LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXIV, Issue 2704, 7 December 1882, Page 4

LITERATURE.

VIRGINIA; OR, FAITHFUL UNTO

DEATH.

(Concluded.)

Two more years went by. Virginia was almost a confirmed invalid —she could only get out in fine summer weather —then her spirits rallied, and she was something of ier old self again. Philip often spent his evenings away from home now; it had become a habit; ho did not suspect that Virginia suffered from his absence, but thought that it was really her wish, dear, unselfish soul that she was, that he should go out and be amused. And she, . fearful of making him fancy that he felt a chain -where none existed, was careful never to show him by word or look that she suffered from his absence.

She tormented herself with the thought that he might meet any day with a young and beautiful woman who would inspire again in his breast the feeling that he had once known for her. And she remembered that he was free, even if he forgot it. Poor soul! she recognised bitterly enough now that the only safety fer a woman is in that bond which a man may not lightly set at naught; in a contract like hers and Philip’s, the man has all to gain, the •woman's all to lose.

It was growing dusk one November afternoon, when the door of Virginia’s drawingroom was thrown open, and Lord Harford announced.

A slight blush suffused her cheek as she rose to receive him, and she appeared slightly embarrassed. Virginia was still beautiful, though no longer very young ; she hr- lan extremely fragile and delicate appearance, which is attractive to some men, notably to those •who, like Lord Harford, are big, strong and robust.

* You are not angry with me for coming, are you ?’ he asks almost diffidently as soon as the door has closed upon the servant. ‘No,’she answered gently. Times are changed with her since the last occasion in which she and he stood face to face in this very room. Then she was angry, but then she was in the flush of health and beauty, and he was her would-be lover. There had been nothing to wound or humiliate her in his love-making ; he had come loyally to offer her his hand and all that belonged to him, which of wealth and honour was no mean portion. But she had been deeply stung by a man daring to remember that she was free, and there was only one husband and lover in the world for her. Now that, as it seemed to her, beauty and. love were so far removed from her, it was almost a pleasure to remember that she had been beloved.

‘I have passed your door a hundred limes,’ he says, ‘and never been able to summon up courage enough to inquire after You.’ * But to-day you wore braver, ’ she utters, looking at him with something of the old smile and manner.

* I thought perhaps you had a good many dull hours now Vansittart is so much away.’ ‘ How do you know that he is much away!’ asks Vir inia, feeling vaguely hurt at his words and tone. A * Because I so often meet him out.’ * Where do you meet him !’ * Oh, at different places : chiefly at Mrs Devereux’s.’

Lord Harford looks full in Virginia’s face, and she, who is so quick, cannot fail to see that his eyes and tone are intended to convey some meaning. ‘ Mrs Devereux ?’ she says inquiringly ; *you mean his cousin.’ ‘ Yes.’

After this there is a pause. It is as though he wanted her to question him ; as though she were fighting against the desire to know his meaning. She conquers herself by an effort. ‘ I have been very ill since you saw me last; you find me much altered, do you mot ? ’

* You look delicate,’ he answers, ‘ but in my eyes,’ lowering his voice, ‘ you are as beautiful as ever.’ She half smiles, half sig’s. * It is very kind of you to say that,’ she utters, ‘ but I cannot deceive myself; I am an old woman now, if ever !• had any good looks they are gone.’ ‘ They are not,’ cries Lord Harford, staunchly; ‘ what I say is gospel truth. I think your delicacy becomes you. I hate your great, buxom, dairymaid women.’ Virginia smiles at his earnestness. ‘Ah ! if you had been mine,’ he goes on, *1 should never have wanted to look at another woman, young or old.’ Still that strange meaning in his tone. A chill terror creeps to Virginia’s heart—ahe can no longer restrain herself. ‘ What do you mean ? ’ she says, fixing Her eyes on him. ‘You are hinting at something. You want to convey something to my mind. If you are a man—if you pretend to be my friend, speak out honestly.’

He rises, and takes one or two turns in the room, then stops abruptly - in front of her.

* Will you believe me, I wonder ?’ he Bays, *or will you think me a mean hound who only seeks his own interest ?’

‘lnterest ?’ echoes Virginia bitterly, * what interest can it be to you ?’ * This much,’ he answers, a red flush mounting to his brow, ‘that I am as anxious this moment to make you my wife as I was four years ago.’ Virginia makes an impatient movement with her hand. ‘Vansittart is in love with Mrs Devereux’s eldest girl, Connie. She is a pretty little kitten of a thing, but a mere child—a doll. Igo there rather often—they are old friends of mine. Whenever I go, he is always there.’

For a moment Virginia feels as though she were dying; then, by an extraordinary effort, she recovers herself.

‘ I would rather have cut my tongue out "than tell you,’ Lord Harford continues, half-ashamed, ‘ only that I want you to know where your refuge is if he breaks your heart. Oh!’ imploringly, ‘why will you not care for me who am ready to devote my life to you ? Marry me, and let us go abroad and win health for you and happiness for me ?’ His voice is broken with emotion —he takes one of her hands in his. She is leaning back in her chair very white—she is hardly conscious of his action—all the hot blood in his veins cannot warm her chill white fingers. ‘Do you think,’ she says at last, very slowly, ‘ that if—if he were rid of me, he ■would marry her ? Does she caro for him ?’

* I don’t think about it. Yes, it is very strange; but, child as she is, he has perfectly infatuated her.’

There is another long pause, during which he eagerly scans her face. Suddenly her eyes light up, and she returns his glance.

* Are you really willing to marry me ?’ jshe says.

* Why do you ask ?’ he returns simply; 'are my eyes not honest ?’ Virginia smiles. *lf you mean it/ she says, ‘go now, and write me the same words to-night or to-morrow/

So, as she bids him, he goes. * * * *

Lord Harford has set down nothing in malice. What he told Virginia is absolutely true. Philip Yansittart is in love with a gay, pretty girl, whose winsome tricks have coiled her round his heart. He has never spoken one word of love to her, for he feels and knows himself as much bound to Virginia as though the marriage tie he once so utterly abhorred linked them. He no longer, strange to say, thinks and speaks so evilly of marriage. Were he free, would he not oyfully chain himself with all the bonds that church and society could impose to this sweet young life which would make him young again ? He has no thought or desire to blast this girl life as he had done Virginia’s. Perish the thought! When these ideas come to him, he hates and loathes himself; he makes superhuman efforts to drive them away—but the limpid blue eyes look at him over his briefs ; the childish voice rings in hia ears in the night watches. He grows pale and haggard. At last he makes a mighty resolve. * Virginia/ ho says, two nights after Lord Harford’s visit to her, ‘ let us be. married !’

He takes her hand kindly, but his eyes do not meet hers, and the tender inflection of yore is missing from his voice. Virginia betrays no surprise. Poor soul ! She understands too well.

‘ Why ? ' she says quietly; ‘ I think we are very well as we are.' ‘No,’ ho returns hastily, ‘we arc not! My views have changed on the subject—changed entirely. Marriage is the best thing. It decides your fate. To live as we do is neither one thing nor the other.' ‘You forget,’ she says, in a tone so calm as unnatural ; ‘ this state has great advantages. There is no tie between us. If either of us tired of the other, there is nothing to hinder our parting to-morrow —tonight even.’ Her eyes do not flinch from his. ‘ If,' she continues, with that terrible calmness —‘ if you wanted to marry Miss Constance Devereux, if I wished to marry —let us say Lord Harford—there is nothing to prevent it, except,’ slowly, ‘the unwritten law of a faithful heart.’

Philip Vansittart leans his face between his bauds. He cannot find a word to say. He is smitten with remorse, for he knows well enough that she is faithful. But why that allusion to Lord Harford ?

‘ What do you mean about Harford ?’ he asks presently. • ‘He wants me to marry him, ’ replies Virginia quietly : he asked mo four years a o ; he asked me again the day before yesterday.’ She draws a letter from her pocket, and scans Phillip’s face as he reads it. When he has finished, he looks at her. She understands his glance but too well. There is an only half-suppressed eagerness — a half suppressed hope in it. ‘ What shall I do ?’ she says, so quietly that it deceives him.

* There is no better fellow living than Harford,’ he says cordially ; ‘if you thought you could he happy with him ; if ’ He stopped abruptly. There is a look of such terrible agony in Virginia’s face that he starts up and takes her hand.

‘No, no!’ he cries ; ‘let it he as I said. Let us marry each other. It is the only thing to he done.’ Virginia’s ears, sharpened by suffering, catch the dreary tone of the concluding words.

Next morning, when Philip, according to custom, went to Virginia’s room, he found her asleep. From that sleep she never woke. One more of those unfortunate cases of an overdose of chloral. The deceased lady had suffered much from sleeplessness, and always kept the fatal drug by her bedside. The church ,-;ave its blessing, and society smiled when that heretic and sceptic Mr Vansittart led his charming girl bride to the altar a few months later. It was whispered that there had been an—entanglement, but that was all hushed up now, and he had become a respectable member of society.