LITMIR.BIZ

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he hastened from the room. Scarcely had the door closed after him, than he reopened it, and putting in his head, said, —

      “I should have told you, Mrs. Kennyfeck, that Mr. Cashel intends to pay a visit here to-day.”

      And so saying, he shut the door and departed.

      “At last, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a voice of exultation, “you have been obliged to confess so much at least; but, rely on it, girls, your father is acting under Cashel’s dictation, or he never would dare to tamper in this manner with me.”

      CHAPTER X. A STARTLING INTRUSION

      Say what you will, good friend, I do persist,

      I had him “covered” when you shook my wrist.

The Duel.

      In a handsome drawing-room, where the light was judiciously tempered by the slight folds of rose-colored curtains, while the air breathed the faint delicious perfume of some hot-house flowers, sat Olivia Kennyfeck alone. She was most simply but becomingly dressed, and in her hair, worn in smooth bands on either cheek, a little sprig of Greek myrtle, with its bright red berries, was interwoven, which served to show to even greater advantage the delicate fairness of a skin tinged with the very faintest blush. There was a soft pensive character in her beauty which seemed to harmonize perfectly with the silent room and its scattered objects of art. The very exclusion of all view appeared to add to the effect; as though suggesting how much of in-door happiness was contained within those four walls\ neither asking for, nor wanting, the “wide cold world” without. She was reading – at least she held a book in her hand – a gorgeously bound little volume it was – nor did the dark ribbon of velvet fringed with gold that marked her place fail to contrast well with the snowy whiteness of the wrist it fell upon.

      Her attitude, as she lay, rather than sat, in a deep armchair, was faultless in its grace; and even the tiny foot, which rested on a little Blenheim spaniel as he lay sleeping on the hearth-rug, had a certain air of homelike ease that made the scene a picture, and to a suggestive mind might have given it a story. And yet, for all the sleepy softness of those half-drooped lids, for all that voluptuous ease of every lineament and limb, the heart within was watchful and waking. Not a sound upon the stairs, not a voice, not a footstep, that did not make its pulses beat faster and fuller.

      Two o’clock struck, and the great bell rang out which called the guests to luncheon, a meal at which Cashel never appeared; and now Olivia listened to the sounds of merry laughter that floated along the corridors, and faded away in the distance, as group after group passed downstairs, and at last, all was silent again. Where was he? Why did he not come? she asked herself again and again. Her mamma and sister had purposely stayed away from luncheon to receive him; for so it was arranged, that she herself should first see Cashel alone, and afterwards be joined by the others – and yet he came not!

      The half-hour chimed, and Olivia looked up at the French clock upon the mantelpiece with amazement. Surely there had been more than thirty minutes since she heard it last; and the little Cupid on the top, who, with full-stretched bow and fixed eye, seemed bent on mischief – silly fool! like herself, there was no mark to shoot at! She sighed; it was not a deep sigh, nor a sad one; nor was it the wearisome expression of listlessness; nor was it the tribute paid to some half-called up memory. It was none of these; though perhaps each entered into it as an ingredient. But what right have we to analyze its meaning, or ask how much of hope or fear it contained? – what portion of regret for one she was about to desert? – what shame for the faithlessness? Ay, what shame!

      Coquetry is no virtue; but most certainly it is not the wholesale corrupter some moralists would make it. Miss Olivia Kennyfeck had been taught it from her earliest years, – from those pleasant days, when, dressed like some fairy queen, she descended from the nursery to stand beside pa’s chair on company days, at dessert, and be stared at, and kissed, and “dear-loved” by some scores of people, whose enthusiasm for childish beauty had all the warmth that springs from turtle and truffles, iced punch and Lafitte. She had been taught it by the French governess, who told her to be aimable. The very dancing-master cried out, “Grace, – more grace, if you please, Miss Olivia,” at every step of her minuet; and the riding-master’s eternal exhortation was, “Sit as if the whole world was watching you, miss.”

      These teachings go further and deeper into the heart than we suspect. “The wish to please” – pure and amiable as the feeling can be – lies on the frontier of a dangerous land, – the “wish to conquer.” That passion once engendered in the heart, no room remains for any other.

      To return to Miss Olivia Kennyfeck, – for most ungallantly we are forgetting she is alone all this while. Her education had but one end and object, – to obtain a good position by marriage. The precept had been instilled into her mind in a thousand different ways, and not only self-interest, but pride, emulation, and vanity had been enlisted in its support. So constantly was the theme presented to her, such day-by-day discussion of the prizes and blanks drawn by others in the wheel connubial, that she really felt little or no interest in any other topic.

      And yet, with all that misdirection of mind, that perverse insistence on wrong, there was still in her heart a void, a want, that neither vanity nor selfishness could fill. It might be, perhaps, to be found out by one who should make it the storehouse of high and generous impulses, of ennobling duties and tender affections; or, just as likely, lie like some fruitful but unknown tract, – barren, waste, and profitless!

      Three o’clock came! And now the house resounded with the buzz of voices and the hurried movement of feet. Carriages and horses, too, assembled before the door, and all the pleasant bustle of those bent on pleasure filled the air. Olivia arose, and, screened by the curtain, watched the scene beneath. For the first time she perceived that Lady Kilgoff was in a riding-dress. She stood in the midst of a group before the door, amid which Olivia’s eyes peered with restless activity.

      No, Cashel was not there! She almost said the comforting words aloud, but at the same instant a cry of, “Here he is, – here he comes!” broke from those beneath, and every head was turned towards the road to the stables, along which Cashel was seen cantering a snow-white Arab of great beauty. As he came nearer it could be seen that he was seated on a side-saddle, while he managed the well-trained creature with the most graceful address.

      “Are you quite certain I may venture, Mr. Cashel?” said Lady Kilgoff, as he pulled up in front of her; “remember, that I am neither so fearless nor so skilful as our fair queen beside me, who, I must own, is far more worthy of ‘Hassan Bey’ than I am.”

      “I’ll pledge my life on his good conduct,” said Roland, springing from his back; “I’ve ridden him for an hour, and he is gentleness itself.”

      “He’s over-trained for my fancy,” said Miss Meek. “He’s like one of the creatures you see in Franconi’s, walking up a ladder to catch a handkerchief.”

      Lady Janet whispered something in her ear, at which she started and smiled, but evidently in ignorance of its meaning.

      “What is that very wicked thing that Lady Janet has just told you?” said Lady Kilgoff, as she advanced to mount her horse.

      “It was à propos of the handkerchief. She said ‘Probably you were going to throw yours at Mr. Cashel,’ – I’m sure I don’t know why.”

      Fortunately none but Lady Kilgoff and Cashel heard this speech, but both blushed deeply.

      While this was enacting below, Olivia, who marked every gesture and every look eagerly, could not hear what passed. She could only see the respectful attention bestowed by Cashel on every wish of his fair guest; how, having seated her, he draped in graceful folds the long velvet habit, in which, and with a white hat and drooping feather, she resembled one of the court of Louis Quinze.

      At last she turned her horse’s head, and rode him slowly along before the house, evidently timid and afraid of the high-mettled animal. Cashel, however, walked at his head, and so they stood, while he arranged the curb-chain, exactly beneath the window where Olivia was standing.

      She opened the sash noiselessly, and, bending down, listened.

      “I

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