Short as had been his stay at Danton Hall, he was very well known in the village, and had won golden opinions from all sorts of people. From the black-eyed girls who fell in love with his handsome face, to the urchins rolling in the mud, and to whom he flung handfuls of pennies. The world and Mr. Stanford went remarkably well with each other, and whistling all the way, he reached his destination in half an hour--a clear, silvery stream, shadowed by waving trees and famous in fishing annals. He flung himself down on the turfy sward, lit a cigar, and began smoking and staring reflectively at vacancy.
The afternoon was lovely, warm as June, the sky was cloudless, and the sunlight glittered in golden ripples on the stream. All things were favourable; but Mr. Stanford was evidently not a very enthusiastic disciple of Isaac Walton; for his cigar was smoked out, the stump thrown away, and his fishing-rod lay unused still. He took it up at last and dropped it scientifically in the water.
"It"s a bad business," he mused, "and hanging, drawing, and quartering would be too good for me. But what the d.i.c.kens is a fellow to do? And then she is so fond of me, too--poor little girl!"
He laid the fishing-rod down again, drew from an inner pocket a note-book and pencil. From between the leaves he drew out a sheet of pink-tinted, gilt-edged note paper, and, using the note-book for a desk, began to write. It was a letter, evidently; and after he wrote the first line, he paused, and looked at it with an odd smile. The line was, "Angel of my Dreams."
"I think she will like the style of that," he mused; "it"s Frenchified and sentimental, and she rather affects that sort of thing. Poor child!