Part 6

With a hasty vote of thanks to Mary for her kind speech, I ran upstairs to my own bedroom to make the few preparations needful for my visit. I knew that Mrs. Rodwell would not desire me to dress; but to arrange my hair anew with a blue ribbon woven in it, and to change my dark merino body for a clear muslin Garibaldi, made me look fresh and smart, without taking up too much of the precious time I had to spend at her house. Besides, were there not to be some gentlemen present? At that thought my mind reverted to the wonderful news of Amy’s engagement, and I could scarcely proceed with my toilet for thinking of it. Little Amy! younger by five years than myself, who had always appeared so shy and modest and retiring--was it possible she could have had a lover without my knowing it? And now to be actually engaged! going to be married at her age! It almost seemed incredible, until I remembered with a sudden sigh that I had been no older myself when Bruce Armytage proposed to me, and had been able to keep my secret very well until the necessity for doing so was over.

But I would not let such thoughts engross me now, for I had no wish to carry a long face to Mrs. Rodwell’s house; and so I hurried on the remainder of my things, and wrapping myself up warmly in a dark cloak, hurried bravely out into the evening air. It was then six o’clock, and the fog was denser than before; but what cared I for outer dullness any longer? My imagination ran on before me, vividly picturing the cheerful scene in which I should so soon mingle, and my feet tripped after it joyous as my heart. I had not far to go, and my eagerness shortened the way; so that in a few minutes, I was rapping at Dr. Rodwell’s hall door and scraping my feet upon his scraper. How quickly it was opened by little Amy herself! And what a mixture of bashfulness, pleasure, and self-importance was in her blushing face as I threw my arms around her neck and warmly congratulated her.

“Come upstairs, Lizzie,” she entreated in a whisper; “come up and take off your things, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

We were soon in her own room--that cozy room in which she and her younger sister Mattie slept, and which bore so many evidences of their mother’s tender care and thought for them.

“And so you are really engaged to be married, Amy?” I exclaimed as the door closed behind us. “That was a very astounding piece of intelligence to me, who had never heard the faintest whisper of such a thing before.”

“You forget you have not been near us for a month,” she answered, laughing; “but the truth is, Lizzie, it was all so uncertain till this morning that mamma said it would be very unwise to mention it to anybody; so that you were the first recipient of the news, after all.”

“Well, I suppose I must be satisfied with that; and when did you meet him, Amy?”

“Last month, up in London, while I was staying with my Aunt Charlesworth.”

“And is it a settled thing, then?”

“Oh yes! His parents have consented, and are coming to Rockledge on purpose to call on us. And--and--_he_ came down this morning to tell papa; and I believe we are to be married in the spring.”

“So soon?” I ejaculated, thinking how easily some people’s courtships ran.

“Yes,” replied Amy, blushing; “and he is here this evening, you know, with his cousin, who is staying at Rockledge with him. He talked so much about this cousin, but oh! he is not _half_ so nice-looking as himself; and--and--I hope you will like him, Lizzie dear,” kissing me affectionately as she spoke, “for I have told him so much about you.”

“I am sure I shall, Amy,” I replied as I returned her caress; we were on the staircase at the time, descending to the dining-room. “I assure you I am quite impatient to see your hero. By-the-bye, dear, what is his name?”

“Armytage.” And then, seeing my blank look of amazement, she repeated it--“Armytage. Have you never heard the name before? I think it’s such a pretty one. Amy Armytage,” she whispered finally in my ear, as, laughing merrily, she pushed me before her into the dining-room.

It was all done so suddenly that I had no time to think about it, for before the echo of her words had died away, I was in the midst of the family group, being warmly kissed by Mrs. Rodwell, and Mattie, and Nelly, and Lotty, and shaken hands with by the dear, kind old doctor, and his rough school-boys.

“Well, Lizzie dear,” exclaimed my motherly hostess, as she claimed me for a second embrace, “this is quite an unexpected treat, to have you here to-night; I thought we were never going to see you again. But you look pale, my child; I am afraid you are kept too much in the house. Doctor, what have you been about, not to take better care of Lizzie? You should give her a tonic, or speak to Lady Cunningham on the subject.”

But the good old doctor stuck both his fingers into his ears.

“Now, I’m not going to have any talk about pale looks or physic bottles to-night,” he said; “the time for doctoring to-day is over. Miss Lizzie, you just come and sit between Tom and me, and we’ll give you something that will beat all the tonics that were ever invented. Here, Mattie, pass the scones and oatcakes down this way, will you? If you children think you are going to keep all the good things up at your end of the table, you are very much mistaken,” and with no gentle touch my hospitable friend nearly pulled me down into his own lap.

“Now, doctor!” exclaimed Mrs. Rodwell, with an affectation of annoyance, “I will not have you treat my guests in this way. Lizzie has come to see _me_, not _you_, and she sits by no side but mine. Besides, you have not even given me time to introduce the gentlemen to her. Lizzie, my dear, we must all be friends here this evening. Mr. Bruce Armytage, Mr. Frederick Armytage--Miss Lacy. And now, doctor, we’ll go to tea as soon as you please.”

I had known from the moment of my entering the room that there were strangers in it, but I had not dared to glance their way. Amy’s announcement of her lover’s name had come too unexpectedly to permit me to form any fixed idea upon the subject, excepting that it was the same as mine had borne, and yet, when Mrs. Rodwell repeated it with the familiar prefix, strange to say, I seemed to hear it with no second shock, but to have known the bitter truth all along.

Not so, however, Bruce Armytage; for Mrs. Rodwell’s introduction was scarcely concluded before I heard his voice (unforgotten through the lapse of years) exclaim, “Miss Lacy!” in a tone of surprise, which could not but be patent to all.

Cold and pulseless as I had felt before, the mere tones of his voice sent the blood rushing from my heart to my head, till the room and the tea-table and the group of living figures swam before my dazzled eyes. I felt my weakness, but I determined all the more that no one else should guess at it, and mentally stamped upon my heart to make it steady against the moment when its energies should be required.

“You have met Mr. Armytage before, Lizzie?” said Mrs. Rodwell, with a pleasant astonishment.

Then I lifted my eyes and looked at him. Good God! What is the vital force of this feeling, called love, which Thou hast given to us, far oftener to prove a curse than a blessing, that after years of separation, coldness, and neglect, it has the strength to spring up again, warm and passionate as ever, at the sight of a face, the tone of a voice, or the touch of a hand? Has nothing the power to trample life out of it? Will it always revive when we think it most dead, and turn its pale mutilated features up to the glare of day? Shall our mortal dust, even when confined in the mould, stir and groan and vainly strive to make itself heard, as the step of one whom we have loved passes sorrowfully over the fresh grass beneath which we lie?

I lifted up my eyes, and looked upon Bruce Armytage, to be able to say truly if I had met him before. Yes, it was he, but little altered during our five years of separation, excepting that he had passed from a boy to a man. He coloured vividly beneath my steady gaze; for a moment I thought he was about to seize my hand, but my eyes forbade him, and he shrank backward.

“Mr. Armytage and I _have_ met before,” I said, with a marvellous quietness, in answer to Mrs. Rodwell’s previous question--“when I was living in my old home at Fairmead; but that is so many years ago that we are nothing but strangers to each other now.”

At these words any purpose which he might have entertained of claiming me as an old acquaintance evidently died out of Bruce Armytage’s mind; for, retreating a few paces, he bowed coldly to me, and took a seat, where his proper place now was, by Amy’s side.

“Oh, not strangers, my dear--oh no!” exclaimed Mrs. Rodwell, who had taken my answer in its literal sense. “You must all be friends together here, you know, if it is only for Amy’s sake. Mr. Frederick Armytage, will you be so kind as to pass the muffins up this way? Thank you! Now, Lizzie, my dear, you must make a good tea.”

I sat down between my host and hostess, triumphant on the subject of the manner in which I had acquitted myself, and feeling strong enough for any future trial; but before many minutes had elapsed I was overtaken by a sickly and oppressive sensation for which I was quite unable to account. The hot flush which had risen to my face whilst speaking to Bruce Armytage died away, leaving a cold, leaden weight upon my breast instead; my pulses ceased their quick leap and took to trembling; the rich dainties which the doctor and his wife heaped upon my plate nauseated me even to contemplate; and a whirring confusion commenced in my head, which obliged me to rally all my forces before I could answer a simple question. The noise and laughter of the tea-table seemed to increase every minute; and if one might judge from the incessant giggling of Amy, Mattie, Nelly, and Lotty, the two gentlemen at the other end were making themselves very agreeable. I tried to eat; I tried to force the buttered toast and plum cake and rich preserves down my throat, but there was something there which utterly prevented my swallowing them.

“Lizzie, my dear, are you not well?” inquired Mrs. Rodwell, presently. The friendly interrogation saved me. I had just been relapsing into a state of weakness which might have resulted in hysteria: her words recalled me to myself. Should all the table know that I was grieving? Or rather should he--he who had deserted me, and had forsworn himself, who now sat by the side of his newly betrothed--guess that his presence had the slightest power to affect me? Good heavens! where was my pride? where the contempt which I had hoped to have an opportunity of showing for him? I almost sprang from my chair at the thought.

“Not well, dear Mrs. Rodwell!” I exclaimed, speaking as fast and as shrilly as people generally do under the circumstances; “why, what can make you think so? I never felt better in my life. But, really, you do so oppress me with good things that it is quite impossible I can do justice to them all, and talk at the same time. No, doctor, not another piece of cake. I couldn’t, really; thank you all the same. You know there is a limit of all things, though you never seem to think so where I am concerned.”

Whilst my voice thus rang out, harshly and unnaturally, across the table, I felt the dark eyes of Bruce Armytage were regarding me from the other end, and I wished I had the courage to stare him down, but I had not. By-and-by, however, when he was again engaged in conversation, I tried to let my eyes rove in his direction, as though I were an uninterested hearer, but the moment that they reached him, he raised his own as if by intuition, and my lids dropped again. I hated myself for this indecision, though I felt it was but nervousness, and that were we alone together but for five minutes I should have strength of mind to look him in the face, and tell him what I thought of his behaviour. As it was, however, it was a great relief to me when the doctor gave the order to march, and the whole party adjourned to the drawing-room. As soon as we had entered it, Amy left her lover’s side and flew to mine.

“Oh, Lizzie,” she whispered as we sat in a corner together, “do tell me what you think of him! I am dying to hear. Is he not very handsome?”

“Very handsome,” I answered with closed lips.

“Much better looking than his cousin?”

“Yes, certainly; there is no comparison between them,” which was true, inasmuch as Frederick Armytage, with his fair hair and blue eyes, was a washed-out, sickly-looking creature by the side of his dark, stalwart cousin Bruce.

“I knew you would say so, Lizzie; I was sure you would agree with me. But just fancy your having met Bruce before! Where was it, and when? I couldn’t ask you a lot of questions at tea-time, but you made me so curious.”

“Amy,” I said suddenly, for I felt this was a subject on which she must not be inquisitive, “when I knew Mr. Bruce Armytage, I was living at home with my dear father and mother at Fairmead, and you must be aware that an allusion to those days cannot be a pleasant allusion to me. So, please, like a dear girl, don’t ask me any more questions about it, or let me remember that I ever saw your friend before I met him here to-night.”

“I won’t,” said Amy, submissively. “Poor, dear Lizzie!” and she stroked my hand with her soft little palm.

“And do not mention me to him, either. Our acquaintance was but a brief one: he can have no interest left in the matter.”

“Oh, but he has though, Lizzie,” with a shy upward glance. “He was talking about you all tea-time; his cousin and I thought he would never stop. He asked where you were, and what you were doing, and seemed so sorry when I told him of Lady Cunningham, and what a cross old thing she is, and said several times that he could not get over the surprise of having met you here to-night.”

“Indeed! He has a more retentive memory than I have; you can tell him so next time he speaks of me.” I answered so haughtily that little Amy looked timidly up in my face, and I remembered suddenly that I was speaking of her lover. “There is your mamma beckoning to you, Amy; and Mattie and Tom are clearing away the chairs and tables. I suppose they want a dance. Tell them I shall be charmed to play for them;” and then, seeing that Bruce Armytage was crossing the room with a view to seeking Amy, I quickly left my seat, and taking possession of the music-stool, commenced to rattle off a polka. Soon they were all busily engaged in dancing, and the noise occasioned by their feet and voices almost prevented my hearing the conversation which Mrs. Rodwell, who had taken up a station with her knitting close to the piano, addressed to me.

“You were very much surprised to hear our news, Lizzie, I’m sure,” she began, as she bent toward my ear.

“Very much surprised, Mrs. Rodwell--never more so.”

“Ah!” with a sigh, “dear Amy is full young--only eighteen last October, you know, Lizzie; but I think she’ll be happy. I’m sure I trust so. He is a very steady young man, and they are to live in Rockledge, which is a great comfort to me.”

“In Rockledge!” Was I to undergo the pain of continual intercourse with him, or the alternative of quitting my present situation? “Did I hear you rightly, Mrs. Rodwell?”

“Yes, my dear. His papa, who appears to be a very pleasant old gentleman, has decided to set him up in an office here, that Amy may not be separated from her family. So thoughtful of him, Lizzie, is it not?”

“Very!” I remembered the pleasant old gentleman’s conduct on a similar occasion more immediately concerning myself, and could scarcely trust my voice to answer her.

“You have heard that Mr. Armytage is in the law, have you not?” I nodded my head; I had heard it. “A nice profession--so gentlemanly; and he is a fine-looking young man too; don’t you think so? I have heard that some people prefer his cousin’s looks to his; but beauty is such a matter of taste, and Amy is quite satisfied on the subject. You may stop playing now, my dear, for they have all done dancing. Nelly, child, how hot you are! Come away at once from the draught of the door.”

“A waltz, a waltz, Lizzie!” they all shouted as they surrounded the piano.

“Perhaps Miss Lacy is tired,” suggested the deep voice of Bruce Armytage. I had been going to plead for a brief respite, but at that sound the desire for repose fled, and without a look in his direction I returned to the instrument and began to play the dance they had asked for. But I had not been so occupied long before I became aware that some one amongst them continued to hover about the piano, and felt by intuition that it was Bruce Armytage. At that discovery my fingers flew faster and more gaily, and I regarded the notes before me with a fixed smile, whilst, in order to keep up my courage, I kept repeating to myself: “He deserted me: he left me for no fault of mine. My father and mother died, and he never came near me in my sorrow. He is fickle, base, dishonourable--unworthy of regard.” I tried to set the notes of the waltz that I was playing to the words, “Fickle, base, dishonourable!” but they refused to be so matched, and only seemed to repeat instead, “I loved him, I loved him, I loved him!” and then a blurred mist came before my eyes, and I had to play from memory; for Bruce Armytage had taken up his station at the back of the piano and was looking me full in the face.

“It is a long time since we met, Miss Lacy,” he remarked presently, but in so low a voice that had my hearing not been sharpened by anger at his daring to address me, I do not think I should have caught the words.

“Do you think so?” I answered carelessly, for I felt that I must say something.

“How can you ask? Have the last five years passed so pleasantly as to leave no evidence of the flight of time?”

“Considering,” I replied, panting with indignation at what appeared to me such thorough indifference to my feelings, “considering, Mr. Armytage, that during the years you speak of, I have lost both my dear parents, I should think you might have spared me the allusion.”

“Forgive me. I do not mean to wound you. But if the loss of your parents is the only loss you have to regret during those five years, you are happier than some, Miss Lacy. Death is natural, but there are griefs (the loss of love and hope, for instance) almost too unnatural to be borne.”

How dared he, how dared he--he who had treated me in so cruel and unnatural a manner himself, who had but just plighted his faith afresh to my friend--quietly stand there, looking me in the face with his dark, searching eyes, and taunt me with the barrenness of the life which he had made sterile? Much as I had loved him--much as I feared I loved him still--I could have stood up at that moment and denounced him to them all as a traitor and a coward. But I thought of Amy, dear little innocent, confiding Amy, and I was silent.

“_I_ have not lost them,” I answered him, quietly. “Therefore I cannot sympathise with your allusion. The death of my dear parents was more than sufficient trouble for me; all else of solace that this world can give me is mine.”

“Do you mean to tell me--” he commenced quickly.

“I mean to tell nothing,” I replied in the same cold tones. “I am not in the habit of discussing my private affairs with strangers. Had you not better go to Amy? I see that she is sitting out this dance.”

Upon which he gravely inclined his head in acquiescence, and left me to myself.

“Lizzie, Lizzie, how fast you have been playing! We are all out of breath,” exclaimed Mattie, as she and Tom danced up to my side. “Get up, there’s a good girl, and let me take your place; we are going to have a game of ‘Magical Music.’ Tom, will you go out first? That’s right; now, girls, what shall we hide? Oh, papa’s keys; they will do, and then, if he wants them, he will take quite an interest in coming and joining in the game himself.”