Countess Vera 25

Countess Vera 25

Other lovers take his place by her side, but as usual she is calm and

cold to all.

 

She is done with love and lovers, she tells herself with sad self-pity.

 

All her future life will lie in the dun, gray twilight of sorrow.

 

"As the blade wears the scabbard,

The billow the shore;

So sorrow doth fret me

Forevermore!"

 

It is late in the evening before Colonel Lockhart ventures to address

her.

 

Then something in her glance has drawn him to her side, in spite of his

determination not to intrude upon her.

 

Lady Eva Clarendon and Miss Montgomery are present, and both have laid

some claims to his attention. In spite of herself, Lady Vera cannot

keep the pain out of her eyes, and Philip, watching her with the

keenness of love, is quick to see it. In a moment he is by her side.

 

"Will you promenade with me?" he asks, deferentially.

 

* * * * *

 

A sudden smile of irrepressible pleasure lights the beautiful face. She

loves him dearly, and it is so hard to give him up.

 

Rising, she lays her white hand on his arm, and they move away together

down a quiet path under the shade of the leafy trees hung with

gayly-colored lamps, whose checkered light throws their faces now in

brightness, now in shadow.

 

The scene, the hour, is full of romance. Tall marble vases here

and there are crowded with fragrant flowers, whose sweetness makes

breathing a perfect delight. The moon is at its full, pouring down a

flood of pure white radiance that makes the glimmering light of the

lamps seem garish and unnecessary. Soft music rises, blent with the

sound of happy voices, and a nightingale has perched itself on a rose

tree near by, and is

 

"Pouring his full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art."

 

They walk slowly on, speaking little, but with hearts that tremble

with mingled pain and pleasure. The presence of each to the other is

perilously sweet. In his mind runs the refrain of a song she had sung

that evening:

 

"Beloved eye! beloved star,

Thou art so near and yet so far."

 

Suddenly, in turning a curve in the path, they come face to face with a

couple walking from the opposite direction--Leslie Noble and his wife.

 

The small blonde is attired in an elaborate costume of white and green,

and the snaky fire of emeralds blaze round her throat and wrists.

Her pale eyes glare with a snaky anger, too, as they light upon the

beautiful young countess, looking bride-like in her rich, white dress,

and the white lace scarf that she has carelessly thrown over her golden

hair.

 

With an impulsive movement Ivy disengages her hand from her husband's

arm, and places herself directly in Vera's way, her pale eyes flashing

with rage, her head held high, her slight figure drawn erect, making

the most of her insignificant stature.

 

"Lady Fairvale," she exclaims, insolently, "they tell me you refuse to

know me or my husband, or my mother. Will you tell me the reason why?"

 

There is a dead pause, and Leslie Noble tries to drag his wife away,

but she defies him.

 

"I shall not go!" she answers, sharply. "I told you I would do it. I

have asked this proud lady the reason of her scorn, and I am waiting

for an answer."

 

Lady Vera faces her a moment in scornful silence, but her pallid

cheeks, her intense gaze, and her curling lips, all betray the tumult

in her breast. She turns to Captain Lockhart, with a soul's despair in

her lovely eyes.

 

"Philip, will you go away, and leave me alone with this woman?" she

asks, pleadingly.

 

It seems to him that Vera does not know what is best for herself. How

can he go away, and leave her to bear the brunt of this coarse woman's

fury alone?

 

"Forgive me for refusing you, dear," he whispers back, "but it is

better that I should stay. I cannot leave you without a friend by your

side."

 

A look of futile despair flashes over the lovely face, but she urges

him no more. Her eyes turn from his handsome, tender face to meet Ivy's

angry, insolent gaze.

 

"I ask you again, Lady Fairvale," exclaims the small fury, "why do you

refuse to speak to us?"

 

"Oh, God, give me strength," Lady Vera prays, silently, "to keep the

oath of vengeance made to my dying father!"

 

The memory of her parent's cruel wrongs flashes into her mind and

steels her heart. She remembers her mother's broken heart, her father's

ruined life, her own joyless, slavish girlhood, driven by these two

women who now stand glaring stonily upon her, for Mrs. Cleveland,

coming in search of her daughter, has become a sudden and amazed

spectator of the curious scene.

 

"I will tell why I hold myself above you," Lady Vera answers, in a

voice that quivers with scornful indignation. "It is because you are

false and vile--a guilty woman, and a shameless sinner!"

 

"How dare you traduce me thus?" Mrs. Noble shrieks, in anger and

amazement.

 

"I dare, because I speak the truth before God," her enemy answers,

fearlessly. "How dare you claim to be Leslie Noble's wife, when you

know that I, his first wife, Vera Campbell, am living?"

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXV.

 

 

It was a striking _tableau_, there beneath the over-arching trees that

fair, calm, summer night. Lady Vera's beautiful face was all pale with

passionate scorn and indignation as she leaned upon her lover's arm.

Her enemies had started back as her scathing accusation fell upon

them, and they now regarded her with looks of wrath, blent with honest

astonishment. Colonel Lockhart's face had turned to a dull, ashen gray,

like the pallor of death, but he stood his ground bravely, like the

soldier that he was. Lady Vera did not dare to look at him, but beyond

one swift, convulsive start, as though a sword had pierced his heart,

the arm that supported her did not even tremble. He had steeled himself

to bear his pain and make no sign.

 

"Colonel Lockhart," Mrs. Cleveland exclaims, starting boldly to the

front, "I would advise you to take Lady Fairvale home to her friends.

She must surely be raving mad. I know not how she came into possession

of any facts concerning us, but I swear to you, and can prove my

assertion, that Vera Campbell, the first wife of my son-in-law, Leslie

Noble, has been dead and buried three years. Is it not so, Leslie?"

 

"It is perfectly true," he answers, gazing curiously at the beautiful

girl who has claimed him as her husband. "If Lady Fairvale be Vera

Campbell Noble, then she has risen from the grave itself to claim me,

for I saw her buried three years ago, and I erected a costly marble

monument to her memory."

 

"She committed suicide!" Ivy screams out, spitefully. "She died in my

mother's house. I saw her lying dead, and I saw her buried."

 

"Oh, shameless falsehood!" Vera breaks out, warmly. "I did not die,

and you know it. The bitter drug with which I thought to end my

wretched life, turned out to be only a sleeping potion after all. Will

you deny, Marcia Cleveland, that Lawrence Campbell came to you that

night to denounce you for the falsehood with which you had betrayed

him, and to ask, at your hands, his wronged wife and child?"

 

Livid with rage and fear, the wicked woman stares at her fearless

accuser. How has this beautiful countess, with Vera Campbell's face,

learned the secret of her past life?

 

"Lady Fairvale," she answers, "I do not know how you, a stranger, have

learned the secrets of my past life, but I will answer your questions

fairly and truthfully. Lawrence Campbell did indeed come to me as you

assert, but his daughter had been buried that very day in Glenwood. I

bade him seek his wife and child in the grave, and he fell down like

one dead at my feet. I caused my servants to throw him into the street

like a dog, and I know not, to this day, if he be living or dead."

 

"He is dead," Lady Vera answers, with blazing eyes. "He has been dead

almost a year. He lived but for vengeance on you, Marcia Cleveland, and

when he died, he bade me swear an oath of vengeance on you. He bade

me avenge my martyred mother's bitter wrongs. It is for this I have

spoken. Do you think I did not shrink from claiming that craven coward

there," pointing a scornful finger, "as my husband?"

 

Flushing scarlet under her lightning scorn, Leslie Noble advances.

 

"Lady Fairvale, if indeed you are my wife," he says, "and," insolently,

"no man could have a wife more beautiful, will you tell me by what

strange chance you were rescued from the grave where I, myself, saw you

laid?"

 

"I deny that I was ever buried," Vera flashes out angrily. "My father

told me nothing of that. He declared that he had me carried away from

Mrs. Cleveland's in a deep narcotic sleep."

 

"Is it true that Lawrence Campbell was the Earl of Fairvale?" Mrs.

Cleveland demands, looking at Colonel Lockhart.

 

"It is perfectly true, madam," he answered, coldly.

 

"And it is true that I am his daughter, whom you and your daughter so

shamefully abused and maltreated?" Vera cries. "Do you remember, Ivy

Cleveland, how you abused and insulted me? How you struck me in the

face that night when my mother lay dead in the house? Do you recall

your anger because she had died before the embroidery was finished on

your Surah polonaise? Do you remember, Leslie Noble, how you stood by

the bedside of that dying saint, and swore to protect and love the

unconscious child you married! Ah, well you kept your vow when you

plotted with that wicked woman yonder to send me from you to a convent

school where I should be tortured to death, so that you should go free.

That was her wicked scheme, I know, for she had planned to marry you to

Ivy. Now you know why I tried to escape from you into the merciful land

of death. But Heaven spared me the commission of that sin. It was not

poison I took. I made a mistake in the drug. I lived to drag you down

to the dust, Marcia Cleveland; to punish you through your daughter's

shame for my parents' wrongs and mine! You understand now why I would

not speak to you, Ivy Cleveland! That man there whom I utterly loathe

and despise, is my husband, although I would not bear his name for

wealth untold. _You_ are a false and sinful woman unfit to mate with

the pure and true, knowing yourself to be only the reputed wife of a bigamist!"