University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.

It was a warm spring day. The sun was bright
on the pleasant Linden, and the gay population were
abroad enjoying the fine weather. Nothing is so
delightful as the approach of spring in these cold
climates. Claude was peculiarly alive to such impression;
and, as he passed out of the Brandenburg
gate into the universal and favourite promenade of
the Park, he perceived tokens of the spring visible
everywhere around him. This season had stolen
upon him unawares. He had been so occupied in
the world of fashion with operas, balls, soirées, and
breakfasts; with glittering crowds, the same ever-recurring

faces, and all the pomp, glare, and circumstance
of magnificent entertainments, that the soft
and exquisite forms of half-forgotten nature struck
his eye and touched his soul with a sense of happiness.
As the various incidents of the now vanished
winter rose to his memory—the constant succession
of brilliant fêtes—the numerous nights which
had found him wandering amid the half-fairy splendour
of royal saloons, till the breaking day at length
sent him to his bed—the new acquaintances he had
made—the dark face, full of meaning, of Lady Beverly—the
rudeness of Elkington—the bland courtesy
of Carolan—the dignified friendship of Madame
Wharton—and last, not least, the enchantment which
he had found in the society of Ida, and which had
daily grown more delicious and more dangerous—
all seemed a fantastic dream amid the surrounding
silence and solitude. This beautiful forest was now
deserted; the city population had not yet begun to
appear in its sylvan glades. Only the squirrel
paused and listened in the path; while the birds,
whose clear notes echoed through the wood, scarcely
flew at his approach. The grass had burst out
everywhere, and the buttons of the trees were fully
opened, disclosing the tender leaves and blossoms.
Flowers, some the spontaneous tribute of nature,
and some set by the hand of the gardener, were
peeping from the wayside or bending over the
streams. The earth, long dead, had a warm and
living look. Verdure was upon the ground and
perfume in the air. Two or three swans, stately
as their mistress Juno, came floating down the
stream, beneath the arch of a beautiful bridge which
hung reflected in the flood; and the air, entirely free
from the chill which generally accompanies even
the fairest promises of a spring day, as painful recollections
of the past sometimes disturb the pleasure
of the present, was altogether bland and balmy.

He walked on with a thoughtful pace. The con

duct of Ida had been a kind of mystery to him.
Since their cold parting at the dejeuner of Prince
R., her manner had been generally so formal as to
relieve him from the necessity of being on his guard;
yet, at times, this reserve gave place to a gayety so
familiar and a kindness so gentle as to startle him
with the idea that, while he fancied himself only
subjecting his own heart to danger, he was, in reality,
also gaining the confidence of this artless and
inexperienced girl. He had parted from her the
day before, after an interview deeply interesting to
him. The passion which had now taken entire
possession of his soul had half betrayed itself in
her presence, and the sweet instincts of a heart
which had lost the power of directing itself, found
in her manner so much tenderness even in its reserve,
that he could not but doubt that his love was
returned. It was at this point that he walked forth
to reflect upon his position, with feelings which,
although filled with happiness, were not of an enviable
kind. What had he done? He had gained
the affections of one affianced to another. He had
weakly lingered by the side of one he could never
marry, till perhaps their separation would be as
much a source of unhappiness to her as to him.
This was little more than the act of a scoundrel;
and, in reflecting upon it, he experienced the humiliating
consciousness of having deviated from the
path of honour. Alas! so invisible are the lines
which separate innocence from guilt, that the most
honest sometimes find themselves over the limit before
they are aware of it. No mortal step can assure
itself against this danger; but, while the weak
and the depraved go on in their career of temptation,
the noble-minded start from the flowery road
the instant they see where it leads.

“Can I doubt it?” thought Claude, as he wandered
into the thickest and most solitary part of the
wood. “She shares my infatuation. Let me, for the

first time, breathe to the air the secret which as yet
hovers only in our dreams. She loves me. What
power has aided my daring wishes? Some demon,
perhaps, to effect my ruin!”

In the ardour of his reveries, he had so far forgotten
himself as to utter this rhapsody aloud. It
was not without a guilty start that he heard a step
at his side, and, lifting his eyes, beheld Madame
Wharton.