Read Ebook: The Wellfields: A novel. Vol. 1 of 3 by Fothergill Jessie

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Ebook has 804 lines and 44271 words, and 17 pages

'You should learn,' said Sara.

'How fortunate for me that I secured your promise a moment ago,' said Jerome, with imperturbable composure and a slight smile.

Hans's face fell; that of Sara crimsoned as she said:

'I am very sorry, Baron Lemde, but I have promised it to Mr. Wellfield.'

In another moment she was waltzing with Jerome Wellfield, and Junker Hans, after watching them for a few moments, turned aside.

To Sara, the evening passed like a dream. This was the first, the very first and most delicate flavour and aroma of love, which with her could only be deep and earnest, full and profound, as her own nature. She knew that she was beautiful, without having ever thought much about it. She had seen admiration in men's eyes before now; she had heard words of love and beseeching addressed to her once or twice, and all had lightly passed over her spirit, like a breath of air across a fair garden. But Wellfield's eyes, with their eloquent homage, thrilled her; his mere presence aroused in her the feeling, never known before, of delight, mingled with apprehension; she shrank away from trying to guess, even in her own mind, how much his look meant--what the end of this episode would be. She questioned and doubted, for the first time, her own powers of pleasing, because for the first time she was desirous above all things to please. Advanced spirits may condemn such anxiety as servile and degrading. No opinion is offered upon those points, only the certainty expressed that such feelings of 'servility' are very common amongst women, and men too, who are in love. Instead of feeling confidence now, she absolutely trembled lest she should have mistaken the meaning of his glance, and of the few words he had now and then dropped, and which had seemed to her to have a deeper meaning than mere phrases of politeness or of compliment.

Such was her deprecatory and tremblingly uncertain state of mind--hers, who had laughed through life, free from tyrant love or care, undaunted by reverses, and holding her own against difficulties with a steadfastness born of innate, inbred courage of soul. Till now every higher thought and aspiration had been resolutely and singly directed towards her art, and her own advancement in it. Her heart's desire had been faithfully, so far as she could, to act up to Goethe's words, and--

'Im Ganzen, Guten, Wahren Resolut zu leben.'

The defeat had been rapid and complete, and, true to her woman's nature, she rejoiced in it rather than otherwise. At least, this night, in Jerome's presence, and surrounded by the subtle incense of admiration and flattery which he offered her, she rejoiced in it. There were other times, when he was absent, in which the rejoicing was not pure, and the sense of captivity was stronger than the thrill of love.

The evening thus passed on, and every time she met those dark and eloquent eyes she felt, with a throb of the heart, the half-welcome, half-dreaded conviction grow stronger--'This that I see in his eyes is love!'

There ensued a pause in the dancing, organised by Frau von Trockenau, in order to have some music; for she was a woman who utilised all her resources, and never allowed the meanest tool to rust for want of use; and knowing that there were several admirable musicians, vocal and instrumental, in the company, she was firmly resolved that they should display their talents.

A certain young Englishwoman, married to one Count Eugen of Rothenfels, was the first to sing. The fair soprano was filling the room with a flood of melody, when the countess came up to the place where Sara Ford was seated, somewhat apart, with Jerome Wellfield leaning over the back of her chair, his eyes dreamily fixed on the face of the singer.

'Oh, will you?' said Sara, involuntarily. She had heard wonderful rumours of Wellfield's voice, and the wish to hear him was strong.

He bowed towards the countess.

'Another of your English amateurs, Carla? For my part, I don't think much of a talent that is so haughty and reserved as almost to require one to go on one's knees to it.'

'Ah, my dear Helene! I doat upon proud, haughty people, when they are just the reverse to me, which is the case with Mr. Wellfield,' rejoined Frau von Trockenau, not without malice.

'I am glad you are going to sing,' said Sara to Jerome, when they were alone again.

'I am naturally of an obliging disposition, and could not refuse the Frau Gr?fin.'

'She is delighted,' said Sara, with a smile.

'When I have done,' said Wellfield, in a low tone, 'I shall come and ask if you were delighted--may I?'

'May you?' she stammered.

'I mean, will you answer me if I do come?'

'Do you expect me to tell you that I am not delighted?'

'I expect nothing, therefore I am blessed; but I desire very much that you should tell me the truth.'

'I will do so if you wish it.'

'Thank you.... Yes, Frau Gr?fin, I see and I obey,' he added, as the countess was perceived making her way to him.

'What does he sing? English songs--"The Last Rose of Summer"?' asked one young lady, sarcastically.

Sara felt a slight shiver run through her. Why did he choose that one weird song of Heine's, set to Schumann's equally weird music? She had heard it once at a concert, sung in a style which hardly rose above mediocrity, and yet even then it had impressed her; and she had pondered involuntarily over the gruesome, hinted mystery of the last lines. Jerome sang the strange song with a depth and a meaning all his own: her artist-nature thrilled to the strains, which are in very truth a song of death; it was ghostly--it was as if her spirit was enfeebled and chilled, and had to trail its drooping wings through a land full of vague and awful shadows.

'Ich sah die Nacht In deines Herzensraume; Ich sah die Schlang' Die dir am Herzen frisst-- Ich sah, mein' Lieb', Wie sehr du elend bist! Ich grolle nicht.'

There was a pause as he finished this song. Jerome half-rose from the piano, but a voice cried from the window:

Sara saw, even from her place in the background, the expression that flashed into the young man's eyes, and over his face.

Sara sat pale and composed in her place, but feeling as if everyone in the room must see and observe that she was blushing furiously--so burningly hot were her cheeks. Each time that the notes 'Adel?ida' rang out, she felt that she was apostrophised--the company, and the lighted room oppressed her--yet she looked, to one who was observing her from the other side of the room, grave, quiet, almost tired.

When the last notes had died away, Wellfield rose very decidedly, nor could he be prevailed upon to sing another note. The company clustered round him, thanked him, and congratulated him; asked to be introduced to him, and dispersed. Dancing began again, and still Sara sat as if spell-bound, in the place where he had left her.

'I have come to know if you approved?' murmured Jerome's voice beside her.

She looked up, and met his eyes with an expression in them, before which her own in vain tried to remain calm and untroubled.

'If I approved?' she said, indistinctly. 'How can you ask?'

Jerome was leaning against the wall, looking down at her--looking, too, as undisturbed as if he had been asking her whether she would have an ice. In the same manner, with the same tone, so low that none but she could hear it, he added:

'And did you understand?'

'I--I think so,' said Sara, faintly.

'Herr Wellfield, Miss Ford! the cotillon is about to begin. Here is your favour, Mr. Wellfield. Be good enough to let me pin it on, and then go and find your partner.'

It was Fr?ulein von Lehnberg, one of the countess's Berlin cousins, who spoke, with some impatience in her voice; for she had twice addressed Jerome, and he had taken no notice of her. He stepped forward now, and held the basket of ribbons while she pinned on his favour, with an imperturbable severity of gravity which irritated the young lady exceedingly. Then he offered Sara his arm, and they advanced to meet the rest of the company.

In the discussions next day on the subject, it was universally decided that Mr. Wellfield might be a musical, Miss Ford an artistic prodigy; but that in the matter of dancing a cotillon they both displayed to the full that insular stiffness characteristic of their nation. That little Emily Leigh had ten times the spirit of her taller and handsomer country-woman. How gracefully she danced, and contrived to make even that maypole, Hans Lemde, look almost graceful too.

Beloved and candid discussions of the day after! How much does not society and the individual owe to you, in the matter of establishment of the facts, and an exhaustive analysis of the motives actuating the behaviour of those who come before your tribunal! May nothing ever occur to make you less vigorous or less rigorous than you are at this day!

On the following morning, Sara came into the room where Falkenberg was standing alone, waiting for the rest of the company who were going to Lahnburg. In her hand she carried a small canvas.

'Here, Herr Falkenberg, is the sketch you wished to see. I remembered it, and brought it downstairs with me.'

Falkenberg thanked her, took the sketch, and looked at it in silence, until Sara said:

'It is as I expected. You are racking your brains to find out how to say "Atrocious" so that it shall sound like something else.'

'If I had to say "Atrocious," I'm afraid I should say it, much though I might dislike having to do so,' he answered, smiling. 'As it is, I wish to say nothing of the kind.'

'Oh, what a relief!'

'There are the carriages coming round,' he added composedly, 'to take us to the Ems railway station. May I take the sketch to my own room? There is no time to look at it now.'

'Certainly, if you care to do so.'

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