REVELATIONS.

Not many days elapsed before the cards of the Honourable Mrs. J. E. Meredyth, and the Misses Meredyth were laid on Lady Desmond's table; but it was some time before Kate saw them; for, feeling totally unequal to the society of strangers, she declined accompanying her cousin to return their visit, or to an evening party, which quickly followed the first interchange of formalities.

She regretted, while she was too just to blame, her cousin's rapid oblivion of the sad scene so deeply engraven on her own memory, though she steadily endeavoured to cultivate a cheerful resignation, and sometimes was grateful for any interruption that drew her from the oppressive sadness and sense of loneliness, that often weighed on her spirits. Grief is something so repugnant to the young, that they involuntarily endeavour to throw it off. The morning sun gilds all things with its life-giving, beautifying light, it is only the lengthening shadows of evening to which tender sadness and lingering regret seem natural.

And Kate's true-hearted efforts to submit unmurmuringly to her bitter loss, were seconded by her happy age; and again peace, like a dove, still fluttering its wings before settling in its nest, was slowly and surely returning to her.

Lord Effingham's visits were not quite so frequent as before Lady Desmond's illness; but they were more agreeable to Kate; his manner was more real; he noticed her more—with the air of an elder relative, 'tis true—yet with a quiet, unremitting attention, obvious enough to herself, though scarcely noticeable, save to a very keen observer.

The terms on which he had placed himself with Lady Desmond rather puzzled her; he devoted much of his time to her, was evidently an admirer of her beauty and agreeability; yet Kate could not help thinking there was more of the old friend, of the habituÉ of the house, than the lover, in his tone and manner. Lady Desmond seemed, on the whole, happy enough, and met the warm advances of Mrs. Meredyth very cordially.

"How do you like your new acquaintance?" asked Kate, the morning after Mrs. Meredyth's soirÉe.

"Oh, well enough; they are abundantly civil; but not at all the sort of people you would fancy Lord Effingham's relatives to be. Madame Mere is fat and fair, and wonderfully preserved; she looks like his aunt, not grand-aunt; she is grave and quiet; the daughters are very young ladies, of about thirty, I should think; they are scarcely good style; and I thought they would positively devour Colonel Dashwood and a Mr. Burton, and some other dragoons, who embellished the entertainment."

"Burton!" repeated Kate; "I remember—"

"And so does he," interrupted Lady Desmond; "Colonel Dashwood introduced him to me, and asked permission to bring him here to-day; he enquired for you very particularly, and said he had heard a great deal of you from a Captain or Colonel Egerton, a great ally of yours, I suspect."

Kate sighed.

"Was Lord Effingham there?"

"Yes, rather to my astonishment; he seemed horridly bored, I could see that; for the species of worship offered to him, both by aunt and cousins, is exactly the sort of thing to disgust him."

"If the Miss Meredyths are constantly engaged in devouring dragoons, and worshipping Lord Effingham, they must be busy indeed," said Kate.

"From what I could gather, Lord Effingham's presence was rather an unusual favour; however, we are to be great friends; I must have them to dine here some day, or to a strawberry and cream supper, or something of that sort; only I am afraid you do not feel up to it, dear Kate; but if you do not mind—"

"Oh, pray do not think of me, Georgy, I am always glad to see you amused; I can steal away if I find myself unequal to be agreeable—or—"

"No, no," interrupted Lady Desmond, in her turn. "Dear love, you shall not be teased, only I think it would do you good."

And Kate saw the point was decided against her.

"I wish very much, Georgy, you would allow me to invite Mrs. Storey to spend a day here; I ought to go and see her; but I feel I cannot go there yet; if you have no engagement next week."

"Oh, ask her, by all means; she was very civil, I remember; stay, I will write the note; you can enclose it; and, while we are about it, let us ask the husband; he is something terrific, is he not?"

"Yes, indeed, he is."

"Do not look so grave about it," said Lady Desmond, laughing; "let us go to the drawing-room—my desk is there."

As Kate usually chose those hours, when the gardens were free from the band and mob to wander there, she did not meet Lady Desmond's new friends until the evening of her soirÉe, which was a very agreeable little impromptu meeting—the guests verbally invited in the morning of the same day, when the band had assembled the few inhabitants of Hampton Court in one focus. Yet Kate shrank from this unwonted gaiety as from a desecration.

Nurse strove to cheer her up.

"Sure, it'll do ye good, jewil, an' plaise mee lady, so come now, smile, for yer poor ould nurse."

The Meredyths arrived rather late; and Miss Vernon was obliged to remain near Lady Desmond until introduced to them, before she retreated to the small drawing-room, away from the noise and excitement of the bagatelle board, round which Lady Elizabeth Macdonnell and some young ladies, who came under her chaperonage, were gathered, all eagerly exercising their skill against divers and sundry dragoons, contributed by Colonel Dashwood, at Lady Desmond's request, to assist her in entertaining her guests.

Mrs. and the Miss Meredyths were rather over dressed for so small a party. Their noisy entry, and loud laughter, repelled Kate, though she endeavoured to second her cousin's evident wish that she should know them better; so suppressing her inclination to retreat, she listened patiently to the reiterated assurances of their desire to make her acquaintance.

But Kate's calm, gentle manner, and polite replies, proved faint counter-attractions to the invitations from the bagatelle party; and the high-spirited Miss Meredyths were soon immersed in all the interest of that scientific game.

Kate, at Lady Desmond's request, led Mrs. Meredyth into the inner drawing-room, to show her some beautiful water-color drawings, of scenes in the Appenines, which Lady Desmond had purchased at Florence.

They had the room to themselves, and Kate soon perceived that it a was very interesting work to her companion, who never failed to ask some well put, leading query during the replacing of each drawing, as to the duration of her nephew's acquaintance with Lady Desmond, or her connections, estates, &c., at which Kate, unworldly as she was, could not avoid smiling.

It was with evident relief that she heard Lady Desmond enter, saying—

"If you will accept me as a partner, faute de mieux, my dear Mrs. Meredyth, Lady Elizabeth will manage to have her rubber; I expected Dr. ——, the veteran physician before alluded to; but if you will bear with my errors till he comes—"

"You are very good, Lady Desmond; only it is too bad to ask you to play whist at your age."

And Mrs. Meredyth rose gladly. Kate stayed to look over some of the drawings that remained, and to replace them in their portfolio, wishing she could escape from a collection of strangers, all of whom were uninteresting to her.

Burton had not yet made his appearance, and she hoped to have some conversation with him; for the morning he had called, she was out. So she stood gazing at a drawing, resting her arm on the top of a prie dieu chair, and thinking of Fred Egerton, when Lord Effingham said, gently, and close to her—

"I thought I should find you here."

She started slightly, but turned to him with a smile, for, seeing how much her cousin's feelings were interested in his behalf, she was, as she had told him, anxious to know him better; and, her mind fully occupied with the impression of his admiration of Lady Desmond, the possibility of his ever bestowing a thought upon herself, save as a friend and relative of hers, never crossed it. She was, therefore, rather glad to have a little tete-À-tete causerie with him.

"I have been showing these drawings to Mrs. Meredyth, but she has gone to play whist with Georgy, who detests cards. We must endeavour to rescue her."

"Not yet, if you please, Miss Vernon," returned Lord Effingham, looking fixedly at her, "I so seldom have an opportunity of saying a word to you, uninterrupted by some one or other, that you must forgive me if I rush abruptly into the apology I have been so anxious to make for the last fortnight. The day in the Palace Garden," he continued, rapidly—"when you scornfully informed me that you disdained any friendship with so forward and ill-bred a fellow as myself—I reminded you of that dog. It was in total ignorance of——. But I see I am only paining you. Lady Desmond told me, and I have been burning to assure you of my deep regret. I trust you will believe my assurance that no irritation would ever have tempted me, knowingly, to revive any memory distressing to you."

He uttered these with an earnest softness that surprised Miss Vernon, so complete was the transformation it created in his look and manner.

"I never accused you, even in thought, of such cruelty," she returned, anxious to relieve his evident anxiety, "so say no more about it, I entreat."

"But the gesture of repugnance, with which you turned from me, I cannot forget it."

"Did I," said Kate, blushing at the idea of having wounded the feelings of any one; "I was unaware, but, if you reflect for a moment, you will acknowledge it was natural, just then, you know I felt sick at heart."

Lord Effingham's dark cheek flushed for an instant, he bit his lips.

"Yet you say you forgive me."

"And I do," she returned, "I could not resent an unintentional offence."

He smiled, a very different smile from those that usually darkened rather than illuminated his countenance, and Kate, thought, "perhaps that might have been the expression of it in childhood."

He held out his thin, nervous, resolute looking hand, with a look of entreaty and an expressive—

"Then if——."

Kate, who had not an atom of prudery, and was anxious to make up for the gesture of repugnance, he had so forcibly described, put her own frankly into it; he raised it for a moment, to his lips, and said, lightly, half in jest, half earnest—

"And on this hand I renounce my evil ways."

She withdrew her hand quickly, but before she could make any reply, Lord Effingham said—

"Let us look at these exquisite views; Lady Desmond, the Wentworths, and myself, made many expeditions among the Appenines. Where were you then, Miss Vernon?"

He asked this in a tone as if he remembered, with amazement, having enjoyed any thing where she was not; but Kate did not notice it, for, transported back to former scenes, by his question, she answered, with a sigh—

"Ah, I was then very happy!"

Lord Effingham looked up at her, and as her eyes were bent down, quite regardless of him, he permitted a slight smile to mingle in the admiring glance that rested on her.

"Have you seen Lady Desmond?" she enquired, raising her eyes to his with a vague sort of notion that she ought not to remain there in that quiet room, with its books and pictures, tÊte-À-tÊte, with her cousin's lover.

"No, I came here to ask you where she was, remember!"

"Why, am I to remember? do you wish me to tell her?"

"As you like," said Lord Effingham, carelessly, and turning to the drawings, began to speak of their merits, and of the artist who took the views, in a clear, simple, forcible manner which interested Miss Vernon greatly. She had always felt that her companion was possessed of talent, though his indolence seldom permitted him to display it in conversation; and she now listened with pleasure to his unwonted agreeability. Lady Desmond was frequently the subject of his comments, which were always flattering, but expressed with an air of calm, deliberate approbation, equally unlike his usually sneering indifference, or a lover's warmth; yet his memory appeared to be wonderfully distinct as to her doings; in one place, she had ordered her picture from a distressed artist, and retrieved his fortunes by her liberal payment and patronage.

"It was in Italy, you know, where the necessaries of life are not worth double their weight in gold," added Lord Effingham. Or it was her courage and self-possession in a thunder-storm, or her taste in an al-fresco entertainment; but though thus constantly referred to, there was an occasional glimpse shown of her pride, her imperiousness, or her impatience, never condemned, but hinted at more by a tone, a glance, a smile than by words.

Kate listened intently, fancying she had got the clue to his strange indecision as regarded her cousin, and gradually determining that he only hesitated to declare the love, she was sure he felt, because he feared that the existence of such qualities were not calculated to make a home happy.

"He does not know her noble nature or her value, and she always appears to greater disadvantage with him than with any one else. Perhaps I may be able to clear this up," she thought. "And, after all, he may be a better man than I imagined," so she listened, resting her clasped hands on the top of the chair by which she stood, her head inclined gently to one side, a slight pleased smile curving her lip, and showing the pearly teeth, while he, compelling himself to speak of the drawing he held, instead of indulging his natural indolence in silent contemplation of the sweet face before him, his back to the door, was first conscious that their solitude was broken in upon by her change of countenance and position. He turned just as Colonel Dashwood, entering said—

"I have been looking for you, Miss Vernon, to present Mr. Burton," waving his hand to that gentleman who accompanied him, inwardly consigning his Colonel to the inferno of busy bodies, for having so pertinaciously sought Miss Vernon, and interrupted a second interesting tÊte-À-tÊte.

Miss Vernon's cordial and unembarrassed manner set him at ease, however, and Lord Effingham, in an unusually amiable mood, exerted himself to cultivate Dashwood, so the partie quarrÉ progressed into a sociable exchange of trivialities, when their number was encreased by the approach of Lady Desmond, who entered with a look of restlessness, Kate knew well how to interpret.

"Some one said you had arrived, Lord Effingham," she said.

"I could not see you in the next room, and came here to look for you," he replied, smiling. "But the awful intelligence that you were playing whist with my aunt rendered me incapable of further exertion. Is that sacrifice accomplished?"

"Yes, I have done my duty."

"And I have been living over some very pleasant days again," he returned, glancing at the drawings, "and prosing to Miss Vernon on the same subject; but I must pay my respects to Mrs. Meredyth," and he offered his arm to Lady Desmond.

Miss Vernon continued to converse a little longer with Colonel Dashwood and Mr. Burton; but neither mentioned Fred Egerton, till Kate, apprehending she might be asked to contribute towards the music, now superseding the bagatelle, complained of fatigue, and wished them "good night."

"I am glad I shall be able to tell my friend Fred Egerton I met you, Miss Vernon," said Burton, "I kept my letter open for the purpose, as he always asks me for some intelligence of his old friends, though I do not think he seems inclined to return to them."

"Quite right," said Colonel Dashwood, "he has made an excellent start in India; good night, Miss Vernon; I will tell Lady Desmond you have beat a retreat."

"Good night," and soon after the party broke up.

Lord Effingham drove home by moonlight; but his thoughts were too darkly chaotic for us to fathom.

The Miss Meredyths, in council over their "toilettes de nuit," decided that whether "Eff" married Lady Desmond or not, it was well worth their while to cultivate her acquaintance, and Burton, throwing off his uniform, and drawing his writing-table to an open window, proceeded to add a P.S. to his letter.

Kate was sitting, near the window, in her room, waiting until the household had sunk into silence before she laid down to sleep, when the door was softly opened by Lady Desmond, who entered, saying—

"Are you awake? Oh! you have not gone to bed."

"Dear Georgy!" exclaimed Miss Vernon, rising to meet her, "I hope you did not think me rude for running away so selfishly, but—"

"Not a word more," interrupted her cousin, passing her arm caressingly round her, "you were right to do as you felt inclined—indeed I fear I was inconsiderate in asking you to join us, nor was there anything very attractive in our guests."

There was a pause for some moments; and then, Lady Desmond, drawing Kate closer to the window, asked—

"Are you sleepy, love?"

"No, dear Georgy, not in the least."

"Then I will resume my revelations. I have not felt in the mood to do so before, and you were wise and kind not to urge me."

"Go on then, dearest," said Kate, "I long to hear your story."

"When first I met Lord Effingham at Naples," began Lady Desmond, withdrawing her arm from Kate, and resting the other against the window-frame, "I had been rather bored by the perpetual gossip about him always floating in the society there, and, at the same time, I was intensely fatigued by the utter absence of anything like interest in the world at large. I had no particular object—I was so perfectly my own mistress—I had not even the excitement of imagining what I would do if I could, for I had the power of accomplishing every rational wish. I was wearied of the excessive attentions and admiration of a dozen needy adorers, and, in short, ennuye'd. In this happy and commendable frame of mind, I dragged myself listlessly to a birthday dinner at the English Ambassador's; and accident placed me next a gentleman, so quietly distinguÉ, that nine out of ten observers, would not have noticed him; my attention was attracted by his being a stranger in a circle where each was known to each, and I was rather surprised when Lady W—— introduced him to me as Lord Effingham. He handed me down to dinner; but if I give you all these frivolous particulars, I shall not come to the end of my story until morning. There was an indescribable fascination for me in his manner. You must have observed the sense of power it conveys—the impression that there is something ever to be revealed, which you can never fathom, while he reads all your thoughts; the constant air of cool indifference you have seen; but the occasional softness, so exquisite in its flattering suggestions, you have not. Ah, Kate, I little thought as I drove home that night, feeling life had still something left to wish for, something still to excite, that the time would come when I as ardently desired to have that passage wiped away from my existence.

"I met Lord Effingham in society frequently, and he was the only man, amongst those of our circle, who did not enter himself as an aspirant for my smiles—to use the wretched jargon of those idlers—I will not say this piqued me. Pique is too weak, too French a term, to express the scorn of myself, with which his neglect filled me; he only considered me a fitting object of admiration for the vulgar mob. Yet there was a sympathy between us, that, though we seldom spoke, linked us strangely. Gradually—I cannot tell how it was—we became more intimate, and my very soul was absorbed in the intense longing to make him feel that I was not powerless. At length, I saw I was admired—I read it in his eyes a thousand times, and no longer unoccupied and listless, every faculty at its fullest stretch, both to feel and to conceal what I felt; for I dreaded either the world, or Lord Effingham, obtaining even the slightest clue to the state of my mind; then, Kate, then, for the first time, I tasted all the wild excitement—all the concentrated vitality of which life is capable."

Lady Desmond's eyes dilated, and Kate felt her own veins thrill with the contagious passion that inspired her cousin's words.

"Still," resumed Lady Desmond, "I was unconscious that, in my efforts to rivet chains on so untamable a captive, I had only twined them closely round myself. This did not last long; his excessive variability opened my eyes; though the tenderest accents had breathed the well-adapted line from my favorite poet in tones that rendered its application unmistakeable, though the interruption of our slightest conversation was avoided as unendurable in the evening, the next morning would find him so utterly cold, indifferent, almost forgetful, that I shrunk from the power so remorselessly displayed, and fled.

"Whether the novelty of my seeming indifference—for so far, I acted bravely, Kate—was not yet 'fletri,' or whether he was sick of Naples, I do not know, but he followed me to Florence, and told me, with the calm gravity of seeming truth, that Naples was insupportable without me. I believed him—nay, I think he spoke what he then felt. I was again lapped in Elysium; he was less variable—I did not care to think of the future, I was no longer strong enough to preserve the guard I had hitherto kept. His haughty iron-spirit mastered mine—he saw it, and left Florence for England.

"I will not dwell on that miserable year—I cannot—for I only remember a dark chaos of black misery and despair—an eternal effort to seem what I was not. All this is incomprehensible to you, Kate—may it ever be so. I despise myself; at this moment I hate Lord Effingham; but yet I would give every hope here, almost every hope hereafter, to see him at my feet—to hear him say, 'I love you,'—this wild longing to touch his heart; the conviction that no effort of mine can do so; the glimpse of his love; the long cold night of his indifference; and, worse than all, the irritating sense of slavery to his will, is death to me. Yet I have striven against it; I vowed I would not return to England while it contained him, and you know how I kept my vow—aye, in despite of duty. And when I did come, I believed he was in Paris. And must I live through all this again? Why does he seek me to torture me? I scarcely gave him the civil encouragement to call on me, required by the usages of society. And yet, I fear, he sees too well how vainly I struggle against his influence.

"His questions to you, when I endeavored to gain a few days' quiet reflection, uninterrupted by his disturbing presence, they were strange, yet they showed interest. Oh, Kate, Kate, can you read this riddle for me? my experience is all at fault; what say the instincts of your fresh heart?"

"He loves you," cried Kate, much moved by her cousin's recital; and she spoke her true conviction, "he must love you, and we do not know what motives he may have. Yet, I fear he must be selfish, and cold-hearted, to think so little of your feelings. Oh, dear Georgy, try not to love him; how can you love where you do not trust? pray to God to help you, and make up your mind to endure a little present pain, in the hope of future peace; let us leave this place, and go away from him—he has no right to make you wretched—let us go."

"No—impossible," said Lady Desmond, faintly, as if wearied by her own emotions. "Never was the spell so strong on me as now. I cannot—nay more, Kate, I will not break it; do not look so sadly, so shocked. I will be reasonable; you said just now we could not know his motives—fate seems to have thrown us together again—for God knows I came down here to get out of London, lest he might suddenly re-appear, to make me writhe under the consciousness of my thraldom. Let us see what another month may disclose. I feel that, before long, all doubt will be at an end, though now, at times, I think he loves me."

"Yes, he loves you—he must," cried Kate, gazing on Lady Desmond's beautiful face, as, glowing with the animation her reminiscences had called up, "but he loves himself better."

"Then I am free," returned her cousin, "he is too grand a creature to be selfish—no there is none like him. Whatever his faults may be, they are not petty—he can love. We will remain here another month. What do you advise?"

"Whatever I advise, dear Georgy, you will stay; and perhaps it is better to give Lord Effingham a fair trial, though he might follow us; at all events, you do not quite disapprove my counsel, I would fain have you go."

"Do not ask me, I cannot; but is not that two o'clock—to bed—to bed, Kate, how could I have kept you up so late. Good night."

"God bless you, and give you peace, dear Georgy—good night."