57. LVII.
THE ADVERSARIES.
Ruthves did not rush upon Innis, or,
indeed, betray any evidence whatever of
violent emotion. A sudden and strange
calmness seemed to have succeeded his
wild rage. He had apparently reached
that stage when men grow pale instead
of red, cold instead of violent; and when
the mind, discarding all mere flurry and
passion, decides coolly and in silence
upon the course to be pursued.
The deadly glance of the young nobleman's
dark eyes, and the ashy pallor
of his lips, alone indicated the depth of
his wrath; his voice, when he spoke,
was firm and measured.
“It is quite unnecessary to hold me
back,” he said to Fergus, who, knowing
the terrible strength of his master's passions
when they were once aroused, had
seized his arm to restrain him from advancing
farther. “I do not purpose doing
any thing rash. Remove your hand
from my arm, and remain where you
now are, until you receive further orders
from me.”
Fergus released the grasp on his master's
arm, and Ruthven advanced slowly
and deliberately until he closely confronted
Honoria and Innis. The latter had
quickly regained his coolness, and returned
Ruthven's fixed and icy glance
with a look of the same description.
“I will relieve you of Lady Ruthven,
sir,” said the young nobleman; “as the
night is unpleasantly cold, and in so thin
a dress, she might suffer inconvenience
from further exposure. I shall escort
her ladyship to the house, and, as it will
be necessary to have a brief discussion
with you afterward, sir, shall beg you
to await my return without moving
from this place. May I count upon you,
sir?”
“You may, my lord!” returned Innis,
in an ardent tone. There was no
doubt of the intention of Ruthven. His
eye said all; and Innis greeted the
thought of mortal combat with his successful
rival with a thrill of fierce satisfaction.
As he spoke, Honoria opened her
eyes, and returned to consciousness. Her
glance met the cold eyes of Ruthven
fixed upon her; she understood all; and
suddenly exclaimed, in a tone of agony:
“Oh, I am innocent of intended
wrong!—It was but for a moment—one
last meeting—I had to bid him good-by!
—Edmund!—my lord—!”
“Enough, madam!” said Ruthven,
abruptly, a species of contortion passing
over his dark face. “With your permission
we will not discuss this subject further
at present!”
He advanced, as he spoke, took the
young lady's hand, placed it upon his
arm, and, exchanging with Innis a meaning
glance, reconducted Honoria toward
the house, followed by Fergus. No
words were exchanged between the
bridegroom and bride upon the way.
Honoria was sobbing—from Ruthven's
lips no sound issued.
Following the steps in the snow, they
reached the side-door, through which
Honoria had gained the lawn. Here
Ruthven stopped, and said:
“As you doubtless desire to observe
the proprieties, and avoid all scandal,
madam, it will be best to enter by this
door and gain your chamber. Supper is
ready to be announced; and I will attend
you at the foot of the great staircase.”
Honoria bowed her head, and, replying
only with a low sob, entered the side-door,
and closed it behind her. Ruthven
then went around to the front of the
house, ascended the broad steps, carefully
removed from his boots all traces
of snow, and, opening the great door,
entered. His entrance did not attract
attention, and he had reached the thresh-hold
of the drawing-room, when he encountered
Colonel Brand.
“We were looking for you, my lord,
as supper is ready; and, strangely
enough, Lady Ruthven also is not to be
found.”
“She has retired to her chamber, in
all probability, sir.”
“I think not.”
And Colonel Brand turned to look
for Lady Brand to ask. Time was thus
afforded the young lady to reach her
chamber, divest herself of her cloak, suppress
her agitation, and descend. Lord
Ruthven met her at the foot of the staircase,
as he had promised, offered his arm,
with a profound inclination; and, supper
being announced at the same moment,
the bridal party, followed by the guests,
entered the great dining - room. The
apartment was one blaze of lights, and
this brilliant flood fell upon a table extending
nearly the whole length of the
room, and groaning with its burden of
substantials and delicacies of every imaginable
description. Meats, game, confections
— each in a dozen varieties,
and a dozen methods of serving—pyramids
of cake, and exotic fruits, ices,
jellies, and, on a side-table, coffee, tea,
“strong-waters,” the richest wines—
such formed a portion, and only a portion,
of the entertainment offered by
Colonel and Lady Brand to their guests.
The crowd flocked in, noisy, joyous,
full of laughter; and few paid any attention
to the bride and groom. Those who
did so, however, afterward spoke of Lord
Ruthven's courtly attention to his bride.
He waited upon her most assiduously;
and, but for a strange glitter of the eyes,
was the model of an overjoyed bridegroom.
That metallic glitter was not inviting,
it is true, and was afterward remembered;
but, for the moment, all was
joy and uproar.
One person only was not so easily deceived.
With eyes sharpened by tenderness
for her daughter, Lady Brand saw
the evidences of deep, suppressed emotion;
and, knowing that Honoria had not
been in her chamber ten minutes before
her reappearance, sought an opportunity
now to question her, and hear a solution
of the mystery. This design of Lady
Brand seemed, however, to be penetrated
by Lord Ruthven, who persistently remained
by Honoria, or returned instantly
if forced to leave her; and when the fond
mother, weary of this struggle of wits,
addressed a plain question to the young
lady, Ruthven replied, quickly, with a
singular smile:
“No, madam! I beg you will not insist
upon your question. Your daughter
is Lady Ruthven now, and is entitled to
have her own secrets!”
Lady Brand looked earnestly at the
speaker, but his face was impenetrable.
“Well, my lord,” she said, gloomily,
“'tis for you to decide; but you will let
me say that the augury is not happy
when the bride begins by having secrets
from her own mother.”
Ruthven did not reply, and soon afterward
the company began to move
back toward the drawing-room, whither
the bride and bridegroom led the way—
Honoria pale and faint—Ruthven cold,
firm, and impassive.
Lord Ruthven led his bride to a seat
near the fire, and then made her a low
bow. With her permission, he said he
would return to the supper-room; and,
passing through the crowd, with a formal
smile on his lips, he reached the hall.
He did not go thence, however, to the
supper-room, but to his chamber, where
Fergus was seated, his elbows on his
knees, his face sunk in his hands.
“Come, quick!—the swords!” said
Ruthven. “I have worn none to-night;
but there are two of the same length!”
Fergus faltered out:
“Your lordship will not—! Think!
after all, 'twas but—!”
“Silence! — obey the order I give
you! The dress-swords, and my cloak!”
Dominated by the imperious voice
and flaming eyes, Fergus drew from one
of the trunks, with a trembling hand,
two dress-swords, which Ruthven seized.
The latter then threw a cloak around his
shoulders, concealed the swords beneath
it, and, saying imperiously to Fergus—
“Remain here; I command you!” went
hastily out of the room. He had taken
notice of the position of the side-door,
through which Honoria had reentered.
This he now gained by the back staircase,
for the moment quite deserted,
opened the door, passed through, closed
it behind him, and went rapidly down
the hill toward the oak.
