For Zara had surpa.s.sed all expectations. The intense and blatant blue of her long clinging robe, which would have killed the charms of nine women out of ten, seemed to enhance the beauty of her pure white skin and marvelous hair. It fell like a red shining cloak all round her, kept in only by a thin fillet of gold, while her dark eyes gleamed with a new excitement. She had relaxed her dominion of herself, and was allowing the natural triumphant woman in her to have its day. For once in her life she forgot everything of sorrow and care, and permitted herself to rejoice in her own beauty and its effect upon the world before her.
"Jee-hoshaphat!" was the first articulate word that the company heard, from the hush which had fallen upon them; and then there was a chorus of general admiration, in which all the ladies had their share. And only the Crow happened to glance at Tristram, and saw that his face was white as death.
Then the two parties, about twenty people in all, began to arrive from the other houses, and delighted exclamations of surprise at the splendor of the impromptu fancy garments were heard all over the room, and soon dinner was announced, and they went in.
"My Lord Tristram," Ethelrida had said to her cousin, "I beg of you to conduct to my festal board your own most beautiful _Lady Isolt_.
Remember, on Monday you leave us for the realm of _King Mark_, so make the most of your time!" And she turned and led forward Zara, and placed her hand in his; she, and they all, were too preoccupied with excitement and joy to see the look of deep pain in his eyes.
He held his wife"s hand, until the procession started, and neither of them spoke a word. Zara, still exalted with the spirit of the night, felt only a wild excitement. She was glad he could see her beauty and her hair, and she raised her head and shook it back, as they started, with a provoking air.
But Tristram never spoke; and by the time they had reached the banqueting-hall, some of her exaltation died down, and she felt a chill.
Her hair was so very long and thick that she had to push it aside, to sit down, and in doing so a mesh flew out and touched his face; and the Crow, who was watching the whole drama intently, noticed that he shivered and, if possible, grew more pale. So he turned to his own servant, behind his chair, who with some of the other valets, was helping to wait, and whispered to him, "Go and see that Lord Tancred is handed brandy, at once, before the soup."
And so the feast began.
On Zara"s other hand sat the Duke, and on Tristram"s, Brangaine--for so she and Ethelrida had arranged for their later plan; and after the brandy, which Tristram dimly wondered why he should have been handed, he pulled himself together, and tried to talk; and Zara busied herself with the Duke. She quite came out of her usual silence, and laughed, and looked so divinely attractive that the splendid old gentleman felt it all going to his head; and his thoughts wondered bluntly, how soon, if he were his nephew, he would take her away after dinner and make love to her all to himself! But these modern young fellows had not half the mettle that he had had!
So at last dessert-time came, with its toasts for the _Queen Guinevere_.
And the bridal pair had spoken together never a word; and Lady Anningford, who was watching them, began to fear for the success of her plan. However, there was no use turning back now. So, amidst jests of all sorts in keeping with the spirit of Camelot and the Table Round, at last _Brangaine_ rose and, taking the gold cup in front of her, said,
"I, _Brangaine_, commissioned by her Lady Mother, to conduct the _Lady Isolt_ safely to _King Mark_, under the knightly protection of the _Lord Tristram_, do now propose to drink their health, and ye must all do likewise, Lords and Ladies of Arthur"s court." And she sipped her own gla.s.s, while she handed the gold cup to the Duke, who pa.s.sed it on to the pair; and Tristram, because all eyes were upon him, forced himself to continue the jest. So he rose and, taking Zara"s hand, while he bowed to the company, gave her the cup to drink, and then took it himself, while he drained the measure. And every one cried, amidst great excitement, "The health and happiness of _Tristram_ and _Isolt_!"
Then, when the tumult had subsided a little, _Brangaine_ gave a pretended shriek.
"Mercy me! I am undone!" she cried. "They have quaffed of the wrong cup!
That gold goblet contained a love-potion distilled from rare plants by the Queen, and destined for the wedding wine of _Isolt_ and _King Mark_!
And now the _Lord Tristram_ and she have drunk it together, by misadventure, and can never be parted more! Oh, misery me! What have I done!"
And amidst shouts of delighted laughter led by the Crow--in frozen silence, Tristram held his wife"s hand.
But after a second, the breeding in them both, as on their wedding evening before the waiters, again enabled them to continue the comedy; and they, too, laughed, and, with the Duke"s a.s.sistance, got through the rest of dinner, until they all rose and went out, two and two, the men leading their ladies by the hand, as they had come in.
And if the cup had indeed contained a potion distilled by the Irish sorceress Queen, the two victims could not have felt more pa.s.sionately in love.
But Tristram"s pride won the day for him, for this one time, and not by a glance or a turn of his head did he let his bride see how wildly her superlative attraction had kindled the fire in his blood. And when the dancing began, he danced with every other lady first, and then went off into the smoking-room, and only just returned in time to be made to lead out his "_Isolt_" in a final quadrille--not a valse. No powers would have made him endure the temptation of a valse!
And even this much, the taking of her hand, her nearness, the sight of the exquisite curves of her slender figure, and her floating hair, caused him an anguish unspeakable, so that when the rest of the company had gone, and good nights were said, he went up to his room, changed his coat, and strode away alone, out into the night.
CHAPTER x.x.x
Every one was so sleepy and tired on Sunday morning, after their night at Arthur"s Court, that only Lady Ethelrida and Laura Highford, who had a pose of extreme piety always ready at hand, started with the Duke and Young Billy for church. Francis Markrute watched them go from his window, which looked upon the entrance, and he thought how stately and n.o.ble his fair lady looked; and he admired her disciplined att.i.tude, no carousal being allowed to interfere with her duties. She was a rare and perfect specimen of her cla.s.s.
His lady fair! For he had determined, if fate plainly gave him the indication, to risk asking her to-day to be his fair lady indeed. A man must know when to strike, if the iron is hot.
He had carefully prepared all the avenues; and had made himself of great importance to the Duke, allowing his masterly brain to be seen in glimpses, and convincing His Grace of his possible great usefulness to the party to which he belonged. He did not look for continued opposition in that quarter, once he should have a.s.sured himself that Lady Ethelrida loved him. That he loved her, with all the force of his self-contained nature, was beyond any doubt. Love, as a rule, recks little of the suitability of the object, when it attacks a heart; but in some few cases--that is the peculiar charm--Francis Markrute had waited until he was forty-six years old, firmly keeping to his ideal, until he found her, in a measure of perfection, of which even he had not dared to dream. His theory, which he had proved in his whole life, was that nothing is beyond the grasp of a man who is master of himself and his emotions. But even his iron nerves felt the tension of excitement, as luncheon drew to an end, and he knew in half an hour, when most of the company were safely disposed of, he should again find his way to his lady"s shrine.
Ethelrida did not look at him. She was her usual, charmingly-gracious self to her neighbors, solicitous of Tristram"s headache. He had only just appeared, and looked what he felt--a wreck. She was interested in some news in the Sunday papers, which had arrived; and in short, not a soul guessed how her gentle being was uplifted, and her tender heart beating with this, the first real emotion she had ever experienced.
Even the Crow, so thrilled with his interest in the bridal pair, had not scented anything unusual in his hostess"s att.i.tude towards one of her guests.
"I think Mr. Markrute is awfully attractive, don"t you, Crow?" said Lady Anningford, as they started for their walk. To go to Lynton Heights after lunch on Sunday was almost an invariable custom at Montfitchet. "I can"t say what it is, but it is something subtle and extraordinary, like that in his niece--what do you think?"
Colonel Lowerby paused, struck from her words by the fact that he had been too preoccupied to have noticed this really interesting man.
"Why, "pon my soul--I haven"t thought!" he said, "but now you speak of it, I do think he is a remarkable chap."
"He is so very quiet," Lady Anningford went on, "and, whenever he speaks, it is something worth listening to; and if you get on any subject of books, he is a perfect encyclopaedia. He gives me the impression of all the forces of power and will, concentrated in a man. I wonder who he really is? Not that it matters a bit in these days. Do you think there is any Jew in him? It does not show in his type, but when foreigners are very rich there generally is."
"Sure to be, as he is so intelligent," the Crow growled. "If you notice, numbers of the English families who show brains have a touch of it in the background. So long as the touch is far enough away, I have no objection to it myself--prefer folks not to be fools."
"I believe I have no prejudices at all," said Lady Anningford. "If I like people, I don"t care what is in their blood."
"It is all right till you scratch "em. Then it comes out; but if, as I say, it is far enough back, the Jew will do the future Tancred race a power of good, to get the commercial common sense of it into them--knew Maurice Grey, her father, years ago, and he was just as indifferent to money and material things, as Tristram is himself. So the good will come from the Markrute side, we will hope."
"I rather wonder, Crow--if there ever will be any more of the Tancred race. I thought last night we had a great failure, and that nothing will make that affair prosper. I don"t believe they ever see one another from one day to the next! It is extremely sad."
"I told you they had come to a ticklish point in their careers," the Crow permitted himself to remind his friend, "and, "pon my soul, I could not bet you one way or another how it will go. "I hae me doots," as the Scotchman said."
Meanwhile, Ethelrida, on the plea of letters to write, had retired to her room; and there, as the clock struck a quarter past three, she awaited--what? She would not own to herself that it was her fate. She threw dust in her own eyes, and called it a pleasant talk!
She looked absurdly young for her twenty-six years, just a dainty slip of a patrician girl, as she sat there on her chintz sofa, with its fresh pattern of lilacs and tender green. Everything was in harmony, even to her soft violet cloth dress trimmed with fur.
And again as the hour for the trysting chimed, her lover that was to be, entered the room.
"This is perfectly divine," he said, as he came in, while the roguish twinkle of a schoolboy, who has outwitted his mates sparkled in his fine eyes. "All those good people tramping for miles in the cold and damp, while we two sensible ones are going to enjoy a nice fire and a friendly chat."
Thus he disarmed her nervousness, and gave her time.
"May I sit by you, my Lady Ethelrida?" he said; and as she smiled, he took his seat, but not too near her--nothing must be the least hurried or out of place.
So for about a quarter of an hour they talked of books--their favorites--hers, all so simple and chaste, his, of all kinds, so long as they showed style, and were masterpieces of taste and balance. Then, as a great piece of wood fell in the open grate and made a volley of sparks, he leaned forward a little and asked her if he might tell her that for which he had come, the history of a man.
The daylight was drawing in, and they had an hour before them.
"Yes," said Ethelrida, "only let us make up the fire first, and only turn on that one soft light," and she pointed to a big gray china owl who carried a simple shade of white painted with lilacs on his back.
"Then we need not move again, because I want extremely to hear it--the history of a man."
He obeyed her commands, and also drew the silk blinds.
"Now, indeed, we are happy; at least, I am," he said.
Lady Ethelrida leant back on her muslin embroidered cushion and prepared herself to listen with a rapt face.
Francis Markrute stood by the fire for a while, and began from there: