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<h3 class="chapter">Chapter Thirty Five.</h3> <h4 class="event">A Complete Eclaircissement.</h4> “Mademoiselle’s game is up. You see, Sabrina, I was right, and he’s loyal to his love—true to the guage of the egret’s plume.” “Indeed, yes! What a tale for Vaga! And I shall tell it her soon.” “’Twill gladden her, you think?” “I’m quite sure of it. Though I haven’t evidence of her heart’s inclinings in speech plain as that we’ve just—Hish! Another couple coming this way! Really, Richard, we ought not to stay here; ’tis bad as being eaves-droppers.” “Never mind about the eavesdropping. It will sit light on my conscience, after leading to such good results. Who may be the pair approaching now, I wonder?” They listened. To hear music, with the hum of many voices afar off; but two near, and drawing nearer. “My sister!” said Sabrina, almost instantly recognising one of them; then, after another brief interval of silence, adding, “and Reginald Trevor!” Continuing to advance, the two were soon up to the pavilion; and made stop, on the same spot where but five minutes before stood their respective cousins. Now, however, it was the gentleman who spoke first—after their coming to a stand—and as if changing the subject of the dialogue already in progress. “My cousin Eust seems beside himself with Mademoiselle Lalande. I never saw man so madly in love with a woman. I wonder if she reciprocates it?” He was pouring gall into Vaga Powell’s heart, and apparently without being conscious of it. For, by this, he had reached full confidence that his own love was reciprocated by her with whom he was conversing. “Like enough,” was the response, in tones so despairingly sad, that, but for his being a fool in his own conceit, he might have drawn deductions from it to make him suspect his folly. More, could he have but seen the expression upon her features at that moment—pain, almost agony. The pantomimic dance—just over, all its acts, incidents, and gestures were still fresh before her mind—the latest the most vivid—the dropping of the glove; its being taken up, as she supposed, with eager alacrity; then, the man she loved throwing wide open his arms to receive into them the woman she hated! All this was in her thoughts, a very tumult of trouble—in her heart as a flaming fire. The darkness favoured her, or Reginald Trevor could not have failed perceiving it on her face. But, indeed, she would have little cared if he had. Dissembling with him all the night, she meant doing so no more. Though the play was not with him, the game had gone against her; she had lost the stakes, as she supposed, irretrievably; and now would retire into the shadow and bitterness of solitude. Little dreamt he of how she was suffering, or the cause. Knowing it, he might have sprung away from her side, quickly and angrily as had Clarisse from that of Eustace. Continuing the conversation, he said, insinuatingly,— “On second thoughts, I’m wrong, Mistress Vaga. I have known a man as much in love with a woman as my cousin is with yours—know one now?” “Indeed?” The exclamatory rejoinder was purely mechanical, she who made it not having enough interest in what had been said to inquire who was the individual he alluded to. Yet this was the very question he courted. He had to angle for it further, saying,— “May I tell you who it is?” “Oh, certainly; if you desire to do so.” Even this icy response failed to check him. He either did not perceive its coldness, or mistook it for reticence due to the occasion. Several times, since his first abortive attempt, he had been on the eve of making fuller declaration to her—in short, a proposal of marriage. But she had been dancing with others besides himself, and no good opportunity had as yet offered. That seemed to have come now. So, taking advantage of it, and her permission, he said, in an impressive way,— “The man is Reginald Trevor—myself.” If he expected her to give a start of feigned surprise, and follow it up by the inquiry, “Who is the woman?” he was disappointed. For he but heard repeated the laconic exclamation she had already used, and in like tones of careless indifference. “Indeed!” That, and nothing more. Still unrepulsed he returned to the attack; again, as it were, begging the question,— “Shall I name the woman?” “Not if you don’t wish it, sir.” Response that should have made him withhold the information, if not driven him from her presence. A very rebuff it was; and yet Reginald Trevor looked not on it in this light. Instead, still strong in his false faith and foolish hope, he persisted, saying,— “But I do wish it, and will tell you; though you may little care to know. I cannot help the confession. She I love is yourself—yourself, Vaga Powell; and ’tis with all my heart, all my soul!” The avowal, full and passionate, affected her no more than the hints he had already thrown out. In the same calm tone, firm, and with the words measured, she made response,— “Captain Trevor, you’ve told me almost as much before. And if I never gave you answer to say the feeling you profess for me was not reciprocated, I say it now. It is not—never can be. Friends, if you wish, let us remain; but for the other—” “You needn’t go on!” he interrupted, impatiently, almost rudely. “I’ve heard enough; and now know what’s the obstacle between us. Not your father, as I once supposed, but my cousin. Well, have him, if you can get him. As for myself, I’m consoled by thinking there are as good fish in the sea as ever were caught out of it, and I go to catch one of them. Adieu, Mistress Vaga Powell!” Saying which, he strode off in true Cavalier swagger, humming a gay chanson; having left her alone in the darkness of night, and the gloom of despair. Only for an instant was she thus. Then she felt arms flung around her, tenderly, lovingly, while listening to speech which promised to relieve her of her misery. “I was so glad, Vag,” said Sabrina, “hearing what you said. And I’ve heard something said by another, at which you’ll be glad, when I tell it you.” Almost at the same instant of time, though in a different part of the grounds, Sir Richard Walwyn was in like manner promising to let light into the heart of Eustace Trevor. <hr /></div> <div class="page-break"></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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