The Witch's Head. H. Rider Haggard
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wonderingly; his manner was decidedly rude.
“I do not think that Mr. Jones is in a good temper,” she said to Ernest, with a smile.
“O, he is a queer fellow; going out always makes him cross,” he answered carelessly.
Then the gathering phalanx of would-be partners marched in and took possession and Ernest had to retire.
The ball was drawing to its close. The dancing-room, notwithstanding its open windows, was intensely hot, and many of the dancers were strolling in the gardens, among them Ernest and Eva. They had just danced their third waltz, in which they had discovered that their steps suited better than ever.
Florence, Dorothy, and her brother were also walking, all three together. It is curious how people in misfortune cling to one another. They walked in silence; they had nothing to say. Presently they caught sight of two tall figures standing by a bush, on which was fixed a dying Chinese lantern. It is sometimes unfortunate to be tall, it betrays one's identity; there was no mistaking the two figures, though it was so dark. Instinctively the three halted. And just then the expiring Chinese lantern did an unkind thing; it caught fire, and threw a lurid light upon a very pretty little scene. Ernest was bending forward towards Eva with all his soul in his expressive eyes, and begging for something. She was blushing sweetly, and looking down at the rose in her bosom; one hand, too, was raised, as though to unfasten it. The light for a moment was so strong that Dorothy afterwards remembered noticing how long Eva's curling black eyelashes looked against her cheek. In another second it had flared out, and the darkness hid the sequel; but it may here be stated that when Eva re-appeared in the ballroom she had lost her rose.
Charming and idyllic as undoubtedly was this tableau très vivant of youth and beauty, obeying the primary laws of nature, and making love in a Garden of Eden illumined with Chinese lanterns, it did not seem to please any of the three spectators.
Jeremy actually forgot the presence of ladies, and went so far as to swear aloud. Nor did they reprove him; probably it gave their feelings some vicarious relief.
“I think we had better be going home; it is late,” said Dorothy, after a pause. “Jeremy, will you go and order the carriage?”
Jeremy went.
Florence said nothing, but she took her fan in both her hands and bent it slowly, so that the ivory sticks snapped one by one with a succession of sharp reports. Then she threw it down, and set her heel upon it, and ground it into the path. There was something inexpressibly cruel about the way in which she crushed the pretty toy. The action seemed to be the appropriate and unconscious outcome of some mental process, and it is an odd proof of the excitement under which they were both labouring, that at the time the gentle-minded Dorothy saw in it nothing strange. At that moment the two girls were nearer each other than they had ever been before, or would ever be again; the common stroke of misfortune for a moment welded their opposite natures into one. At that moment, too, they knew that they both loved the same man; before, they had guessed it, and had not liked each other the better for it, but now that was forgotten.
“I think, Florence,” said Dorothy, with a little tremor in her voice, “that we are 'out of the running,' as Jeremy says. Your sister is too beautiful for any woman to stand against her. He has fallen in love with her.”
“Yes,” said Florence, with a bitter laugh and a flash of her brown eyes; “his highness has thrown a handkerchief to a new favourite, and she has lost no time in picking it up. We always used to call her 'the sultana'”; and she laughed again.
“Perhaps,” suggested Dorothy, “she only means to flirt with him a little; I hoped that Jeremy——”
“Jeremy! what chance has Jeremy against him? Ernest would make more way with a woman in two hours than Jeremy would in two years. We all love to be taken by storm, my dear. Do not deceive yourself. Flirt with him! she will love him wildly in a week. Who could help loving him?” she added, with a thrill of her rich voice.
Dorothy said nothing: she knew that it was true, and they walked a few steps in silence.
“Dorothy, do you know what generally happens to favourites and sultanas?”
“No.”
“They come to a bad end; the other ladies of the harem murder them, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don't be frightened; I don't mean that we should murder my dear sister. What I do mean is, that I think we might manage to depose her. Will you help me if I find a plan?”
Dorothy's better self had had time to assert itself by now; the influence of the blow was over, and their natures were wide apart again.
“No, certainly not,” she answered. “Ernest has a right to choose for himself, and if your sister gets the better of us, it is the fortune of war, that is all—though certainly the fight is not quite fair,” she added, as she thought of Eva's radiant loveliness.
Florence glanced at her contemptuously.
“You have no spirit,” she said.
“What do you mean to do?”
“Mean to do!” she answered, swinging round and facing her; “I mean to have my revenge.”
“O, Florence, it is wicked to talk so! Whom are you going to be revenged on—Ernest? It is not his fault if—if you are fond of him.”
“Yes, it is his fault; but whether it is his fault or not, I suffer. Remember what I say, for it will come true; he shall suffer. Why should I bear it all alone? But he shall not suffer so much as she. I told her that I was fond of him, and she promised to leave him alone—do you hear that?—and yet she is taking him away from me to gratify her vanity—she, who can have anybody she likes.”
“Hush, Florence! Don't give way to your temper so, or you will be overheard. Besides, I daresay that we are making a great deal of nothing; after all, she only gave him a rose.”
“I don't care if we are overheard, and it is nothing. I guessed that it would be so, I knew it would be so, and I know what is coming now. Mark my words, within a month Ernest and my sweet sister will be sitting about on the cliff with their arms around each other's necks. I have only to shut my eyes, and I can see it. O, here is Jeremy! Is the carriage there, Jeremy? That's right. Come on, Dorothy, let us go and say good-night and be off. You will drop me at the cottage, won't you?”
Half an hour later the fly that had brought Miss Ceswick and Eva came round, and with it Ernest's dog-cart. But as Miss Ceswick was rather anxious about the injured wheel, Ernest, as in duty bound, offered to see them safe home, and ordering the cart to follow, got into the fly without waiting for an answer.
Of course Miss Ceswick went to sleep, but it is not probable that either Ernest or Eva followed her example. Perhaps they were too tired to talk; perhaps they were beginning to find out what a delightful companionship is to be found in silence; perhaps his gentle pressure of the little white-gloved hand, that lay unresisting in his own, was more eloquent than any speech.
Don't be shocked, my reader; you or I would have done the same, and thought ourselves very lucky fellows!
At any rate, that drive was over all too soon.
Florence opened the door for them; she had told the servant to go to bed.
When Eva reached the door of her room she turned round to say good-night to her sister; but the latter, instead of contenting herself with a nod, as was her custom, came and kissed her on the face.
“I congratulate you on your dress and on your conquest,” and again she kissed her and was gone.
“It is not like Florence to be so kind,” reflected her younger sister. “I can't remember when she kissed me last.”
Eva did not know that as there are some kisses that declare peace, and set the seal on love, there are others that announce war, and proclaim the hour of vengeance or treachery. Judas kissed his Master when he betrayed Him.