Now it was that the idea of marrying Zoe first entered his head. But he was not mad enough for that. He repelled it with terror, rage, and despair. He passed an hour or two of agony in his own room, and came down, looking pale and exhausted. But, indeed, the little Dumas, though he does not pass for a moralist, says truly and well, "Les amours ille'gitimes portent toujours des fruits amers;" and Ned Severne's turn was come to suffer a few of the pangs he had inflicted gayly on more than one woman and her lover.
One morning at breakfast Vizard made two announcements. "Here's news,"said he; "Dr. Gale writes to postpone her visit. She is ill, poor girl!""Oh, dear! what is the matter?" inquired Zoe, always kind-hearted.
"Gastritis--so she says."
"What is that?" inquired Fanny.
Mr. Severne, who was much pleased at this opportune illness, could not restrain his humor, and said it was a disorder produced by the fumes of gas.
Zoe, accustomed to believe this gentleman's lies, and not giving herself time to think, said there was a great escape in the passage the night she went there.
Then there was a laugh at her simplicity. She joined in it, but shook her finger at Master Severne.
Vizard then informed Zoe that Lord Uxmoor had been staying some time at Basildon Hall, about nine miles off; so he had asked him to come over for a week, and he had accepted. "He will be here to dinner," said Vizard. He then rang the bell, and sent for Harris, and ordered him to prepare the blue chamber for Lord Uxmoor, and see the things aired himself. Harris having retired, cat-like, Vizard explained, "My womankind shall not kill Uxmoor. He is a good fellow, and his mania--we have all got a mania, my young friends--is a respectable one. He wants to improve the condition of the poor--against their will.""His friend! that was so ill. I hope he has not lost him," said Zoe.
"He hasn't lost him in this letter, Miss Gush," said Vizard. "But you can ask him when he comes.""Of course I shall ask him," said Zoe.
Half an hour before dinner there was a grating of wheels on the gravel.
Severne looked out of his bedroom window, and saw Uxmoor drive up. Dark blue coach; silver harness, glittering in the sun; four chestnuts, glossy as velvet; two neat grooms as quick as lightning. He was down in a moment, and his traps in the hall, and the grooms drove the trap round to the stables.
They were all in the drawing-room when Lord Uxmoor appeared; greeted Zoe with respectful warmth, Vizard with easy friendship, Severne and Miss Dover with well-bred civility. He took Zoe out, and sat at her right hand at dinner.
As the new guest, he had the first claim on her attention and they had a topic ready--his sick friend. He told her all about him, and his happy recovery, with simple warmth. Zoe was interested and sympathetic; Fanny listened, and gave Severne short answers. Severne felt dethroned.
He was rather mortified, and a little uneasy, but too brave to show it.
He bided his time. In the drawing-room Lord Uxmoor singled out Zoe, and courted her openly with respectful admiration. Severne drew Fanny apart, and exerted himself to amuse her. Zoe began to cast uneasy glances.
Severne made common cause with Fanny. "We have no chance against a lord, or a lady, you and I, Miss Dover.""I haven't," said she; "but you need not complain. She wishes she were here.""So do I. Will you help me?"
"No, I shall not. You can make love to me. I am tired of never being made love to.""Well," said this ingenuous youth, "you certainly do not get your deserts in this house. Even I am so blinded by my passion for Zoe, that I forget she does not monopolize all the beauty and grace and wit in the house.""Go on," said Fanny. "I can bear a good deal of it--after such a fast.""I have no doubt you can bear a good deal. You are one of those that inspire feelings, but don't share them. Give me a chance; let me sing you a song.""A love song?"
"Of course."
"Can you sing it as well as you can talk it?""With a little encouragement. If you would kindly stand at the end of the piano, and let me see your beautiful eyes fixed on me.""With disdain?"
"No, no."
"With just suspicion?"
"No; with unmerited pity." And he began to open the piano.
"What! do you accompany yourself?"
"Yes, after a fashion; by that means I don't get run over."Then this accomplished person fixed his eyes on Fanny Dover, and sung her an Italian love song in the artificial passionate style of that nation;and the English girl received it pointblank with complacent composure.
But Zoe started and thrilled at the first note, and crept up to the piano as if drawn by an irresistible cord. She gazed on the singer with amazement and admiration. His voice was a low tenor, round, and sweet as honey. It was a real voice, a musical instrument.
"More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear When wheat is green, when hawthorn buds appear."And the Klosking had cured him of the fatal whine which stains the amateur, male or female, and had taught him climax, so that he articulated and sung with perfect purity, and rang out his final notes instead of slurring them. In short, in plain passages he was a reflection, on a small scale, of that great singer. He knew this himself, and had kept clear of song: it was so full of reminiscence and stings.
But now jealousy drove him to it.
It was Vizard's rule to leave the room whenever Zoe or Fanny opened the piano. So in the evening that instrument of torture was always mute.
But hearing a male voice, the squire, who doted on good music, as he abhorred bad, strolled in upon the chance; and he stared at the singer.
When the song ended, there was a little clamor of ladies' voices calling him to account for concealing his talent from them.
"I was afraid of Vizard," said he; "he hates bad music.""None of your tricks," said the squire; "yours is not bad music; you speak your words articulately, and even eloquently. Your accompaniment is a little queer, especially in the bass; but you find out your mistakes, and slip out of them Heaven knows how. Zoe, you are tame, but accurate.
