By Birth a Lady. Fenn George Manville
countenance, and the tokens of a rare intellect in her few words – spoken to endeavour to direct him to seek for others with more conversational power, but with precisely the contrary effect – that seemed to rouse in Sir Philip Vining’s son feelings altogether new. He found himself dwelling upon every word, every sweet and musical tone, drinking in each troubled, trembling look, and listening with ill-concealed eagerness even for the words spoken to others.
“Bai Jove!” exclaimed Max at length, angrily to his sister, “what’s the matter with that Charley Vining?”
“Don’t ask me!” cried Laura pettishly, as she turned from him to listen to and then to snub the slim curate, who, after ten minutes’ consideration, had worked up and delivered a compliment.
Once only did Ella trust herself to look at Charley, taking in, though, with that glance the open-countenanced, happy English face of the young man, but shrinking within herself the next instant as she seemed to feel the bold, open, but still respectfully-admiring glance directed at her.
Two other croquet sets had been made upon the great lawn; and, taking the first opportunity, Ella had given up her mallet into other hands – an act, to Laura’s great disgust, imitated by Charley Vining, who, however, found no opportunity for again approaching Ella Bedford until the hour of dinner was announced, when, the major portion of the croquet-players having departed, the remainder – the invited few – met in the drawing-room.
Volume One – Chapter Twelve.
Cross Upon Cross
“Will you take down Miss Bedford, Max?” said Mrs Bray, according to instructions from her son, who, however, was not present, his toilet having detained him; and, therefore, trembling Ella fell to the lot of Charley Vining, whom, she knew not why, she seemed to fear now as much as she did Max Bray.
And yet she could not but own that he was only frank, cordial, and gentlemanly. Only! Was that all? She dared not answer that question. Neither could he answer sundry questions put by his own conscience, as from time to time he encountered angry, reproachful glances from the woman who sat opposite, but to whom, whatever might have been assumed, he had never uttered a word that could be construed into one of love.
Somehow or another, during that dinner, Sir Philip’s words would keep repeating themselves to Charley, and at last he found himself muttering: “Shut myself out from an Eden – from an Eden!” while, when the ladies rose, and the door had closed upon the last rustling silk, a cloud appeared to have come over the scene, and he sat listening impatiently to the drawl of Max, and the agricultural converse of Mr Bray.
It was with alacrity, then, that Charley left the table, when, upon reaching the drawing-room, he found Laura hovering in a paradise of musical R’s, as she sat at the piano, rolling them out in an Italian bravura song, whose pages, for fear that he should be forestalled by Charley Vining, Hugh Lingon rushed to turn over.
“Now Miss Bedford will sing us something,” shrieked Mrs Bray; and not daring to decline, Ella rose and walked to the piano, taking up a song from the canterbury. But her hands trembled as a shadow seemed to be cast upon her; and without daring to look, she knew that Charley Vining was at her side, ready to turn over the leaves.
“If he would only go!” she thought; and then she commenced with tremulous voice a sweet and plaintive ballad, breathing of home and the past, when, living as it were in the sweet strain, her voice increased in volume and pathos, the almost wild expression thrilling through her hearers, till towards the end of the last verse, when forgetting even Vining’s presence in the recollections evoked, Ella was brought back to the present with a start, as one single hot tear-drop fell upon her outstretched hand.
How she finished that song she never knew, nor yet how she concealed her painful agitation; but her next recollection was of being in the conservatory with Charley Vining, alone, and with his deep-toned voice seeming to breathe only for her ear.
“You must think it weak and childish,” he said softly; “but I could not help it,” he added simply. “Perhaps I am, after all, only an overgrown boy; but that was my dear mother’s favourite song – one which I have often listened to; and as you sung to-night, the old past seemed to come back almost painfully. But I need not fear that you will ridicule me.”
“Indeed, no!” said Ella softly. “I can only regret that I gave you pain.”
“Pain! No, it was not pain,” said Charley musingly. “I cannot explain the feeling. I am a great believer in the power of music; and had we been alone, I might have asked you to repeat the strain. I am only too glad, though, that my poor father was not here.”
There was a pause for quite a minute – one which, finding how her companion had been moved, Ella almost feared to break; when seeing him start back, as it were, into the present and its duties, she made a movement as if to return.
“But one minute, Miss Bedford,” said Charley. “You admire flowers, I see. Look at the metallic, silvery appearance of these leaves.”
“Pray excuse me, Mr Vining,” said Ella quietly, “but I wish to return to the drawing-room.”
“Yes – yes – certainly!” exclaimed Charley. “But one moment: I have something to say to you.”
“Mr Vining is mistaken,” said Ella coldly; “he forgets that I am not a visitor or friend of the family. Pray allow me to return!”
“Of course – yes!” said Charley. “But indeed I have something to say, Miss Bedford. Look here!”
He drew the little gold cross from his pocket, and held it up in the soft twilight shed by the coloured lamps, when his companion uttered a cry of joy.
“I have grieved so for its loss!” she exclaimed. “You found it?”
“Yes; beneath that tree where you were taking refuge from the rain. I know it was my duty to have returned it sooner; but I wished to place it in your hands myself.”
“O, thank you – I am so grateful!” exclaimed Ella, hardly noticing the empressement with which he spoke.
“I wished, too,” said Charley, speaking softly and deeply, “for some reward for what I have done.”
“Reward?” ejaculated Ella.
“Surely, yes,” said Charley, laying his hand upon the tiny glove resting upon his arm. “You would accord that to the poorest lout who had been the lucky finder.”
“Reward, Mr Vining?” stammered Ella.
“Yes!” exclaimed Charley, his rich deep voice growing softer as he spoke. “And but for those words upon the reverse side, I would have kept the cross as an emblem of my hope. I, too, had a mother who is but a memory now. But you will grant me what I ask?”
“Mr Vining,” said Ella gravely, but unable to conceal her agitation, “will you kindly lead me back to the drawing-room?”
“I thank you for restoring me the cross, which I had never hoped to see again.”
She held out her hand, and the little ornament was immediately placed within her palm.
“You see,” said Charley, “I trust to your honour. I am defenceless now, but you will give me my guerdon?”
“Reward?” said Ella again.
“Yes,” said Charley eagerly; “I do not ask much. That rose that you have worn the evening through: give me that – I ask no more.”
“Mr Vining,” said the agitated girl, “I am poor and friendless, and here as a dependent. I say thus much, since I believe you to be a gentleman. You would not wilfully injure me, I am sure; but this prolonged absence may give umbrage to my employers. Once more, pray lead me back!”
Charley was moved by the appeal, and he turned on the instant.
“But you will give me that simple flower?” he said.
“Mr Vining,” said Ella with dignity, “would you have me lose my self-respect? I thank you for the service – indeed I am most grateful – but I cannot accede to