His mother felt she had been very kind and generous in renouncing the old objection of twenty years" standing, and, too, she felt that it was only right, after spoiling her son"s life for so long, to do her best to atone for the mistake. It must be confessed she could not see what there was about Isabella to hold the love and loyalty of a man like Paul for so long, but then--and she sighed at the thought of the wasted years--"Love is blind," they say--and so"s a lover! And her motherly heart longed for grandchildren--Paul"s children--as it had always longed for them.
Paul Verdayne sat opposite his penitent mother and pondered. The scent from a bowl of red roses on his mother"s table almost overpowered him with memories.
He thought of the couch of deep red roses on which he had lain, caressed by the velvet petals. He could inhale their fragrance even yet--he could look into her eyes and breathe the incense of her hair--her whole glorious person--that was like none other in all the world. Yes, she had been happy--and he would remember! She would be happier yet could she know that he had been faithful to his duty--and surely this was his duty to his race. His Queen would have it so, he felt sure.
Rising, he bent over his mother, his eyes bright with unshed tears, and kissed her calmly upon the brow. Then he walked quietly from the room.
His resolution was firmly fixed.
He would marry Isabella!
CHAPTER XVIII
Sir Charles Verdayne lingered for several weeks, no stronger, nor yet perceptibly weaker. He took a sudden fancy to see his old friend, Captain Grigsby, and the old salt was accordingly sent for. His presence acted as a tonic upon the dying man, and the two old friends spent many pleasant hours together, talking--as old people delight in talking--of the days of the distant past.
"Is this widow the Isabella who once raised the devil with your Paul?"
asked Grigsby.
"Same wench!" answered Sir Charles, a twinkle in his eye.
"Hum!" said the Captain--and then said again, "Hum!" Then he added meditatively, "Blasted unlucky kiss that! Likely wench enough, but--never set the Thames on fire!--nor me!"
"Oh the kiss didn"t count," said Sir Charles. "As I said to the boy"s mother at the time, a man isn"t obliged to marry every woman he kisses!
Mighty good thing, too--eh, Grig? Besides, a kiss like that is an insult to any flesh and blood woman!"
"An insult?"
"The worst kind! You see, Grig, no woman likes to be kissed that way.
Whether she"s capable of feeling a single thrill of pa.s.sion herself or not, she likes to be sure that she can inspire it in a man. And a kiss like that--well, it rouses all her fighting blood! Makes her feel she"s no woman at all in the man"s eye--merely a doll to be kissed. D"ye see?
It"s d.a.m.ned inconsistent, of course, but it"s the woman of it!"
"The devil of it, you mean!" the old Captain chuckled in response. Then, "Paul had a lucky escape," he said, as he looked furtively around the room for listening ears, "mighty lucky escape! And an experience right on the heels of it to make up for the loss of a hundred such wenches and--say, Charles, he"s got a son to be proud of! The Boy is certainly worth all the price!"
"Any price--any price, Grig!" Then the old man went on, "If Henrietta only knew! She thinks the world of the youngster, you know--no one could help that--but what if she knew? Paul"s been mighty cautious. I often laugh when I see them out together--him and the Boy--and think what a sensation one could spring on the public by letting the cat out of the bag. And the woman would suffer. Wouldn"t she, just! Wouldn"t they tear her to pieces!"
"Yes, they would," said the Captain, "they certainly would. This is a world of hypocrites, Charles, d.a.m.ned rotten hypocrites!"
"That"s what it is, Grig! Not one of those same old hens who would have said, "Ought we to visit her?" and denounced the whole "immoral" affair, and all that sort of thing--not one of them, I say, but would--"
"Give her very soul to know what such a love means! O they would, Charles--they would--every d.a.m.ned old cat of them, who would never get an opportunity to play the questionable--no, not one in a thousand years--if they searched for it forever!"
"Yet women are made so, Grigsby--they can"t help it! Henrietta would faint at the mere suggestion of accepting as a daughter-in-law a woman with a past!"
And the old man sighed.
"I"d have given my eyes--yes, I would, Grig--to have seen that woman just once! G.o.d! the man she made out of my boy! Of course it may have been for the best that it turned out as it did, but--d.a.m.n it all, Grig, she was worth while! There"s no dodging that!"
"n.o.body wants to dodge it, Charles! She was over-s.e.xed, perhaps--but better that than unders.e.xed--eh?"
But the exhilaration caused by the coming of his old friend gradually wore itself away, and Sir Charles began to grow weaker. And at last the end came. He had grown anxious to see the Boy again, and the young fellow had returned and spent much time with the old man, who loved the sound of his voice as it expressed his fresh, frank ideas.
But Sir Charles spent his last hours with his son.
"Paul," he said, in a last confidential whisper, touching upon the theme that had never been mentioned between them before, "I understand--everything--you know, and I"m proud of you--and him! I have wanted to say something, or do something for you--often--often--to help you--but it"s the sort of thing a chap has to fight out for himself, and I thought I"d better keep out of it! But I wanted you to know--_now_--that I"ve known it all--all along--and been proud of you--both!"
And their hands clasped closely, and the eyes of both were wet, but even on the brink of death the lips of the younger man were sealed. The +silence of one-and-twenty years remained unbroken. +It was not a foolish reticence that restrained him--but simply that he could not find words to voice the memories that grew more and more sacred with the pa.s.sing of the years.
And at evening, when the family had gathered about him, the old man lay with his son"s hand in his, but his eyes looked beyond and rested on the face of the Boy, who seemed the renewal of hit son"s youth, when life was one glad song! And thus he pa.s.sed to the Great Beyond.
And his son was Sir Paul Verdayne, the last of his race.
That night, the young baronet and the Boy sat alone over their cigars.
The Boy spoke at some length of his extensive Austrian visit. The Princess Elodie would make him a good wife, he said. She was of good st.u.r.dy stock, healthy, strong--and, well, a little heavy and dull, perhaps, but one couldn"t expect everything! At least, her honor would never be called into question. He would always feel sure that his name was safe with her! He was glad he went to Austria. There were political complications that he had not understood before which made the marriage an absolute necessity for the salvation of his country"s position among the kingdoms of the world, and he was more resigned to it now. Yes, indeed, he was far more resigned. The princess wasn"t by any means impossible--not a half bad sort--and--yes, he was resigned! He said it over and over, but without convincing Sir Paul--or deceiving himself!
As for the elder man, he said but little. He had been wondering throughout that dinner-hour whether he could ever really make Isabella his wife. The Boy thought of Isabella, too, and was anxious to know whether his Father Paul was going to be happy at last. He had been very curious to see the woman who could play so cruel a part toward the man he loved. If he had been Verdayne, he thought, he would never forgive her--never! Still, if Father Paul loved the woman--as he certainly must to have remained single for her sake so long--it put a different face on the matter, and of course it was Verdayne"s affair, not his! The Boy had been disappointed in Isabella"s appearance and attractions--she was not at all the woman he had imagined his Father Paul would love--but of course she was older now, and age changes some women, and, and--well, he only hoped that his friend would be happy--happy in his own way, whatever that might be.
At last, he summoned Vasili to him and called for his own particular yellow wine--the Imperial Tokayi--and the old man filled the gla.s.ses. It was too much for Verdayne--and all thoughts of Isabella were consigned to eternal oblivion as he remembered the time when _he_ had sipped that wine with his Queen in the little hotel on the Burgenstock.
She would have no cause for jealousy--his darling!
CHAPTER XIX
It was November when Sir Charles died, and Lady Henrietta betook herself to her sister"s for consolation, while Sir Paul and the Boy, with a common impulse, departed for India.
They spent Christmas in Egypt, the winter months in the desert, and at last spring came, with its remembrance of duties to be done. And to the elder man England made its insistent call, as it always did in March.
For was it not in England, and in March, the tidings reached him that unto him a son was born?
He must go back.
So at last, acting upon a pre-arrangement to which the young Prince had not been a party, they made their way back to their own world of men and women.
"Boy," said Sir Paul, one day, "the time has come when many questions you have asked and wondered about are to be answered, as is your due. It was your mother"s wish that you should go, at the beginning of May, alone, to Lucerne. There you will find letters awaiting you--from her--from your Uncle Peter--yes, even from myself--telling you the whole secret of your birth, the story of your inheritance."
"Why Lucerne, Father Paul?"
"It was your mother"s wish--and mine!"
Then, with a rush of tenderness, the older man threw his arm around the Boy"s shoulders. "Boy," he said, "be charitable and lenient and kind--whatever you read!"