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<:c.... THE BLACK ROBE.I

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<:c. THE BLACK ROBE. I BY WILKIE COLLINS. %xrnro» 0? THE WOMAN n? WHITE," MAS AND WIFE," &0. (The Eight of Translation is Reserved-} DooK THE SECOND, CHAPTER II. THE QUESTION" OF MARRIAGE. As Stella answered Lady Luring, she was smartly tapped on the shoulder by an eager guest With a fan. The guest was a very little woman, with twink- ling eyes and a. perpetual smile. Nature, corrected by powder and paint, was liberally displayed in her arms, her bosom, and the upper part of her hack. Such clothes as she wore, defective perhaps in quantity, were in quality absolutely perfect. More adorable colour, shape, and workmanship never appeared, even in a milliner's picture-book. Her light hair was dressed with a fringe and ring- lets, on the pattern which the portraits of the time of Charles the Second have made familiar to lis. There was nothing exactly young or'exactly old about her, except her voice—which betrayed ft faint hoarseness, attributable possibly to exhaustion produced by untold years of incessant talking. It might be added that she was as active as a squirrel, and as playful as a kitten. But the lady must be treated with a certain forbearance of tone, for this good reason—she was Stella's mother. Stella turned quickly at the tap of the fan. Mamma!" she exclaimed, "how you startle lI:le! My dear child," said Mrs. Eyrecourt, you are ronstitutionally indolent, and you want startling. 1>0 into the next room directly. Mr. Romayne is looking for you." Stella. drew back a step. and eyed her mother in Manksurprise. "Is it possible that you know Sim ?" she asked. a Mr. Romayne doesn't go into society, or we should have met long since," Miss Eyrecourt replied. "He is a striking person—and I noticed him when he shook hands with you. That was quite enough for me. I have just introdaced myself to him, as your mother. He was a little stately and stiff, but most charming when he knew who I was. I volunteered to find you. He was quite astonished. I think he took me for your Blder sister. Not the least like each other—are we, Lady Loring ? She takes after her poor dear father. He was constitutionally indolent. My Sweet child, rouse yourself. You have drawn a mze in the great lottery at last. If ever a man Was in love. MI*. Romayne is that man. I am a Physiognomist, Lady Loring, and I seethe passions in the face. Oh, Stella, what a property. Vange Abbey. I onco drove that. way when I was. visiting in the neighbourhood. Superb. And Another fortune (eight thousand a year and a villa at Highgate) since the death of his aunt. And my daughter may be mistress of this, if she only plays her cards properly. What a compensation, after all that we suffered through that monster, Winterfield!" Mamma! Pray dont Stella, I will not be interrupted, when I am Speaking to you for your own good. I don't know a more provoking person, Lady Loring, than my ^ughter—on certain occasions. And yet I love her. I would go through fire and water for my beautiful child. Only last week, I was at a wedding; and I thought of Stella. The church crammed to the doors. A hundred at the Wedding-breakfast. The bride's lace-there no language can describe it. Ten bridemaids in blue and silver. Reminded me of the tan virgins. Only the proportion of foolish ones, this time, was Certainly more than five. However, they looked ^ell. The archbishop proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom. So sweetly pathetic. Some Df us cried. I tliought of my daughter. Oh, if I Could live to see Stella the central attraction, so to speak, of such a wedding as that. Only I would have twelve bridemaids at least—and beat the blue and silver with green and gold. Trying to the complexion, you will say. But there are arti- ficial improvements. At least. I am told so. What a house this would be—a broad hint, isn't it, dear Lady Loring ?—what a house for a wedding, with the drawing-room to assemble in, and the picture- gallery for the breakfast. I know the archbishop. My darling, he shall marry you. Why don't you go into the next room ? Ah, that constitu- tional indolence. If you only had my energy, as I used to say to your poor father. Will you go ? Yes, dear Lady Loring, I should like a glass of champagne, and another of tliose deliciouschicken sandwiches. If you don't go. Stella, I shall forget every consideration of propriety, and, big as you are, I shall push you out." Stella yielded to necessity. "Keep her quiet, if you can," she whispered to Lady Loring, in the v tooment of silence that followed. Even Mrs. Eyre- court was notable to talk while she was drinking champagne. In the next room Stella found Romayne. He looked careworn and irritable—but brightened directly, when she approached him. My mother has been speaking to you," she said, u I am afraid-" He stopped her there. "She is your mother," he interposed kindly. "Don't think that I am un- grateful enough to forget that." She took his arm, and looked at him with all her heart in her eyes. "Come into a quieter room," 8lw whispered. Romayne led her away. Neither of them noticed Penrose as they left the room. He had not moved since Stella had spoken to him. There he remained in his corner, absorbed in thought—and not in happy thought, as his face ^ould have plainly betrayed to anyone who had rared to look at him. His eyes sadly followed the Retiring figures of Stella and Romayne. Theeoloui rOse on his haggard face. Like most men who are aoeustomed to live alone, he had the habit, when be was strongly excited, of speaking to himself. "No," he said, as the unacknowledged loversdisap- PeaTed through the door, "it is an insult to ask me to do it!" He turned the other way; escaped La ci v Wing's notice in the reception-room; and left the house. Romayne and Stella passed through the card- toom and the chess-room, turned into a corridor, and entered the conservatory. For the first time the place was a solitude. The *ir of a newly-invented dance, faintly audible through the open windows of the ballroom above^ had proved an irresistible temptation. Those who knew the dance were eager to exhibit themselves. Those who had only heard of it were equally anxious to look on and learn. Even towards the latter end of the nineteenth century, the youths and maidens of society can still be in earnest— when the object in view is a new dancc. What would Major Hynd have said if he had leen Romayne turn into one of the recesses of the Conservatory, in which there was a seat which just held two? But the major had forgotten his years and his family and he too was one of the Spectators in the ballroom. "I wonder," said Stella, "whether vou know how I feel those kind words of your's. when you spoke of my mother. Shall I tell you She put her arm round his neck nnd kissed him. Be was a man new to love, in the nobler sense of the word. The exquisite softness in the touch of her lips, the delicious fragrance of her breath, in- toxicated him. Aga">n and again he returned the kiss. She drew back she recovered her self-pog- fcession with a suddenness and a certainty incom- prehensible to a man. From the depths of tender- ness she passed to the rhadows of frivolity. J n her own defence she was almost as superficial as her Mother, in less than a moment. "What would Mr. Penrose if he saw you? ahe whispered. Why do1 you speak of Penrose ? Have you geen him to-night Yes—looking sadly out of his element, poor man. I did my best to set him at his ease—be- cause I know you like him." '• Dear Stella No, not again I am speaking seriously now. /-r Penrose looked at me with a strange kind of •*uerest—I can't describe it. Have you taken him Ilto our confidence j He is so devoted—he has such a true interest n me,d Romayne—" I really felt ashamed to him like a stranger. On our journey to Lon- ^n> I did own that it was your charming letter t jlu>h had decided me on returning. I did say, f;t rni1^ her myself how well she has under- j, n)p, and how deeply I feel her kindness.' enrose took my hand, in his gentle considerate *fas Understand-you, too,' he said—and that "S^" *hat passed between us." „ othing more since that time ?" Nothing" "e"NOt a word of what we said to each other, vsere a'one last week in the picture- I Not a word. I am self-tormentor enough to r distrust myself, even now. God knows, I have I concealed nothing from you and yet AID I not selfishly thinking of my own happiness,stella, when I ought to be thinking only of you You know, my angel, with what a life you must asso- ciate yourself if you marry mt. Are you really sure that you have love enough and courage enough to be my wife ?" She rested her head caressingly on his shoulder, and looked up at him with her charming smile. e. How many times must I say it," she asked, "before you will believe me ? Once more—I have love enough and courage enough to be your wife and I knew it, Lewis, the first time I saw you ¡ Will that confession satisfy your scruples? And will you promise never again to doubt yourself, or me ?" Romayne promised, and sealed the promise—un- resisted this time—with a kiss. When are we to be married?" he whispered. She lifted her head from his shoulder with a sigh. If I am to answer you honestly," she replied, I must speak of my mother, before I speak of myself." Romayne submitted to the duties of his new position, as well as he understood them. Do you mean that you have told your mother of our engagement?" he said. "In that case, is it my duty or yours—I am very ignorant in these matters —to consult her wishes? My own idea is, that I ought to ask her if she approves of me as her son- in-law, and that you might then speak to her of the marriage." Stella thought of Romayne's tastes, all in favour of modest retirement, and of her mother's tastes, all in favour of ostentation and display. She frankly owned the result produced in her own mind. 1 am afraid to consult my mother about our marriage," she said. Romayne looked astonished. Do you think Mrs. Eyrecourt will disapprove of it ?" he asked. Stella was equally astonished on her side. Dis. approve of it ?" she repeated. "I know for certain that my mother will be delighted." Then where is the difficulty ?" There was but one way of definitely answering that question. Stella boldly described her mother's idea of a wedding, including the archbishop, the twelve bridemaids in green and gold, and the hundred guests at breakfast in Lord boring's picture-gallery. Romayne's consternation lite- rally deprived him for the moment of the power of speech. To say that he looked at Stella, as a prisoner in the condemned cell might, have looked at the sheriff, announcing the morning of his execution, would be to do injustice to the pri- soner. He receives his shock without flinching; and, in proof of his composure, celebrates his wedding with the gallows by a breakfast which he will not live to digest. If you think as your mother does," Romayne began, as soon as he had recovered his self-pos- session, no opinion of mine shall stand in the way —— He could get no further. His vivid imagination saw the archbishop and the bride- maids, heard the hundred guests and their dreadful speeches his voice faltered, in spite of himself. Stella eagerly relieved him. My darling, I don't think as my mother does," she interposed tenderly. I am sorry to say, we have very few sympathies in common. Marriages, as I think, ought to be celebrated as privately as possible— the near and dear relations present, and no one else. If there must be rejoicings and banquets, and hundreds of invitations, let them come when the wedded pair are at home after the honeymoon, beginning life in earnest. These are odd ideas for a woman to have—but they are my ideas, for all that." Romayne's face brightened. How few women possess your fine sense and your delicacy of feel- ing!" he exclaimed. "Surely your-mother must give way, when she hears we are both of one mind about our marriage ?" Stella knew her mother too well to share the opinion thus expressed. Mrs. Eyreoourt's capacity for holding to her own little ideas, and for persist- ing (where her social interests were concerned) in trying to insinuate those ideas into the minds of .other persons, was a capacity which no resistance, short of absolute brutality, could overcome. She was perfectly capable of worrying Romayne (as weH as her daughter) to the utmost limits of human endurance in the firm conviction that she was bound to convert all heretics of their way of thinking to the orthodox faith in the matter of weddings. Putting this view of the case, with all possible delicacy, in speaking of her mother, Stella expressed herself plainly enough, nevertheless, to enlighten Romayne. He made another suggestion. Can we marry privately," he said, and tell Mrs. Eyrecourt of it afterwards ?" This essentially masculine solution of the difficulty was at once rejected. Stella was too good a daughter to suffer her mother to be treated with even the appearance of disrespect. Oh," she said, think how mortified and distressed my mother would be! She must be present at my marriage." An idea of compromise occurred to Romayne. What do you say," he proposed, to arranging for the marriage privately—and then telling Mrs. Eyreeourt only a day or two beforehand, when it would be too late to send out invitations ? If your mother would be disappointed-" "She would be angry," Stella interposed. « y^ry well—lay all the blame on me. Resides there might bo two other persons present, whom 1 am sure Mrs. Eyrecourt is always glad to meet. You .don't object to Lord and Lady Loring?" « Objecjt ? I wouldn't lJ,\ without them, at my wedding, for the whole world." « Anyone else, Stella ?" Anyone, Lewis, whom you like." Then I say—no one else. My own love When may it be? My lawyers can get. the settlements ready in a. fortnight, or less. Will you say, in a fortnight?" His arm was round her waist; his lips were touching her lovely neck. She was not a woman to take refuge in the commonplace coquettries of the sox. "Yes." she said softly, if you wish it." She rose, and wÏild V. IK i-eif from him. For my sake, we mx," P". h, i «uy longer Lewis." A. the music- in the ballroom ceased. Stella urn out of the conservatory. The first person sho encountered, on-returning to the reception-room, was Lather Benweil. CHAPTER I I r. THE END OF THE RAI L. The priest's long journey did "Of appour to have fatigued him. He w»» pohteas J +■ --It-'1 p^io Stella that it ever—and so paternall\ i, to pass him with a was quite impossible tol -"1 i formal bow. I have come all the way from Devonshire," he said. The train has been behind time as usual, and I am one of the late arrivals in consequence. I miss some familiar faces at this delightful party. Mr. Romayne, for instance. Perhaps he is not one of the guests ?" Oh, yes." Has he gone away ?" Not that I know of." The tone of her replies warned Father Benwell to let Romayno be. He tried another name. And Arthur Penrose ?" he inquired next. I think Mr. Penrose has left us." As she answered she looked towards Ladv Loring. The hostess was the centre of a circle of ladies and gentlemen. Before she was at liberty Father Benwell might take his departure. Stella resolved to make the attempt, for herself which she had asked Lady Loring to make for her. It was better to try and be defeated than not to try at all. I asked Mr. Penrose what part of Devonshire you were visiting," she resumed, assuming her more gracious manner. V I know something my- self of the north coast, especially the neighbour- hood of Clovelly." Not the faintest change passed over the priest's face his fatherly smile had never been in a better state of preservation. Isn't it a charming place ?" he said with enthu- siasm. Clovelly is the most remarkable and most beautiful village in England. I have so en- joyed my little holiday—excursions by sea and ex- cursions by land—do you knew I feel quite young again!" He lifted his eyebrows playfully, and rubbed his plump hands one over the other with such an in- tolerably innocent air of enjoyment, that Stella positivelv hated him. She felt her capacity for ^It-restraint failing her. Und*r the influence oi strong emotion, her thoughts lost their customary discipline. In attempting to fathom Father Ben- well she was conscious of having undertaken a t„k'which required more pliable moral quata* than she possessed. To her own ,mutter»bl. annoyance, she was at » to* what to say next At that critical moment her mother appe»red-eager for news of the conquest of Roma} ne. My dear child, how pale you look 1" sud ^Ir • Eyrecourt. Come with me directly-you must have a glass of wine." The dexterous device for entrapping Stella into a private conversation failed. Not now, mamma, thank you," she said. Father Benwell, on the point of dbscreetiy witt". drawing, stopped, and looked at Mø. Eyrecourt r with an appearance of respectful interest. "Your Brother?" he said to StoUa. "I should feel honoured if you will introduce me." Having (not very willingly) performed the cere- mony of presentation, Stella drew back a little. She had no desire to take any part in the conver- sation that might follow—but she had her own reasons for waiting near enough to bear it. In the meanwhile, Mrs. Eyrecourt turned "D her inexhaustible now of small talk, with her cus- tomary facility. No distinction of persons troubled her no convictions of any sort stood in her way. She was equally ready (provided she met him in good society) to make herself agree- able to a Puritan or a Papist. Delighted to make your acquaintance, Father Benwell. Surely I met you at that delightful even- ing at the Duke's ? I mean when we welcomed the cardinal back from Rome. Dear old man-if one may speak so familiarly of a Prince of the Church. How charmingly ho bears his new honours. Such patriarchal simplicity, as every- one remarked. Have you seen him lately ?" The idea of the order to which he belonged feeling any special interest in a cardinal (except when they made him of some use to them), privately amused Father Benwell. How wise the Church was," he thought," in inventing a spiritual aristocracy. Even this fool of a woman is impressed by it." His spoken reply was true to his assumed character as one of the inferior clergy. "Poor priests like me, madam, see but little of Princes of the Church in the houses of Dukes." Saying this with the most becoming humility, he turned tho talk in a more productive direction, before Mrs. Eyrecourt. could proceed with her recollections of the evening at the Duke's." Your charming daughter and I have been talk- ing about Clovelly," he continued. I have just been spending a little holiday in that delightful place. It was a surprise to me, Mrs. Eyrecourt, to see so many really beautiful country seats in the neighbourhood. I was particularly struck—you know it, of course ?—by Beaupark House-" Mrs. Eyreeourt's little twinkling eyes suddenly becamo still and steady. It was only for a moment. But even that trifling change boded ill for the purpose which the priest had in view. Having the opportunity of turning Stella's mother into a source of valuable information ac- tually placed in his hands^ather Benwell reasoned with himself, as he had reasoned at Miss Notman's tea-table. A frivolous person was a person easily persuaded to gossip, and not likely to be reticent in keeping secrets. In drawing this conclusion, the reverend father was justified by every wise man's experience of human nature—but he forgot to make allowance for the modifying influence of cir- cumstances. Even the wits of a fool can be quickened by contact with tho world. For many years Mrs. Eyrecourt had held her place in society; acting under an intensely selfish sense of her own interests, fortified by those cunning in- stincts which grow best in a barren intellect. Per- fectly unworthy of being trusted with secrets which only concerned other people, this frivolous creature could be the unassailable guardian of secrete which concerned herself. The instant the priest referred indirectly to Winter field, by speaki ng of Beaupark House, her instincts warned her, a? if in wordsBe careful for Stella's sake Oh, yes!" said Mi s. Eyrecourt, I know Beaupark House; but May I make a confes- sion ?" she added, with her sweetest smile Father Benwell caught her tone, with his custo- marv tact. "A confession at a ball is a novelty; even in my experience," he answered, with his sweetest smile. "How good of you to encourage mo!" proteedetj Mrs. Eyrecourt. ó. No, thank you,"I'don't^^warit"to ait down. My confession won't take long—and I really must give that poor pale daughter of mine a glass of wine. A student of human nature like you —they say all priests are students of human na- ture accustomed of course to be consulted in diffi- culties, and to hear real confessions—must know that wo poor women are sadly subject to whims and caprices. We cant resist them as men do; and the dear good men generally make allowances for us. Well, do you know, tiiat placa of Mr- Winterfield's is one of my caprices. Oh, dear, I speak carelessly; I ought to have said, the place represents one of my caprices. In short, Father Benwell, Beaupark House is perfectly odious to me; and I think Clovelly the most over-rated place in the world. I haven't the least reason to give, but so it is. Excessively foolish of me. It's like hysterics, I can't help it. I'm sure you will forgive me. There isn't a place oti thfe hrtbitSbte globe that I am not ready to feel interested ia, except detestable Devonshire. I am so eorry you went there. The next time you. have II. holiday, take my advice. Try the Continent." I should like it of all things," said Father Ben- well. Only I don't speak French. Allow me tov get Miss Eyrecourt a glass of wine." He spoke with the most perfect temper and tranquillity. Having paid his little attention to Stella., and having relieved her of the empty glass he took his leave, with a parting request thoroughly characteristic of the man. Are you staying in town, Mrs. Eyrecourt ?' he asked. Oh, of course, at the height of the season!" May I have the honour of calling on you—and talking a little more about the Continent?" If he had said it iii so many words, he could hardly have informed Mrs. EyrecouH^rhbte'plalnly that he thoroughly understood her, and that he meant to try again. Strong in the worldly train- ing of half a lifetime, she at once informed him of her address, with the complimentary phrases pro- per to the occasion. Five o'clock tea on Wednes- days, Father Benweli; Don't forget!" The moment he wa-3 gone, she drew her daughter into a quiet corner. Don't be frightened Stella, that sly old parson has some interest in try- ing to fmd out about Winterfield. Do you know why ?" Indeed I don't, mamma. I hate him!" Oh, hush hush! Hate him as much as you like; but always be civil to him. Tell me- have you been in the conservatory with Ro- mayne ? Yes." All going on well ?" "Yes." My sweet Cilild I Dear, dear me, the wine has done you no good you're as pale as ever. Is it that priest ? Oh, pooh, pooh, leave Father Benwell to me." (To be continued.)

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