Читать книгу The Royal Regiment, and Other Novelettes - James Grant - Страница 8

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At the usual hour for an afternoon visit Roland Ruthven, in his blue undress uniform, with the handsome gilt shoulder scales then worn (mufti was forbidden), left his sword in the entrance hall, and was duly ushered into the handsome and spacious drawing-room of the Chateau de St. Eustache, as Mrs., or rather Madame, Darnel's abode was named, for she was a French Canadian, a widow and the heiress of one of those seigneuries which are in so many instances in possession of the families endowed with them by the kings of France.

Over these seigneuries they formerly exercised the rights of haute, moyenne, et basse justice; but these have become obsolete since Wolfe carried the British colours up the heights of Abraham, and they are now reduced to the right of building a mill, at which the vassal must grind his corn at a fixed rate, and a fine if he desires to sell the load which he holds from his overlord.

Much of the reserve and pride of the old noblesse of France still hover about these Canadian seigneurs, and Madame Darnel possessed these characteristics in a very high degree.

Neither she nor Aurelia were in the room, so Roland had a little time to collect his thoughts.

How much had happened—how altered were all his views and hopes of life—since last he had sat on that particular sofa, and beheld the view from these windows!

He had come hither from the barracks on foot, as he had sold off all his horses now, and he thought sadly—could it be otherwise—of the stable court at Ardgowrie, with all its excellent stalls fitted with enamelled mangers and encaustic tiles, and the artistic devices on the iron heel posts, and for holding the pillar reins.

This visit over, he thought he would go moose-hunting with Logan and some others: activity out of doors being the best cure for love according to certain writers. "Men try wine and cards," says Yates, "both of which are instantaneous but fleeting remedies, and leave them in a state of reaction, when they are doubly vulnerable; but shooting or hunting, properly pursued, are thoroughly engrossing while they last, and when they are over necessitate an immediate recourse to slumber from the fatigue which they have induced."

But while making these resolutions Roland, like one in a dream, watched the view from Madame Darnel's windows: Montreal, the largest of the three elevations near the city so named—its base surrounded by country houses, with orchards and gardens, and its summit covered with foliage; the city itself, with its lofty edifices of dark limestone or of painted wood, its churches, monasteries, its glittering spire, its shipping, and the St. Lawrence winding far away in the distance, till he was roused by the rustle of a silk dress, and Aurelia Darnel stood before him, and her hand was in his.

"Miss Darnel!"

"Mr. Ruthven!"

The latter was the less self-possessed of the two.

"I knew, Mr. Ruthven, that you would come to Montreal again," said Aurelia, with one of her brightest smiles.

"Were it but for a moment like this, I should have come," said Roland, under the charm of her presence, forgetting the rôle he intended to adopt; "and your mamma?"

"Is, unfortunately, from home; need I say how sorry we were for the sad occasion which hurried you away."

Roland coloured with pain, vexation, and sorrow; and before him seemed to stand that horrible "last will and testament," which beggared him! Aurelia Darnel, who had occupied his entire thoughts since he left Montreal, was beside him now; but he had only common places, the merest platidudes to offer her. His innate pride, tenacity, and over-sensitiveness, now that he was poor, and she was rich—he little knew how rich—tied up his tongue, and the love, he trembled to avow, remained unspoken.

We have already partially described Aurelia Darnel and the character of her beauty. She was a girl of talent, with many accomplishments. Her French, of course, was perfect, as she inherited it from her mother; she played brilliantly, with a soft yet dashing touch; she could sing little chansons in the most seductive way, and was full of those pretty graces and mannerisms which are peculiar to continental girls; she had, too, a way of looking down, drooping her long dark eyelashes, that was often the cause of more tenderness and admiration in those she meant to dazzle, than when she looked up, or straight forward.

Offers she had had in plenty, and for two seasons she had been the reigning belle of Montreal. By a subtile perception, Roland had been distinctly conscious that she preferred him to any other man of her acquaintance, and that her eye brightened and her smile sweetened at his approach.

He had ever felt a strange joy in her society, and a pride in being seen with her, for is it not something to excite envy and jealousy by being the favoured partner of the acknowledged belle of every ball! In attractiveness her tone and manner were quite different to all that Roland had met before, and yet he had moved in the best society everywhere.

Though but a few months had elapsed since he saw Aurelia last, her figure seemed to have attained more roundness than before, and her soft features a more decided character; most winning and shy was her smile, most graceful her carriage, and sweet was her voice when she welcomed him to Montreal again.

"It is eight whole months since I had the pleasure of seeing you last, Miss Darnel," said he, after a rather awkward pause.

"Eight months—yes, true."

"A gap in life—in my life at least."

"Filled up by sadness?"

"Exceeding sadness, and much mortification," said he.

"I was but a little girl when papa died, yet I can remember what a wrench it was. In losing your father—"

"I lost more than him."

"More!"

She looked up at him inquiringly; could he tell her all he had lost—his heritage—his grand old baronial home, a princely estate—even honour itself, for thus, in his over-sensitiveness, did Roland view the matter of the long-hidden will!

"If matters remain quiet here among the colonists, Miss Darnell, I mean to leave the regiment."

"Leave the Scots Royals—the Royal Regiment!" she exclaimed with surprise; "I thought it was the second home of your family; I have often heard you say so."

"It can no longer be mine."

"Why?"

"For reasons that I cannot tell—even to you."

"Ah, pardon me; but what do you mean to do?"

"Soldier still—of course."