Lucile [21]
All his cheek Was disturb'd with the effort it cost him to speak. "It was not my fault. I have heard all," he said. "Now the letters--and farewell, Lucile! When you wed May--" The sentence broke short, like a weapon that snaps When the weight of a man is upon it. "Perhaps," Said Lucile (her sole answer reveal'd in the flush Of quick color which up to her brow seem'd to rush In reply to those few broken words), "this farewell Is our last, Alfred Vargrave, in life. Who can tell? Let us part without bitterness. Here are your letters. Be assured I retain you no more in my fetters!"-- She laughed, as she said this, a little sad laugh, And stretched out her hand with the letters. And half Wroth to feel his wrath rise, and unable to trust His own powers of restraint, in his bosom he thrust The packet she gave, with a short angry sigh, Bow'd his head, and departed without a reply.
XXIII.
And Lucile was alone. And the men of the world Were gone back to the world. And the world's self was furl'd Far away from the heart of the woman. Her hand Droop'd, and from it, unloosed from their frail silken band, Fell those early love-letters, strewn, scatter'd, and shed At her feet--life's lost blossoms! Dejected, her head On her bosom was bow'd. Her gaze vaguely stray'd o'er Those strewn records of passionate moments no more. From each page to her sight leapt some words that belied The composure with which she that day had denied Every claim on her heart to those poor perish'd years. They avenged themselves now, and she burst into tears.
CANTO IV.
I.
LETTER FROM COUSIN JOHN TO COUSIN ALFRED.
"BIGORRE, THURSDAY. "Time up, you rascal! Come back, or be hang'd. Matilda grows peevish. Her mother harangued For a whole hour this morning about you. The deuce! What on earth can I say to you?--nothing's of use. And the blame of the whole of your shocking behavior Falls on ME, sir! Come back,--do you hear?--or I leave your Affairs, and, abjure you forever. Come back To your anxious betroth'd; and perplexed "COUSIN JACK."
II.
Alfred needed, in truth, no entreaties from John To increase his impatience to fly from Luchon. All the place was now fraught with sensations of pain Which, whilst in it, he strove to escape from in vain. A wild instinct warn'd him to fly from a place Where he felt that some fatal event, swift of pace, Was approaching his life. In despite his endeavor To think of Matilda, her image forever Was effaced from his fancy by that of Lucile. From the ground which he stood on he felt himself reel. Scared, alarm'd by those feelings to which, on the day Just before, all his heart had so soon given way, When he caught, with a strange sense of fear, for assistance, And what was, till then, the great fact in existence, 'Twas a phantom he grasp'd.
III.
Having sent for his guide, He order'd his horse, and determin'd to ride Back forthwith to Bigorre. Then, the guide, who well knew Every haunt of those hills, said the wild lake of Oo Lay a league from Luchon; and suggested a track By the lake to Bigorre, which, transversing the back Of the mountain, avoided a circuit between Two long valleys; and thinking, "Perchance change of scene May create change of thought," Alfred Vargrave agreed, Mounted horse, and set forth to Bigorre at full speed.
IV.
His guide rode beside him. The king of the guides! The gallant Bernard! ever boldly he rides, Ever gayly he sings! For to him, from of old, The hills have confided their secrets, and told Where the white partridge lies, and the cock o' the woods; Where the izard flits fine through the cold solitudes; Where the bear lurks perdu; and the lynx on his prey At nightfall descends, when the mountains are gray; Where the sassafras blooms, and the bluebell is born, And the wild rhododendron first reddens at morn; Where
XXIII.
And Lucile was alone. And the men of the world Were gone back to the world. And the world's self was furl'd Far away from the heart of the woman. Her hand Droop'd, and from it, unloosed from their frail silken band, Fell those early love-letters, strewn, scatter'd, and shed At her feet--life's lost blossoms! Dejected, her head On her bosom was bow'd. Her gaze vaguely stray'd o'er Those strewn records of passionate moments no more. From each page to her sight leapt some words that belied The composure with which she that day had denied Every claim on her heart to those poor perish'd years. They avenged themselves now, and she burst into tears.
CANTO IV.
I.
LETTER FROM COUSIN JOHN TO COUSIN ALFRED.
"BIGORRE, THURSDAY. "Time up, you rascal! Come back, or be hang'd. Matilda grows peevish. Her mother harangued For a whole hour this morning about you. The deuce! What on earth can I say to you?--nothing's of use. And the blame of the whole of your shocking behavior Falls on ME, sir! Come back,--do you hear?--or I leave your Affairs, and, abjure you forever. Come back To your anxious betroth'd; and perplexed "COUSIN JACK."
II.
Alfred needed, in truth, no entreaties from John To increase his impatience to fly from Luchon. All the place was now fraught with sensations of pain Which, whilst in it, he strove to escape from in vain. A wild instinct warn'd him to fly from a place Where he felt that some fatal event, swift of pace, Was approaching his life. In despite his endeavor To think of Matilda, her image forever Was effaced from his fancy by that of Lucile. From the ground which he stood on he felt himself reel. Scared, alarm'd by those feelings to which, on the day Just before, all his heart had so soon given way, When he caught, with a strange sense of fear, for assistance, And what was, till then, the great fact in existence, 'Twas a phantom he grasp'd.
III.
Having sent for his guide, He order'd his horse, and determin'd to ride Back forthwith to Bigorre. Then, the guide, who well knew Every haunt of those hills, said the wild lake of Oo Lay a league from Luchon; and suggested a track By the lake to Bigorre, which, transversing the back Of the mountain, avoided a circuit between Two long valleys; and thinking, "Perchance change of scene May create change of thought," Alfred Vargrave agreed, Mounted horse, and set forth to Bigorre at full speed.
IV.
His guide rode beside him. The king of the guides! The gallant Bernard! ever boldly he rides, Ever gayly he sings! For to him, from of old, The hills have confided their secrets, and told Where the white partridge lies, and the cock o' the woods; Where the izard flits fine through the cold solitudes; Where the bear lurks perdu; and the lynx on his prey At nightfall descends, when the mountains are gray; Where the sassafras blooms, and the bluebell is born, And the wild rhododendron first reddens at morn; Where