45. XLV.
THE LAMIA.
THE passion of Lord Fairfax for Miss Argal ripened
rapidly, and soon attained its full strength.
It was one of those fatal infatuations which paralyze
the reason, and lead captive the wills of
the strongest and most resolute men.
From that evening when George encountered him in the
Massinutton, and when they met Miss Argal and Falconbridge
on the prairie, the Earl had not ceased to think of
her with a singular emotion. There was something in this
young lady which no one could describe—an impalpable
and wondrous fascination—which, when it had once been
felt, was an influence on the life, an irresistible spell which
could not be thrown off. Her beauty was but a small part
of this magnetic power. Her face, it is true, with its rosy
cheeks, crimson lips, and framework of black curls, was of
rare loveliness: her figure, both full and undulating, both
sweeping and redundant, was enough to attract admiration;
but the secret of her influence lay deeper, and was difficult
to define. It was chiefly, a keen observer might have said,
in the eye, and its expression, or its thousand expressions,
rather. It was a strange and wonderful pair of eyes. The
lamia of the poets—that mythological creature, with the
form of a woman, and the instincts of a serpent—might have
afforded an illustration of Miss Argal at times. Indeed,
this serpent-like glance, dark and glittering, but full of
caressing sweetness and subtle fascination as well, almost
always shone from beneath her long silken lashes. It was
a sidelong and wary glance, as if the person were watching
—a cunning and yet confiding gaze, lying in wait, as it
were, for its prey. It could coax and cajole, and beseech,
and wheedle—it took all characters, and bewildered the
mind, but ended by bringing the victim to her feet.
It was wonderful, miraculous, almost, what a magnetic
power lay in those eyes—a power to fascinate, to persuade,
to bend the reason, however strong-willed and imperial. It
had been nothing to draw the ardent and impulsive young
man to her side—Falconbridge was ripe for a passionate
attachment—he was young, unsuspecting, an admirer of the
beautiful; with a heart which the first beautiful woman
might enslave from the very enthusiasm and warmth of his
nature. But Lord Fairfax! To win that cold and collected
man!—to turn the old dry nobleman, past middle life, into
a bashful and embarrassed lover! To move a heart long
unmoved—to bend a will so resolute and determined—to
make that woman-hater, or woman-fearer, yield to her wiles,
and follow her when she beckoned! That was truly an undertaking
worthy of her ambition. She worked for it—and
she achieved her end.
It is not pleasant to analyze such a character. We touch
upon those mysterious and shifting motives and impulses
as the mariner in the frozen regions of the North, in the
gloomy night, treads cautiously and with repugnance on
the floating mass of ice which envelops his ship. There
was little love in question, on her part. She was attracted
toward Lord Fairfax by his wealth and position—by the
ambition of becoming his Countess, and thus becoming mistress,
in fact, of one fourth, very nearly, of the province.
Thread by thread the web was woven. The Earl of Fairfax
soon came to feel a passionate attachment for the fascinating
woman, and to visit her regularly—sometimes in
the absence of Falconbridge, sometimes when he was present.
But he did not exhibit any indications of his passion
beyond this. His cold mask was never thrown off for a
moment. His countenance, with its grim, sad smile, scarcely
relaxed—he was the same calm, and cynical philosopher
as before, the same courteous gentleman, but no more.
One thing was apparent, however, in his demeanor. He
avoided Falconbridge, and seemed ill at ease in his society;
but let it not be supposed from this that the Earl was conscious
of committing an injustice in visiting the young lady.
Miss Argal had distinctly informed him one morning, that
she was not bound in any way to Falconbridge—that he
was merely a friendly visitor who was lonely at the Ordinary,
and came over to chat with her and her father. The
Earl had thus set his mind at rest on the subject, and regarded
himself as wholly irreproachable in the undertaking
which he had determined upon now, the attempt to make
Miss Argal his Countess.
We have forborne to describe the feelings of Falconbridge.
The task was more than we were willing to attempt.
There is something awful and darkly tragic in the picture
of a noble and great heart writhing under the dominion of
a mad passion for a woman, and feeling that his passion is
a vain one. For to this conclusion had the young man now
very nearly arrived. He could scarcely mistake the indications
of Miss Argal's manner. She was no longer what she
had been to him. All her delightful smiles, and caressing
accents, had disappeared. She met him when he came with
ill-concealed disinclination, and opposed to his questions
and prayers for an explanation, an obdurate and unconquerable
reserve. If she replied at all, it was only to say,
with cold politeness, that Mr. Falconbridge really placed
too much stress upon trifles; young ladies, like their superiors,
young men, were subject to changes of mood; she was
not well to-day; the discussion made her head ache; was
there any news of interest at the Ordinary?—she supposed
he would soon return home now, as he had said his business
in the region was finished. She would advise him to.
The air of the mountains, after October, was very cold—he
would catch a catarrh—and she really would advise him, as
a friend to return. Ah! there was Lord Fair fax! Would
Mr. Falconbridge excuse her for a moment? His lordship
was always pleased when she met him at the door.”
That was all. And Falconbridge would grind his lip with
his teeth, bow coldly as the Earl entered, and discover that
he had to meet George, or Captain Wagner, at the Ordinary.
He would go away raging; and bury himself in his chamber,
and grow old hour by hour, in presence of his misery.
To this point the history of the persons had advanced,
when we again return to particular scenes in the narrative.
