"Oh, Ellen,--you in yet? I thought you would have been out this fine day!" and she was on the point of shutting the door, when the Countess said--

"Why, Florence, love! where are your eyes? Do you not see my brother John, who is just arrived?"

A faint blush for a moment crimsoned her face; then, apologizing for her mistake, she walked gracefully forward, while young Ravensworth leapt up and hurried to meet her.

"So you have arrived, Mr. Ravensworth;--I am glad to renew our old acquaintance."

"Not more than I am, Lady Florence. Why you are not altered the least; I should have known no difference!"

"You flatter me," answered the lady, giving her hand; "but I must say, I doubt if I should have known _you_ again. Why, dear me, Ellen, when last I saw him he was not so tall as I am, and now he is a head over me! I must now look up to you, Mr. Ravensworth,--you are grown out of my recollection almost!"

"I trust not out of your remembrance, Lady Florence?"

"Certainly not out of yours, if I am to judge by your shakes of hand.

You forget you are now so strong;--you nearly wrung my poor hand off!

Excuse me now; I must go and change my habit,--_Addio!_"

The light-hearted girl then sailed away, leaving her admirer in half-hopefulness, half-fearfulness, and scarce knowing what to think.

The Earl's reception was as warm as he had antic.i.p.ated; and he then left in order to dress for dinner. Several guests besides himself were numbered at the table, and, of course, Lady Florence fell to the care of a young peer, and not to him; she sat a few paces from him on the same side,--just too far for him to address, and not too far for him to listen to. Her partner seemed to pay the most a.s.siduous attentions, which were certainly, as far as he could judge, far from unacceptable, and he was not altogether sorry when the ladies left. When they rejoined them in the drawing-room, he was quite monopolized by his sister, whilst Lady Florence was disengaged; and when, at last, he got free, the same young man walked up to her, just before him, and kept up incessant flirtation. During the whole evening he but once addressed her, and only received a laughing repartee. Time wore on; Lady Florence was one of the earliest to retire, and by-and-by the visitors departed, and he too went to his room anything but pleased:--it seemed quite certain she had forgotten him. Next morning, at breakfast, he sat next her, and she seemed so like herself again his spirits quite rose; but during the rest of the day she hardly noticed him; and again he sought his couch thoroughly discontented. During the days he was of course carried off to the field by the Earl, who was a keen sportsman; and as a large shooting party gradually gathered at the Towers, his chances for a _tete-a-tete_ with Lady Florence grew more and more hopeless. He saw her the star of every drawing-room; she danced and laughed with him, and quite won him,--often thrice in an evening; and then he saw her treating some one else exactly the same; and at length came to the conclusion that she was a heartless flirt! The days hurried by, and soon he would have to say adieu! and sail for India. He tried to reason with himself, how he could be so foolish as to think the reigning belle of town and country, and daughter of an Earl, could deign to look on him, save as on any other young man. But love will not listen to reason,--and he loved! Yet he soon came to the sad conclusion, he would have to leave without even speaking to her on the subject; he would soon hear of her alliance with some n.o.ble family, and then he would throw his life away in the first brush with the enemy! All his high hopes of coming home a conquering hero, and receiving as his guerdon the hand of the lady of his choice seemed to "moulder cold and low!" When she saw his death, she would perhaps say, "Poor fellow!--he is gone at last!"--this all from one who had said she would be his wife:--oh, the thought was maddening! Those were her girlish vows,--unstable as the name traced on the sands,--so her vows were washed away by the stream of years! Oh, woman, thy faith is written on sand!

The most provoking part was, she would often walk with him, ride with him, sit with him alone; she would listen to all his nonsense, and flirt in her turn; and after these interviews he used to return vexed with himself for frittering precious time in folly, and vexed with her for returning it too well.

In this way three weeks pa.s.sed away. During the next few days he fancied he saw a change in Florence: she was less frivolous,--she seemed more quiet; and he could not but connect it in his own mind with his approaching departure, and said to himself, "She has a heart, after all!" Three days only of his tether remained, when, one afternoon, he found himself walking with Florence alone in the shrubberies; he nerved himself up, and determined he would speak his whole mind, and began by asking her "if she remembered what she had told him two years ago?"

"Indeed, Mr. Ravensworth, if I remembered all the foolish things I said, I should have enough to do."

"Then, Lady Florence, those days are gone. I would I were Johnny Ravensworth again,--could you be the same you were then to me."

"I scarcely understand you. I have always been amused at your pleasantries; I have always liked your company,--but you did not, I hope, imagine more."

"Oh, Lady Florence, do not say so! Have you, indeed, forgotten all you once said,--how often you promised and vowed affection to me?"

"Mr. Ravensworth, I was then a girl, and you were then my playmate.

There was no harm, then, in our being so much together, or in all the foolish things we said to each other. We are now nearly grown up; and I hope your good taste will allow, we could not go on as we did then,--why, the world would never let us hear the end of it."

"Would G.o.d, Lady Florence, I was the same heedless boy again! Oh! to grow beyond our childish loves is surely the bitterest part of life! To be brief,--you love me no more?"

"I am grieved to hurt your feelings, Mr. Ravensworth,--I really never dreamed of this! You are a friend,--a near and dear friend,--and shall ever remain so."

"Then, all my hopes sink,--all my fondest hopes are crushed! Oh! why did you draw me on only to crush me? Why did you lead me,--why did you encourage me,--only to blight my best affections? It cannot be you have ceased to regard me! Oh, Lady Florence,--dear Lady Florence, have pity on me!"

"I shall ever regard you as I have done, and still do, Mr. Ravensworth; no one could feel more sorry than I do. If I have awakened hopes I never dreamed of raising, it will read me a lesson to be more careful in future. I sincerely regret I cannot reciprocate your feelings;--may you meet some one who can, and who will make you happier than Florence de Vere!"

The young girl broke away without listening for a reply, and hurried to her room. When she was alone she threw herself on her bed and burst into tears, exclaiming, "G.o.d forgive me!--how could I tell him such a falsehood? I do,--I do love him! What made me so foolish, so mad, as to refuse him?"

At dinner they met. You could hardly tell anything was wrong, to listen to those two, speaking so merrily; but, could you have read their hearts,--what a tale of wretchedness was there! Young Ravensworth felt utterly cast down at heart: he had heard from the lips he best loved to hear the words that spoke his doom! He had proved her he thought faithful, false! His trust in womankind was gone; but he felt he must veil his feelings. "I will show her," thought he, "I can laugh, and sing, and, with false smiles on my face, throw a light on sorrow's dark tide. I will not let the cold world know my misery; but, after once finding the fickleness of the s.e.x, I will not try it again."

Alas! Ravensworth did not know how often a proud beautiful girl rejects the love she would accept from a vanity man knows not--the vanity and pleasure of playing with hearts! Lady Florence felt grieved that she should have dallied with deep feelings, all for the silly pleasure of seeing her powers; but she felt faith in those powers, and thought her smiles would tempt the moth, even after singeing its wings, once more to woo the flame. Alas! Lady Florence knew not there are hearts which, once refused, are too haughty to ask again. Time was short--two days only--and early on the morning of the third John Ravensworth must start.

Florence, by all means in her power, strove to rekindle the flame her refusal seemed to have quenched. Young Ravensworth was partly surprised, partly angered at this, to his idea, heartless trifling. A word would have set all right; had he asked again she would have become his betrothed, but he asked not. Had she only whispered, "I do love you," he would again have asked--she spoke not. And thus whilst she fancied he was too proud to ask, and resolved to lower that pride by appearing everything he wished, all to make him ask once more, he fancied it was cruelty in her appearing so affectionate, all to induce him to ask again, that she might once more have the pleasure of refusing, and he resolved he would not give her the chance. Thus a mutual feeling of restraint prevented each of them from saying the word or making the concession on which their future joy or sorrow depended! Time, which stays his course not for mortal man, wore on; the day--the last day--hurried by! The excitement of packing, preparing, and looking at the beautiful presents showered on him from all sides, partly distracted Ravensworth from gnawing care; yet through all he felt that sinking, aching void within which only one could fill. He had no present from her he valued most, not even a flower! and a flower from her were worth the wealth of Golconda from others. The evening--though he wooed its stay as if it were his last below--pa.s.sed away with the rapidity happy hours do pa.s.s. He sat by her--talked to her; she played and sang to him, and he was at once happy and wretched. One song--

"When we two parted In silence and tears,"

the latest production of Lord Byron's muse then set to music, she sang with such pathos the tear sprang to his eyes. But afterwards she laughed, and his spirits sank again as she bade him good evening and good bye.

"Good bye; I shall not see you again, Mr. Ravensworth; you will be gone early, I suppose. When we meet again you will be a captain perhaps. I hope you will have a nice voyage. Good bye, I sha'n't forget you."

Poor Ravensworth could only press her hand as she was leaving the room, and offer a little packet, probably containing a costly keepsake, but Lady Florence fathomed his meaning, and said, "Thank you, but I could not accept it, it would not be right; I shall require no souvenir to cause you to be remembered! but if you want one, there is a flower for you." As she spoke she took a sprig of blue forget-me-not from the wreath that bound her hair, and playfully gave it. She then hurried away with a light step, but a heavy heart. Young Ravensworth stood mute, with the rejected gift in one hand and the flower in the other, gazing abstractedly on his retreating vision of beauty. He thought he heard her sigh. He then slowly retraced his steps, bade farewell to the Countess, and retired to his own room, heavy and discontented. He could not sleep, so fevered grew his head, and thinking the cool night air might do him good, he left the castle, crossed the span-bridge, and sought the Holly Walk. The night was extremely beautiful, the moon walking on high in brightness, the air warm and perfumed as it swept o'er the flower-gardens, and gently whirled the sere leaves from the beech-trees behind the hedge.

What a different scene had been enacted there a few years ago! Awful as it was, to him it was brighter than now, and as he marked the leaves fall, silently but surely, before the touch of the waning year, so, he thought, fall my hopes one by one, till old age will leave me without a leaf to bless the bare branches. He sat down on a bench, and there taking the little rejected packet, he broke the seal, tore to fragments a few lines of poetry he had written and wrapped the little brooch in, and scattered the fragments amongst the dried holly-leaves at the root of the hedge. We are, however, able to state they ran thus:--

When morning is beaming, And dew-drops are gleaming, My heart is still dreaming Of Florence de Vere!

No eye owns such splendour, No heart is so tender, All--all I'd surrender For Florence de Vere!

While this even of sorrow Bodes darker to-morrow, Some ray I still borrow From Florence de Vere; On my spirit repining The pole-star is shining, That knows not declining,-- 'Tis Florence de Vere!

When parted our dwelling By ocean proud-swelling, Hope will still be foretelling, My Florence de Vere!

A day of glad meeting, A voice of kind greeting, And echo repeating-- "Sweet Florence de Vere!"

Be my cynosure yonder;-- The further I wander I'll love thee the fonder, My Florence de Vere!

And vain's fate's endeavour Our hearts to dissever, They're mingled for ever, Loved Florence de Vere!

"It is false! she is no pole-star, and my nonsense isn't worth burning,"

exclaimed the unhappy lover. "And thou, poor rejected souvenir, no eye shall ever see thee!" dropping it on the ground, he stamped the brooch into the greensward in his fury. He looked up,--you could scarce have told that pale livid face to be the same bright visage that smiled as he received his medal. He arose and retraced his footsteps towards the Towers. Once or twice he fancied he heard a rustle among the branches at the back of the hedge; as he neared the end of the walk the sound rose so distinctly on his ear it made him start. He was brave as a lion, but not untinctured with the superst.i.tion of the North. The idea at once struck him it was the spirit of Musgrave haunting the walk where he had been murdered. An involuntary thrill ran through him; he stood as if rooted to the ground, and he felt his hair somewhat bristle on his head.

Had it been twenty robbers he had not known a particle of dread, but anything supernatural was horrid! It was some moments ere he found his voice, and he was almost ashamed of himself to hear how it quavered as he asked, "Who goes there?" No answer came; the rustling came nearer, and through the branches he saw a dim white figure approaching. His heart sank within him, and in a voice tremulous and hollow he asked, "In G.o.d's name who are you? avaunt! away! by all that is sacred go!" The cold drops stood on his brow like icicles, and his whole frame shook.

"Hist, speak low--follow me," replied a female voice, and at the same moment the form broke through the bushes. For an instant he thought it was Lady Florence, but no, she was an inch taller at least, and it was not the light beautifully-moulded figure of the lady of his love. "Are you ill? are you glamoured, that you will nae speak nor move? You look dumbfoundered as if a ghaist had speered on you. Quick, follow me, Mr.

John."

"By heaven! I did think it was a ghost! What, in the name of G.o.d, brings you here in such a place, at such an hour? By my troth I did think it was Sir Richard's spirit."

"Whisht, for the love of G.o.d dinna speak sae. Dinna ye ken the place is no canny? Follow me. But you are a brave sodger."

Young Ravensworth felt his blood kindle, and felt angry at his folly in imagining she was a ghost, and eager to disabuse her of the idea, said, "No, Jenny, speak here--it is all trash--what is it?"

"Na, na, not here. Either come, or I maun tell her ye willna come ava."

"Her, who is her? I will come."

And he hastened to follow Jeanie Forbes, who, when the rest of the family had left, was promoted to the rank of lady's-maid to Lady Florence, as a reward for her uniform kindness to the Countess in her imprisonment. Following his guide, he entered the castle by a back-door, and ascended the back-stairs till he reached the door of Lady Florence's room. "Tap thrice," said his guide, and disappeared in the darkness. For a minute he stood irresolute whether he should tap or not. Love overcame pride, and he gently struck the door thrice. A light step crossed the room, the door was opened, and he stood face to face with his lady love.

"Come in; tread lightly," said the lady. "Oh! I am doing very wrong, Mr.

Ravensworth! but I could not let you leave this without seeing you once more. It is very wrong--it may be, unmaidenly--I cannot help it! Sit down--there," pointing to a sofa.

Hardly knowing what he did, he sank down on the sofa as he was bid.

Lady Florence still kept standing.

"Why have you brought me here, Lady Florence? For heaven's sake relieve me of my doubts!"