CHRISTABEL.

Waikato Times, Volume XXVI, Issue 2164, 22 May 1886, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHRISTABEL.

C A lono time ago' the harvest moon shove calmly down on Chestuut Point, and upon two friends standing there— a man of some twenty-three years, and a girl who had scarcely seen eighteen summers. I cannot call them lovers, for though the girl's slight figure leannd towards his, as if drawn by some magnetic influence, she could not resist ; and though her eyes were fixed in muts adoration upon his beautiful face, his air was cold and self-possessed, and he was looking at the distant prospect with the air of one whose thoughts were far away. Beautiful ! Yes, no other word would do justice to the firm and exquisitelychiselled features, the delicate colouring, the high broad forehead, bared to the night air, and caressed by clinging curls of soft golden hair, no other word could ever express the nameless charm of the small full-mouth, half hidden by a silken moustache, or give even a taint idea of those large blue eyes — with the quick shades of feeling pacing through their languid depths. Yes, he- waft beautiful — with a fatal beauty that dazzled and destroyed. And Cbxistabel Vance— who always smiled at the mere worship of the senses, which make us bow before a lovely face, without one thought of the soul that is shrined within — Ghristabel, who.«e plain faoe repelled, while her gloriom soul attracted men, was content to stand and look upon him in breathless silenoe — feeling 1 that there, and thero only, lny her happiness. It was the last evening they were to upend together. The next day was to see them both in other scenes and umong other people ; and with a passionate longinar, nhe waited for him to speak the words which were to separate or unite them for ever. There was no humiliation — no abasement in this affection of hers. She loved regally— gloriously— and if she bowed I her neck beneath his feet, it was with a grace and majesty that left her still a queen. But women like Christabel know no half love. The whole brightness, and fire, and glory of their natures is poured into one cup— and woe to him whose hand wilfully, or even unconsciously, dashes it to the ground. For the splendour of life is garnered there — and the bright waters once wasted, we may wear our very souls in sighs and tears, and bring back no return. For a long time they had stood in silence, then the student turned away. 'I shall see it in my dreams,' ho murmured, in a low voice j 'it will bo with ■ me in many a sad or idle hour, as far as ever — but you, Christabel — ' He paused and looked searchingly into her downcast face. A dumb and restless pain was gnawing at at his heart, at the thought of the parting that was to come —a feeling that he had never known before, and which lie could not now understand. He certainly did not love her — thus he argued to himself — and at the thought the face of another arose before him, a bright beautiful face, with rosy lips, and large soft brown eyes, as if reproaching him for the faint suspicion of infidelity. Christabel sighed heavily, as he turned away. There was something in the un- | finished sentence and the suddenly averted face, that told her doom as plainly as words could have spoken it, and hushing the wild cry of her tortured heart till another time, she steeled herself to hear all he might say without betraying, by look of word, how much it was to her. ' Let us go,' he said. She took his arm without a word, only turning for one instant to gaze over the fair expanse of country on which the moon smiled down. She never saw it again, save in some passing day-dream, but every little hill and undulating valley — every t£ee, and brook, and flower, was stamped ineffaceably on her brain. And many a time, years afterwards, in her gayest moments, that quiet moonlight shone in upon her soul, and she turned, sickening, from the throng around her, and prayed for rest and peace from that one haunting memory. They walked slowly up the road that 'led towards the village. Neither spoke, dill they reached the steps, of the house where Christabel turned pale and cold as Cecil Brent took both her hands in his, and looked down into her troubled face. 'It has been, a pleasant year,' he said, gently ; and I hare to thank yon most of all, Christy, for making it so. But all things must end, dear friend.' ' Yes — all things,' she answered, with a dreary jjigh. 'All things except life, and it 'were Wore merciful if that — ' • Christabel !' The tone in which he spoke, and the look he bent upon her, recalled her to herself. She passed her hand upon her brow, and murmured. 'Nay — do not mind me,' Cecil. I was thinking — •' Of ono who is far away ?' m a keen jealous suspicion shot for the first time through his heart. She glanaed at him in mate surprise — then coloured, and said abstractedly : •Yes.' , He felfc wronged, bereaved— a* if some treasure had been torn from his grasp. Even this did not show him his heart, atid struggling with the feeling, as if it had been unworthy, ha answered: 4 1 have no right to pry * into your sorrows, Christy, and yet I could wish ' 'Wish nothing, Cccil — it is- -the surest way to win all you would "have,' she anawerod, bitterly. And then- fearful of betraying herself, she added, hastily: "Do not heed my folly— it w nothing, and will quickly pass away. But tell me of your future — what are yon going to do when you leave this place ?' ' His beautiful blue eyes turned upon her with a dreamy, abstracted look. 'I am going to be married, Christabel.' In those few words came the death blow to her love and pride, but she heard him as quietly as if she had been a marble statue. ' I knew it,' she said, with a gay smile ; not the less gay because it covered a breaking heart. 'And who may the lady be P I have aften seen you thinking of her, when no one but me was near you— have Pnofc P' ■ * It is very likejy.' ' And her name — may I bear it ' Maud De Ligney.' ' Oh ! she is a foreigner,' said Christabel. She felt some slight relief, she knew not why, on hearing? this. ' No ; she is English born, though ber parents are Italians. I met her in Scotland two yearn ago.' 'Is she beautiful?' ' Judge yourself,' said Brent enthusiastically ; and drawing from his vest a sma.il velvet case, suspended from a chain of Mruscan gold, he touched the spring and held it towards her. All hope died within her as she looked. What had she to offer in exchange for that smiling radiant beauty ? Oh ! was it strange that with a face like this, lying close to his heart during those twelve happy months she had known him, he had failed to love her. The picture fell from her hands. ' It is very beautiful,' she said, in a low voice. 'I knew you would say so. She* is the belle of the couutry — and yet she loves me !' And the happy lover kissed the picture as he restored it to its hiding pltce.

Chriatabel grew sick at heart. 1 It is late, and X must go in,' she said, shivering in the warm night air. 'And I suppose we mnst say good-bye.' • But I shall hear from you now and then ?' he asked, holding her hand, and looked steadily iv her face. ' If you wish it— certainly.' • Then good-bye, dear friend, good-bye, and may Heaven bless you. 1 'Good-bye— good-bye,' she murmured, fecliug a kiud of frantic wonder at herself for being so cold and unmoved. He clasped her to his heart, and kissed her. On>ly once did she return the pressare, and then, breaking from him suddenly she ran up to her room scarcely able to see the way, for the passionate tearswhtch blinded her eyes. Christabel at twenty-four was a brilliant and successful woman. Not beautiful—for that she could never be— but singularly fascinating and greatly sought after. The romance of her youth had been laid aside like a withered flower, and in the wordly wisdom of her later years, she had married Cyril Desercaux, the great broker, whose fortune was almost fabulous in its amount. Diamonds glittered in the dark curls of Mm Desereaux, where white rosebuds had been twined in the days of Christatel Vance ; and the simple dress of her early youth was laid aside for costly velvet, and silks that would have almost stood alone. 'It is all very well to tatk of rustic loveliness in virgin youth,' said Mr Desereanx ; ' but when I first saw you, my darling, you were only a fine-looking girl ; and here) under the hands of your waitingmaid, you have bloomed out into a magnificent woman. By George ! I an) proud of my wife !' She paused before the large mirror as he spoke, and looked at herself, glitterinn with costly gems. ' Yes, the chains become the captive well,' she murmured, so low, that he could not hear. And giving him her loved' hand, which he raised gallantly to his lips, she let him lead her to the carriage. Christabel, like many other women, had sold herself for gold. But so skilfully did she conceal the evil she had done, that all who knew her were deceived. She was always gay and witty— always serene at' home and abroad— always perfectly kind and courteous to the stately man who called her wife — and the world looked on, and praised and euvied her ; and mothers pointed her out to their young and innocent daughters, and told them to strive for such a prize as she had won. But in the solitude of her own chamber — could they have seen her then. It was her earnest wish that she might never look upon the face of her early | love again. It was too deep a wound to be opened with impunity. She dared not meet the trial. But fate, who always performs her unkindest act with a treacherous smile upon her face, brought about the very thing she dreamed, just wiien she deemed herself most secure. At a party given in honour of the American Consul, a brilliant, dark-eyed woman with a certain Italian ease and coquetry in her manner, was the acknowledged belle of the room. Young men and old men bowed atike at her shrine, and gazed enraptured, at the perfect loveliness of her face. All save one, and ho stood aloof, at a little distance, with his head bent moodily, and his arms' crossed upon his breast. It was Cecil Brent, the hnsband of the beautiful Maud, who looked so scornfully at the throng of idlers that surrounded her, and wearily at the beauty that once enslaved him. Time had disenchauted him, and he was conscious of other and higher wants than she could satisfy. His thoughts offcen went back to the days at Chestnut Point, with a kind of remorseful tenderness. He was thinking of Christabel then, with that gay crowd around him. • If she had been my wife,' he thought, ' what a woman I could -have made of her. Hera was a glorious mind. She wat far my superior. Heaven knows ! but she has ' forgotten me long before this time, and has probably married some worthy country merchant and settled down as they call it. And yet what a destiny for 'Chrjstabel.' A low murmur around him oauied him to look up, aud he saw a lady and gantleman moving slowly up the room towards the hostess, who stood smiling an eager welcome. He could not see the lady's face ; bnt her tall majestic form and the glitter of her diamonds came oter him like a dream. He was routed from contemplation of her by a hnnd laid on hit* shoulder, and a cheery voice speaking hi* name. He turned and saw Rene Under, hill, who knew everybody and everything, and who was the intimate and confidential friend of two-thirds of the persons in the room. ' •What, Brent, my boy, are you in a brown study ? And with suoh a beautiful wife, and such a fine fortnno, too ! It would do well enousrh for a poor fellow like me; but, in Heaven's name, what have you got to be sober for?' 'Rene, be sober yourself for a moment,' replied his friend, taking him by the buttonhole, ' and tell me who that is that just came in— the tall, graceful lady dressed in blue satin, with, diamonds og her neck and arms. There, you can flee her vow distinctly. I wish she would tit^n har face this way.' • That ?' said Underbill, as he saw 1 who his friend alluded to, ' Why, that is Mrs Cyril Deaereaux, who has finer diamonds 'and horses than any other woman in the dity. Why, where ip the world have you been living that you don'fc know her ?' 4 You forget that I have only been in town a week,' said Brent. 'I presume my wife knows her, however.' • Now, if you were only in your proper place, by her Bide, my boy, yon would have the felicity of an introduction/ Cecil Brent did not answer. He wa* watching the interview with the greatest interest. The fair Italian was petite in her per >on, and quick and nervous in her movements. Christabel was above tho ordinary height of woman, and graceful and steady as an empress. The peculiar expression with which she always talked to the wife of her early love was upon her face, but Cecil could not see it. He did see, however, how quietly she listened to the lively nonsense of Maud, and watched the stately head bend in mute adieu as they parted. Something in the movement made him think of Ohristabel, and, with a kind of startled interest, ho mixed with the select few who were following her to the mnsioroora. His wife came up and took bis arm. 'It will be such a treat,' she whispered. ' Mrs Desereaux seldom sings ; out to-night she was obliged to jield. I am so plad.' He did not answer. He vras watching the superb ajr of indifference with which she received the attentions of those who thronged aronud her. ' What shall I 6injr V she asked indifferently. 'Oh, Jet it be one of your beautiful Irish ballads,' said a lady who stood beside her. She pained, playel a w'mp'e prelude, and t bepun to Mnjr ' K-ithleen Mavourneea.' Cecil started, and turned pale. He Lad often heard Christabel sing that same so air uraonpr the groves at Chestnut Point, and though the deep coutralto voice was wonderfully strengthened and purified, he felt; that it must be the same. Dazzled and bewildered, he passed his hand over eyes and tried to think. . .< She was hero before him. She, the

only woman ho could have loved or married (ho folt it now), sat in nil her youlh and beauty within his reach. But both were bound, and the diamonds glittering on her neck and brow had boon placed there by the fond hand of her husband. She was lost to him forever, and the time had gone by when he might havo won her for the winning. His wife had left hisarm and was coquetting undercover of the music with Rene Underbill, at the other end of the room. A sudden miserable impulse hnd drawn him towards Christabel— only to look upon her face once more he thought; and making his way slowly through the circle, he stood just beside her. How she had changed ! How proud and queenly she looked ! and hovr well her costly dress became her. He gazed at her with his soul in bis eyes. As she | sang the touching words : ! ' It may be for years, and it may be for , ever ; Then why art thon silent, thou voice of jny heart,' with the sound of tears in her voice, she i looked up ; and there, beside her, stood the one whose memory seemed inseparably connected TPittl tluramiir; 'and of whom she ;W£4 The sho«k was too 'great ana sridaen. For the' first time in her life she fainted-! . All was confusion around her ; but it was 'Brent who bore her to a couch near the window.' ' Clear the room and give her air !' he said loudly ; and they obeyed, while one or two had remained to assist him, hurried away for remedies. The two, bo long parted, were alone. Christabel opened her heavy eyes, nnd saw him bending over her pale as death. 'I love you— l love you, Christabel! he murmured, despairingly. A look of perfeot joy passed over her face. But the next moment memory returned, and she pointed to the door. 4 Leave me.' ' Yes, Christabel— and for ever. Heaven help us both.' He caught her to his heart, and pressed bis lips to hers. Without another word he rushed from the room, and Christabel hid Tier pule face in her pale face and prayed. The next morning as she sat at breakfast she read hi* nnme among the passengers who sailed for India. They never met again, and both felt it were better so.