§1 
 m 
 
 
 Mi 
 
 m 
 
 11$ il 
 
 IB 
 
 IH Siflla 
 H
 
 TAT/ON £#. 

 
 
 & 
 
 . x^I/^. I IJ/ SH^ jf * T L/y . > ^» I lAr %^ ^* 11// • 'h^i* 1 L 
 
 dm
 
 The Desire of the Moth
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/desireofmoth01vane
 
 The Desire 
 
 BY 
 
 Of CAPEL VANE. 
 
 The Moth. 
 
 " The desire of the moth for the star, 
 Of the night for the morrow" 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 In Two Volumes. 
 Vol. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY & SOX 
 
 PUBLISHERS in ORDINARY to HER MAJESTY 
 
 jgQ - (All rights reserved. )
 
 0tS 
 
 Vz8ZJL 
 
 
 gcbiratcb 
 
 MY FRIEND 
 
 LETTIE PHILLIMORE, 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE MANY AFTERNOONS 
 
 WE SPENT TOGETHER WITH "LUIGIA" 
 
 AT NANCY S FIRESIDE.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Picture in the Garret ... ... i 
 
 II. Luigia's Father ... ... ... 19 
 
 III. The Dawning of Genius ... ... 30 
 
 IV. Lady Adelaide ... ... k ... 43 
 
 V. The Italian Singing-master ... ... 55 
 
 VI. The Squire of Rodney ... ... 71 
 
 VII. Luigia's Debut ... ... ... 85 
 
 VII I. An Artistic Temperament ... 101 
 
 IX. The Squire's Mania ... ... ... 115 
 
 X. Luigia's Worldly Wisdom ... 127 
 
 XI. Jean Ingram's Warning ... ... 143 
 
 XII. Three Years After ... ... 167 
 
 XIII. The Spirit of the Woods ... ... 183 
 
 XIV. Ingram's Impressions ... ... 214 
 
 XV. Trespassing ... ... ... ••• 246 
 
 XVI. Mrs. Harburton's Dance ... 264 
 
 XVII. Afternoon Calls ... ... ••• 290
 
 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE PICTURE IN THE GARRET. 
 
 HE wind was roaring in the chimneys 
 and the leafless branches of the trees 
 were rattling against the walls of the house 
 with a wild rush as the gusts swept by. 
 
 Luigia, at the nursery window, had looked 
 out into the dreary solitude of the park, and 
 watched the dead leaves whirling on the lawn 
 so long, that something of the melancholy of 
 that wet, tempestuous, winter's day had entered 
 into her heart, and she felt vaguely unhappy. 
 She turned and looked around her. Her 
 nurse, Fanny, had gone into the inner room 
 to chat with Mrs. Dawes, the old woman who 
 sometimes came up from the village to make 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 2 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Luigia's frocks. She was alone, and there 
 was nothing particular to do. In a moment 
 she had taken her resolution and run away — 
 up to that mysterious region of garrets at the 
 top of the house, where all was dust and cob- 
 webs, and solitude, and dim light. 
 
 That dozen or so of garrets were a never- 
 failing source of interest and delight to Luigia. 
 The miscellaneous lumber that had collected 
 there during years was a mine of untold 
 wealth to the solitary child. It was charming 
 to lift the lid of some box and grope among 
 its contents, bringing to light many a for- 
 gotten remnant of brocade and quaintly cut 
 garment ; a broken, old-fashioned toy that 
 had belonged to some child years ago ; a 
 mildewed photograph album full of faded, 
 dead faces of people who had once perhaps 
 lived in that very house, trodden those very 
 rooms. 
 
 Then the books — how many there were 
 of them ! — books of every sort and description, 
 both old and new, both English and foreign. 
 But the pictures were open stories to all 
 beholding eyes, and over these she would pore 
 in the dusky light, weaving tales around them 
 of happy people and sunny gardens such as 
 she loved. And she thought about them again
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 3 
 
 when she went to bed at night, peopling the 
 solitary house with creatures of her imagination, 
 and living a second inner life that was both 
 richer and fuller than the realities of her 
 existence. Truly Luigia in her loneliness was 
 better off for companionship than many a less 
 imaginative child who belongs to a large family 
 of brothers and sisters. 
 
 It was very cold in the garrets, but there 
 was an old tablecloth that did duty as a shawl, 
 and wrapped in this, with her feet tucked 
 under her frock to keep them warm, she could 
 spend many an hour by herself in a mood of 
 mysterious happiness. The tablecloth was 
 now dusty and tattered, but it had once been 
 gorgeous, and Luigia liked it because it was 
 scarlet and had a gold thread running through 
 it. It had come from some foreign land 
 originally, and years ago she remembered it 
 on a table in the drawing-room, where as a 
 child she had sat on the floor beside it and 
 regarded its golden birds of Paradise with 
 respectful awe. Now it was banished to the 
 garret, and she no longer worshipped it at a 
 distance, but wrapped it round her and made 
 it serve her as a familiar friend. The beautiful 
 gleaming thing was but a rag, the birds of 
 Paradise were tarnished, the wonder of it
 
 4 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 was gone, and she used it or threw it aside 
 without respect. 
 
 Wrapped in this gorgeous Eastern rag, she 
 defied the cold, and enjoyed herself thoroughly 
 after a strange, solitary fashion of her own. 
 After gazing at a picture in a lengthy and 
 absolute abstraction she would toss back her 
 hair as though seeking freedom from restraint, 
 and, looking up into the wintry sky, give free 
 vent to her imagination. Every shade of 
 feeling through which she passed was ex- 
 pressed in those great, dark, un-English eyes 
 of hers, and perhaps also in the mouth, which 
 was large too. But there was no one to see 
 or even to guess at the hopes and longings 
 that filled her heart, and she was never either 
 disturbed or interfered with when up there. 
 
 If all other sources of interest failed her 
 there were still the fairies to watch for. How 
 many hours had she not spent in crouching 
 behind some box or peeping through a half- 
 open door in the hope of catching a fairy at its 
 gambols ! What old, fantastic creatures might 
 not come skipping out of the dim corners 
 into the half light in the centre of the room ! 
 What frolics might they not have chasing 
 one another round and about the old furniture ! 
 But in all the ten years of her life there was
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 5 
 
 only one solitary instance of good luck with 
 regard to fairies, and that was one day when 
 on entering a room suddenly a little creature 
 sprang down from the top of a chest and 
 disappeared behind a screen. She had told 
 Fanny, her nurse, about it, and Fanny had 
 said it was a mouse, but of course Luigia 
 did not choose to believe this, and many a 
 day after that she had waited, cramped and 
 motionless, in some dark corner for a glimpse 
 of the fairy creature that never came again. 
 
 To-day, however, it was to what she called 
 the " Book Room " that she went. It was 
 dark and gloomy, for ivy straggled over its 
 window-panes, and dust lay thickly on the 
 floor and on everything she touched. In one 
 corner a number of books were lying in a 
 neglected heap, and it was here that she sat 
 herself to poke, and push, and gaze, and dream 
 — dream over the glimpses of far-away worlds 
 that came to her from their pages. 
 
 They had evidently been flung there by a 
 careless and irreverent hand, and had lain in 
 neglect for years. The covers were bent, the 
 pages loosened, dog's-eared, torn. And yet 
 many of them were of handsome binding, with 
 gilt-edeed leaves. She had seen books far less 
 new and pretty in her fathers library, and she
 
 6 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 wondered why these were abandoned to neglect. 
 They were mostly written in a language she 
 did not understand, but they all bore the 
 same name in the fly-leaf, " Francesco, Litigia 
 Daubigny" Luigia speculated over this name. 
 Her own was Luigia Daubigny, but she had 
 never heard of any one called Francesca before. 
 She turned over the pages curiously. In one 
 there was a dead rose staining the page with 
 a yellow mark, and where it lay there was a 
 sentence underlined in pencil. In another there 
 was a harebell and a poor crushed gnat — a 
 voiceless testimony to some summer-day's 
 reading in the far-away past when the book 
 had been hastily closed — why ? Luigia won- 
 dered about it, who had been reading at that 
 page, who had picked the harebell, and what 
 the story was about ? But there was no answer 
 to these questions, and she laid it aside for 
 something that could tell her more. 
 
 What was this, shining among the books 
 deep down ? Something bright and glittering, 
 something she had never noticed before. She 
 dug for the treasure, and brought it to light. 
 It proved to be a picture, an oil painting in 
 a gilt frame. She dragged it to the window, 
 and knelt down before it. It was dim and 
 dusty, and she wiped it with her frock ; the
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 7 
 
 frame was tarnished and broken in places, as 
 though it had been roughly knocked about. 
 But the face that smiled out at her from the 
 canvas — was it not beautiful ? 
 
 It was the portrait of a lady in a pale satin 
 £Own, with blood-red roses at her breast and 
 in her hair. There was a guitar in her hands, 
 and her lips were just parting with song. Her 
 eyes were uplifted — soft, beautiful, melancholy. 
 Her hair was black and her face pale, but her 
 lips were red — red as the roses she wore at 
 her breast. Luigia was fascinated, and almost 
 held her breath as she looked at it. Where 
 had she seen a lovely face like that ? Long- 
 ago when she was quite a baby, perhaps, or 
 perhaps only in. dreams. Yes, it must have 
 been in dreams, for she had never had a 
 mother, and no lady visitor at her father's 
 house was ever half so beautiful. She fell into 
 a reverie, wrapping the shawl more closely 
 round her, and leaning back against the wall 
 with her wild black hair tossed in confusion 
 around her. 
 
 As four o'clock clanged from the stable 
 clock, she remembered the nursery tea in wait- 
 ing for her, and, scrambling to her feet, she 
 lugged the picture into some safe hiding-place 
 for the night. In doing this something scrawled
 
 8 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 in red paint on its canvas back caught her eye. 
 She stooped, and, with her little dusky fore- 
 finger pointing to each letter in turn, spelt out 
 the name — " Francesca Luigia DaubignyT 
 
 Then it was this beautiful lady to whom ail 
 those books had belonged ! it was she who had 
 picked the harebell and pressed the rose ! Who 
 was she ? — with the name that was partly her 
 own. Could it — could it be her dead mother, 
 whom no one ever mentioned ? Luigia went 
 down to tea full of excited hopes and doubts. 
 
 Tea was in full swing when she entered the 
 nursery, and Fanny and old Mrs. Dawes, with 
 their toes on the fender, were gossiping to- 
 gether over their hot buttered toast. They 
 both turned their heads as she entered. 
 
 " So there you are at last, Miss Luigia ! " 
 cried Fanny. " Come and sit down at once 
 and have your tea. We've pretty nigh done 
 ours. Whatever have you been about ? " 
 
 Luigia did not choose to say. She closed 
 her lips with a determined air, and sat herself 
 down on the stool that was placed for her. A 
 slice of bread and butter was given her, while 
 her companions went on with their hot buttered 
 toast, and conversed without further noticing 
 her. 
 
 Mrs. Dawes was a hook-nosed old lady with
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 9 
 
 horn-rimmed spectacles, and a pair of noiseless 
 list slippers, in which she had a habit of coming 
 upon one unawares. Luigia did not like her ; 
 partly perhaps because she was chiefly con- 
 nected in her mind with " trying on " stiff new 
 garments bristling with pins exactly at the 
 moment when she longed to be doing some- 
 thing else. But she was not averse to gossip, 
 and enjoyed listening to tales of any sort — 
 even when they were about the model children 
 Mrs. Dawes had known when she was young. 
 But, if the truth were told, she preferred a tale 
 of a more tragic cast, and was never tired of 
 hearing Mrs. Parsons, the housekeeper, dis- 
 course about the young man who drowned 
 himself in the eel-pond for her sake, and of 
 how Fanny's baker threw up the bakery and 
 took to housebreaking when she refused him, 
 going headlong to the gallows in a false beard 
 and wax nose. Many were the bits of foolish 
 gossip and vulgar scandal that had been dis- 
 cussed over Luigia's unregarded head, and 
 long before she was ten years old she was 
 deep in servants' lore, and viewed the ways of 
 the world through their eyes. No one put a 
 stop to this state of things, for the master of 
 the house was often absent, and, even when 
 living at home, seemed scarcely aware of the
 
 io The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 existence of his neglected child. There was 
 no mistress at the Hall, and under Mr. 
 Daubigny's rule, which was a very lax one, 
 every kind of extravagance had become habitual, 
 and bad ways were continued without inter- 
 ference from any one. 
 
 The nurse and the old workwoman were 
 revelling in strong tea and details of the 
 death-bed agonies of all their friends and 
 relations, when at the first pause in the con- 
 versation Luigia interrupted with an abrupt 
 question. 
 
 " Who was Francesca Luigia Daubigny ? " 
 she inquired, looking earnestly from one face 
 to the other. 
 
 Mrs. Dawes stared at her with a blaze of 
 amazement in her spectacles ; Fanny set down 
 her cup with a jerk. They exchanged sig- 
 nificant glances and an ominous silence ensued. 
 
 " Who was she ? " persisted Luigia. 
 
 "Who was she?" repeated Fanny; "why, 
 isn't that your own name ? You never heard 
 of nobody else called that, did you ? " 
 
 " I don't mean me," returned Luigia, shaking 
 her head ; " I mean somebody quite grown up 
 — a lady, a beautiful lady, with roses and red 
 lips, smiling." 
 
 " Somebody's been a-talking to the child in
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 1 1 
 
 a way they oughtn't," said Mrs. Dawes, " that's 
 evident." 
 
 "Well, anyways it isn't me," cried Fanny. 
 " I haven't breathed a word, I declare ! " 
 
 " Who was she ?" Luigia broke in again. 
 
 " Little gells shouldn't ask questions," said 
 Mrs. Dawes, severely. " Master Frankie and 
 Miss Carry never asked no questions — 
 never ! " 
 
 " What's put it into the child's head ? " ex- 
 claimed Fanny aside, but in a tone distinctly 
 audible to Luigia's ears. " It isn't likely as 
 any one would go and tell her about her 
 mamma." 
 
 "Was she my mamma?" demanded Luigia. 
 
 Mrs. Dawes' spectacles blazed afresh at this 
 audacious questioning ; Fanny turned upon 
 her with a sudden solemnity. 
 
 " Don't you never speak about your mamma," 
 she said. " She's not to be spoke about — least- 
 ways by little gells. " 4 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Don't you ask me no more questions. If 
 you do, the Black Man will come down the 
 chimbley and carry you off and keep you in a 
 cage till you're fit to eat." 
 
 This threat was pronounced in a suitable 
 manner by sinking the voice to an awful
 
 12 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 whisper, but Luigia felt no thrill of horror. 
 She had heard it many a time before, and 
 defied it, and no Black Man had ever come 
 to seize her. But she asked no more questions 
 concerning the beautiful lady ; she was too 
 proud to do that, and she finished her tea in 
 silence. But she knew well enough by the 
 ominous signs and whispers that had passed 
 between the two that there was some mystery 
 in connection with the mother whom no one 
 ever mentioned to her. 
 
 That ni^ht after she had eone to bed she 
 lay awake watching the firelight flickering 
 through the open door from the room beyond. 
 Over that fire Fanny and Mrs. Dawes were 
 sitting gossiping as they had gossiped more 
 or less all day. Fragments of the conversation 
 came to her ears at intervals, but at others 
 their voices sank into whispers or were 
 drowned by the roaring of the wind in the 
 chimney tops. 
 
 It was a wild night. The window was 
 closely shuttered and the room was warm and 
 cosy, but she could hear the storm raging 
 outside. The wind as it came moaning 
 through the trees and crept round the house 
 seemed to her like the sobbing of some lost 
 child, and once or twice she started up in
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 13 
 
 bed and listened with dilated eyes to these 
 cries of desolation. But it died away again, 
 and she lay down once more, comforted by 
 the silence that followed. Then came the 
 whispering voices from the other room, rising 
 and falling as the flickering firelight rose and 
 fell on the wall at her bedside. What was that 
 they were saying ? Was it not her own name ? 
 She lay motionless and listened. 
 
 "Strange as Miss Luigia should ask them 
 questions about her mamma ! " Fanny's voice 
 was saying. " I wonder who's been a-talking 
 to her." 
 
 "She don't remember her, I suppose?" 
 came in Mrs. Dawes' voice. 
 
 " Not she. Why, she weren't three year 
 old when it happened." 
 
 " Ah, that was before ever I came to the 
 place. I never saw Mrs. Daubigny. Was she 
 as handsome as they make out ? " 
 
 " My word ! wasn't she, though ! And yet 
 it wasn't only her looks, but a way with her 
 as sent people silly — leastways gentlemen. 
 The master he just worshipped the ground 
 she stepped on, and it fairly broke his heart, 
 it did." 
 
 " And him — the other one ? What was he 
 like?"
 
 14 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 11 Oh, he was a thin dark gentleman, with 
 great black eyes as seemed to draw the soul 
 out of your body like. He was Italian, too, 
 like the mistress, and he made love to her 
 before ever she was married. It was pretty 
 clear how things was going long before the 
 master seemed to see anythink, but of course 
 no one didn't like to warn him." 
 
 " Was there much carryings on, then ? " 
 " I should just think there was — though they 
 was pretty careful considering. But I've seen 
 her turn back on the staircase and give him 
 such a look — as he was a-waiting in the hall 
 below and the master not two paces off in 
 the smoking-room — a look as made him go 
 up after her with some pretence, and then 
 there was more carryings on, on the landing. 
 And another time when I was out in the 
 shrubbery I saw them leaning together in the 
 drawing-room window, and she'd got a rose 
 in her hand, and he was asking her for it, as 
 I could make out by the way they was talking, 
 and at last she gave it to him, and he went mad 
 with kissing it, and in the very middle she 
 turns round with a smile as cool as you please 
 to the master, who was coming through the 
 room behind them. Oh, she knew how to 
 hoodwink him, she did ! "
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 15 
 
 " How did he take it when she went off ? " 
 " My word ! that was a night ! We was 
 all distracted ; but the master, he seemed to 
 know without being told somehow. When 
 he came home — for he'd been away two days 
 — we was all in a state of mind, not knowing 
 what to do. We didn't speak, and he went 
 into the dining-room, where dinner was laid, 
 and then he went upstairs to her room. It 
 was empty, but her things was all lying about 
 as she'd left them in her hurry. In ten 
 minutes or so down he came again and went 
 in to dinner, and the men said as he went 
 through all the courses and drank his wine 
 as usual. He seemed so calm and unconcerned 
 like, that we all thought as he couldn't possibly 
 know what had really happened, so after dinner 
 Mrs. Parsons took Miss Luigia by the hand, 
 dressed in her best frock, and went into the 
 dining-room. There he was a-sitting over the 
 fire, with his head buried in his hands ; but 
 directly he heard her he got up and stood 
 with his back to the fire, and held up his head 
 as proud as ever and asked her what she 
 wanted. Mrs. Parsons told him as she'd got 
 bad news for him, but before she could get 
 out the words, ' I know it,' says he, very 
 haughty-like ; 'you can save yourself the trouble.'
 
 1 6 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Then Mrs. Parsons began to say somethink 
 else, but he stopped her. 'You can go,' says 
 he, 'and take the child with you. Let me 
 never see her again ; ' and he strode over to 
 the door and opened it for her, and afterwards 
 shut it and locked it, and sat there alone all 
 the rest of the evening, with the desert and 
 nothink cleared away." 
 
 Luigia listened intently. She did not grasp 
 the full significance of the story, but she under- 
 stood enough. It was her mother they were 
 talking about — that unknown mother whom 
 she had always believed dead — and she had 
 run away in the night with a man, whose big 
 black eyes drew the souls out of people's 
 bodies against their will. Her mother had 
 done a wicked, cruel thing, and broken her 
 father's heart. So much she understood. But 
 hush ! the voices are whispering together 
 again. 
 
 " It's not likely as Miss Luigia will turn 
 out well, considering what her mother was," 
 Fanny was saying, with an inflection of dark 
 prophecy in her tones. 
 
 "No, to be sure!" sighed Mrs. Dawes; 
 and Luigia saw the shadow of her on the 
 wall shake its head ominously. "That's true 
 enough ! "
 
 The Picture in the Garret. 17 
 
 " She's got the same way with her some- 
 times — as I could fancy it was the mistress 
 over again. And her eyes ! they're as like as 
 like can be — swimming in tears one minute, 
 and that mischievous the next, you feel you can 
 scarce keep your hands off boxing her ears." 
 
 " She's not what you'd call a pretty child — 
 not like Miss Mabel at the Vicarage, all a 
 mask o' golden curls. " 
 
 "That's true. She's too dark and furrin- 
 looking to be a pretty child. She's not to my 
 taste, either. And as for furriners — there's no 
 trusting them ; they're always up to somethink 
 as you don't suspeck. It wouldn't surprise me 
 — not one bit, if she goes the way her mother 
 did. She's got it in her blood, and it'll come 
 out in the bone, you mark my words and see if 
 it don't!" 
 
 " I shouldn't wonder — I shouldn't wonder ! " 
 muttered Mrs. Dawes, and the shadow on the 
 wall wagged its head more ominously than ever. 
 
 Luigia listened and wondered. What was 
 this wicked thing she was going to do when 
 she grew up ? What did the dark prophecy 
 mean ? She did not know, but her little heart 
 beat fast with a vague fear. 
 
 The firelight rose and fell, and the whisper- 
 ings and the mutterings went on, and the 
 
 vol 1, 2
 
 1 8 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 shadow heads on the wall nodded darkly, warn- 
 ingly, prophetically as Luigia watched them 
 with dilated, frightened eyes. 
 
 And the wind went sobbing round the house, 
 sobbing and wailing with anguish ; and louder 
 and louder it rose, till suddenly, wildly, with a 
 shriek like the cry of a lost soul, it rushed 
 through the barren trees and away into outer 
 darkness, where it sank with a piteous moan 
 into silence. 
 
 Luigia lay shuddering and stopping her ears. 
 
 cS5
 
 CHAPTER II 
 luigia's father. 
 
 JIG I A regarded her father with a childish 
 sort of hero-worship, though she never 
 
 remembered to have had a kind word from 
 him. On the occasions when they met by 
 accident in the grounds or on the stairs, he 
 often passed her as though he had not seen 
 her, but for all that her interest in him grew 
 and strengthened day by day. Neglected 
 weeds often flourish more luxuriantly than 
 the carefully tended hothouse flowers, and so 
 it was with her love for her father. He had 
 always been an object of deep interest to her, 
 partly because he belonged so closely to her, 
 and yet seemed scarcely to own her, and partly 
 because he was in himself the kind of man 
 who would naturally attract a child's admiration. 
 He was handsome and generous and carelessly 
 good-natured — to all but Luigia. She had
 
 2o The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 seen him lift the little girl at the lodge into 
 the saddle before him, and laugh when she 
 screamed with delight. She had seen him pat 
 the head of the boy who held his horse, and give 
 him half a crown for his trifling- service. She 
 had seen his dog receive the caresses that were 
 denied to her, who had far more right to them. 
 She had always, as long as she could remember, 
 watched and admired him in secret, but now 
 that she had been told the story of her mother's 
 desertion, she dedicated herself to him with an 
 even more absolute devotion. The picture in 
 the lumber-room was kept with its face to the 
 wall in disgrace, and she denied herself the 
 pleasure of looking at it again. 
 
 " I hate you ! " she cried, standing in the 
 middle of the room and addressing the picture 
 with a scowl of disapproval. " I hate you for 
 leaving papa. I shall not turn you round. I 
 shall not look at you. I shall not call you pretty 
 any more." 
 
 A new hope and a new project entered into 
 her mind — she was bent upon making her 
 father care for her. She did not know how 
 she was to do it, but it had to be done some- 
 how. She watched him more closely than ever, 
 and waited her opportunity. 
 
 On the great staircase there were niches at
 
 Luigia's Father. 2 1 
 
 intervals in the wall, in which marble statues 
 were placed on pedestals. Around the base of 
 these pedestals ferns and flowering shrubs were 
 arranged in luxuriant profusion. It was behind 
 one of these figures, the figure of Psyche, that 
 Luigia generally hid herself when watching for 
 her father to go down to dinner. She could 
 see him come along the gallery above, watch 
 him down the whole sweep of stairs, and across 
 the hall, till he disappeared through the dining- 
 room door. This was a treat, the extent of 
 which can hardly be realized. It delighted her 
 to see how proudly he walked, and how hand- 
 some he looked, and to know that he was her 
 own father and belonged to her more than to 
 any one else in the world. She would peep 
 round the pedestal, and through the delicate 
 leaves of the ferns with a breathless awe and 
 delight, that it is certain very few children feel 
 even for the father who spends himself in their 
 service, and from whom they are sure of having 
 love and caresses. 
 
 One evening Luigia noticed that her father 
 wore a white camelia in his coat, and this fact 
 suggested an idea to her. She would present 
 him with a flower every day as he passed down 
 to dinner, so that he should not have the trouble 
 of picking one for himself.
 
 22 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 The next morning she slipped into the con- 
 servatories, and hovered among the flowers, 
 anxious and undecided as to which to choose. 
 Perhaps he did not like geraniums and roses 
 and lilies, and no doubt he was tired of 
 camelias. It was a difficult matter to decide. 
 
 While peering about on tip-toe, and gently 
 bendinof down first one blossom and then 
 another, she saw a gardener enter with a 
 watering-can. She went up to him. 
 
 " Which is my father's favourite flower ? " 
 she demanded. 
 
 " Don't know," replied the man. " I 'specks 
 they're all alike to him ; he doesn't come nigh 
 'em once in a month. If I let half on 'em die 
 he wouldn't be any the wiser." 
 
 " Oh, but he does like flowers. He wore one 
 in his button-hole last ni^ht at dinner. I want 
 to give him one to-night — one that smells nice." 
 
 " You can't pick any o' these," said the man, 
 gruffly, showing little respect for his master's 
 neglected child. " You be off, and let the 
 things alone. I can't have 'em interfered 
 with." 
 
 " They are father's flowers, not yours," said 
 little Miss Daubigny, very proudly. 
 
 " I know that, and that's why I won't have 
 'em picked. You be off afore you're caught,
 
 Luigia's Father. 23 
 
 Miss Luigia, or you'll get a fine scolding. The 
 nursery's the place for you." 
 
 She walked away with an air of offended 
 dignity, without vouchsafing a reply. If Robert 
 was so disagreeable, she must find a flower for 
 herself in the garden. Accordingly she spent 
 the morning in the Beech Wood, where she 
 managed to gather a handful of early violets 
 after prolonged search. Unfortunately they 
 were dog-violets, and had no scent. This was 
 a drawback, but they were the best to be had, 
 and with them she was obliged to be content. 
 On coming home she put them in water in a 
 white-and-gold mug the cook had once given 
 her, and awaited the evening with impatience. 
 
 It came at last. Seven o'clock struck, the 
 gong sounded, and Luigia, in her concealment 
 behind the statue, felt her heart beat loud and 
 fast. She craned her neck over the top of a 
 tall fern, and peeped through the thick blossoms 
 of a white azalea. She heard steps and voices 
 approaching, and on the gallery above appeared 
 her father and another gentleman in conversa- 
 tion together. 
 
 Here was a dilemma ! She had not expected 
 any witness to her interview. Her resolution 
 was put to flight ; her heart beat faster than 
 ever, and she drew still further back into the
 
 24 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 shadow of the statue. Should she not let him 
 pass without giving him the flowers ? Would 
 it not be better than risking his anger in the 
 presence of a stranger ? She hesitated, and 
 again peeped through the azalea leaves. He 
 was coming down the stairs ; there was a smile 
 on his lips, and no flower in his button-hole. 
 The gentleman at his side did not look par- 
 ticularly alarming ; in fact, quite the reverse. 
 In a moment she had taken her resolution, 
 and, as the two gentlemen passed the place 
 of her concealment, she came forth and stood 
 mutely before them, holding out the bunch of 
 violets with a trembling hand and downcast 
 eyes. 
 
 They stopped, and the stranger, who was 
 elderly, catching the other by the arm, ex- 
 claimed — 
 
 " What's this apparition, Daubigny ? Who 
 is this little creature, this sprite of the woods, 
 with her black elf locks and wild flowers ? " 
 
 " What do you want ? " said Daubigny to 
 Luigia, without replying to his friend's re- 
 mark. 
 
 " I got these for you," she said shyly, holding 
 out the flowers. ''They don't smell, but camelias 
 don't smell either." 
 
 A dark flush had swept into Daubigny's
 
 Luigia's Father. 25 
 
 proud face at first sight of the child, and he 
 now appeared both confused and undecided 
 what to do. He, who was celebrated for his 
 ease of manner and courtly grace, and who had 
 many a time received elegant tokens of favour 
 from high-born and beautiful women, now ac- 
 cepted, with evident embarrassment, a bunch 
 of wild violets from the hand of his little 
 daughter. He took them awkwardly, dropping 
 some upon the stairs as he did so, and passed 
 on without a word. She never knew whether 
 he put them into his coat or not, for she was 
 in bed long before he left the dining-room, 
 and on questioning the servants next day 
 could gather no satisfactory information. 
 
 However, she did not consider the attempt 
 had been altogether a failure, and determined 
 to proceed with her plot. This time she 
 promised herself the flower should be really 
 worth accepting, and accordingly summoned 
 up all her wiles wherewith to storm the hard 
 heart of Robert, the gardener. 
 
 He was at his usual morning's work in the 
 conservatories when she went to look for him. 
 She went straight up to him, and slipped her 
 hand into his. 
 
 " Robert," she said, laying her cheek against 
 the hard, horny hand caressingly, " I want
 
 26 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 you to pick me that rose — that yellow one 
 hanging down." 
 
 " Hey !" said the gardener, with a reluctant 
 smile stealing over his face, " you're a-trying 
 to coax me over. / know your artful ways." 
 But he did not shake her off. 
 
 " If you do," said Luigia, still caressing his 
 hand softly, " I will fill your watercans and 
 carry your basket all the morning." 
 
 " And a fine state o' muck you'd be in at 
 the end o' it ! There ! there ! let go my hand, 
 Miss Luigia. Which one was it as you said 
 you wanted ? " 
 
 She led him to a rose tree which clambered 
 up the wall of the conservatory, and pointed 
 to a beautiful, half-open, yellow bud. He broke 
 it off and gave it to her. 
 
 She put up her arms suddenly as he bent 
 down, held him by the neck, and gave him a 
 fluttering, butterfly kiss ; then she danced away, 
 and he stooped again over his work. 
 
 " Just like her mother over again ! " he 
 muttered to himself — " the same way o' getting 
 round you in spite of yourself. Ah, what a 
 pretty creature she was, to be sure ! and 
 so fond o' flowers ! It was worth lookin' 
 after the conservatories in her day, while the 
 master never comes nigh 'em except to smoke.
 
 Luigia's Father. 27 
 
 What a pretty creature she was, poor thing ! 
 I'll never believe as she was to blame. It was 
 all along o' that rascally furriner with his big 
 moustaches." 
 
 That evening Luima again concealed herself 
 behind the statue of Psyche, and awaited the 
 sounding of the gong. She was not so timid 
 on this occasion, having suffered no repulse 
 the day before. It gave her pleasure to think 
 he had even carried t her flowers into dinner 
 with him. 
 
 Soon after the ringing of the gong, Daubigny 
 and the gentleman she had seen with him 
 before began to descend the stairs. She came 
 out of her hiding-place and held up her offering. 
 
 11 Here is a rose," she said. 
 
 Her father was about to pass her without 
 noticing her, but his companion seized her by 
 the wrist and held her tightly, looking down on 
 her with a smile of amusement. 
 
 " Why, here's the same little flower-maiden, 
 I declare! What a lucky fellow you are, 
 Daubigny, to be waylaid in this manner ! I 
 vow I should be vastly flattered ! " 
 
 Her father had passed them by a step or two, 
 and was waiting with a frown of impatience. 
 
 "Come," he said coldly, "we have no time 
 to lose if we mean to keep our appointment."
 
 28 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Let her come in to dinner with us," said 
 the other gentleman — "as a favour to me. 
 I've quite fallen in love with her eyes." 
 
 " Do not ask me," said Daubigny, in a low 
 voice, turning away with sudden agitation ; "it 
 would be excessively painful to me. I — I 
 cannot explain " 
 
 He moved on as he spoke, and reached the 
 bottom of the stairs without looking back. 
 His friend hurried after him, and linked his 
 arm in his. She heard him saying, " I beg 
 
 your pardon — I had no idea " and she 
 
 saw her father waive aside the subject with a 
 movement of his hand. Then they both dis- 
 appeared, and the dining-room door was shut 
 behind them. 
 
 She was left with the rose dan^line in her 
 hand by its thorny stem. She gazed at the 
 closed door as though she could scarcely realize 
 what had befallen her, but the next instant she 
 had torn the petals from the rose and flung 
 them from her with passionate violence, stamp- 
 ing on their soft, scented leaves as though they 
 were living- things that had done her some 
 mortal injury. Leaving them scattered and 
 crushed on the staircase, she rushed off to 
 her own room, where it was dark, and threw 
 herself down on the floor in an agony of tears.
 
 Luigia's Father. 29 
 
 "He hates me! he hates me!" she moaned 
 again and again. " What shall I do ? oh, what- 
 ever shall I do ?" 
 
 Benumbed, shivering, and worn out with 
 excitement, she was found there an hour later 
 by Fanny, the nurse. She refused to give the 
 slightest reason for her unhappiness, and re- 
 pressed her sobs with an effort as long as the 
 girl was in the room. But, after she had left 
 her for the night, she lay quiet and still in the 
 dark room, hugging her rag doll closely to her 
 and gazing up at the moon in the cold, night 
 sky. There were no more sobs, no more 
 passionate exclamations, but every now and 
 then a large tear welled up from the bottom of 
 her heart, so it seemed, and ran down on to 
 the ugly face of the rag doll. 
 
 The wound had gone very deep, and she was 
 beyond all power of consolation. No more 
 flowers were offered to Daubigny on his way 
 down to dinner after that cruel rejection, and 
 he sat at the head of his table, cold and proud, 
 with no decoration in his button-hole and no 
 little daughter at his side.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE DAWNING OF GENIUS. 
 
 L 
 
 §'g|||UIGIA worshipped her father as a hero, 
 and surrounded him with an atmosphere 
 
 of romance, but there was yet another passion 
 that held almost as strone a hold over her. 
 This was music. She inherited her love of it 
 from her mother, who had been the daughter 
 of a famous opera-singer in Italy, and who was 
 herself in training for the stage when Daubigny 
 fell in love with and married her. With Luigia 
 everything combined to suppress the art, but it 
 was born in her and was so entirely a part of 
 her nature that no difficulties and neglect had 
 power to kill it. 
 
 It first stirred within her when, as a young 
 child, she listened outside the drawing-room to 
 some one playing and singing within. She 
 scarcely knew whether the feeling the music
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 3 1 
 
 woke in her made her happy or miserable, but 
 it certainly filled her with indefinite longings 
 that she would have found it impossible to 
 express in words. The next day every moment 
 was an hour till she could escape to the 
 drawing-room and pick out for herself the air 
 she had heard. She liked to be there alone ; 
 she liked the big piano ; she liked to shut and 
 lock the door and feel herself mistress of the 
 place and hour. 
 
 It was a large room, with windows leading 
 into a conservatory, and furniture swathed in 
 holland by the careful housemaids. Near one 
 of the windows stood the piano, and before it 
 Luioqa would seat herself. The air had first 
 
 o 
 
 to be picked out with one finger, then a bass 
 put to it, then chords attempted, and a struggle 
 after harmony. But it often ended in dismal 
 failure, and she would stamp her feet and clench 
 her hands and rush away in an agony of rage 
 and despair. 
 
 She was a strange child and seemed to carry 
 her history — a tragic one, full of passionate 
 feeling, desolation, and neglect — in her face. 
 She was excessively pale, and there were great 
 black shadows under her eyes — shadows that 
 spoke of sleepless nights spent in vain imagin- 
 ings that gave her mind no rest. Her mouth
 
 32 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 was large, soft, tremulous, and drooped pitifully 
 at the corners ; her long, silky black hair 
 twined and clung like waterweeds floating in 
 a stream. She was incomprehensible to the 
 servants, who had no understanding of her 
 silent ways, sudden fits of passion, and strange 
 sayings. 
 
 " I don't care," she used to say when she 
 was punished for some childish misdemeanour — 
 " I don't care. I live in Fairyland. You think 
 I'm standing in the corner, but I'm not. I'm 
 in Fairyland all the time.'' 
 
 Then they would look at her strangely and 
 whisper together, and call her " odd " and 
 prophesy a dark future for her, shaking their 
 heads with mysterious references to her 
 mother. And she would listen and shake 
 her own little head, and defy them and their 
 punishments, and go on living in Fairyland, 
 the land of her imagination, where all things 
 happened after the desire of her heart, and 
 she was loved and cherished as other and 
 happier children were. 
 
 Once a lady, who sang beautifully, came 
 to stay in the house with her father. Every 
 evening after dinner, and long after Luigia 
 had been put to bed, the refrain of her song 
 came floating up through the darkness of the
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 33 
 
 house to her listening ears. Then she would 
 creep downstairs with bare feet, run through 
 the boudoir, and crouch in the dark near the 
 door into the drawing-room, which was often 
 ajar. There she could hear the words of the 
 song, " Knowest thou the land where the citron- 
 flower blooms ? " Again and again, in high, 
 ringing notes came the question, but there was 
 never any answer. Outside, in the darkness, 
 she listened breathless. It spoke to her of 
 far-off lands, where wonderful things such as 
 she had never seen grew, a land radiant with 
 light and warmth and brilliant birds and 
 flowers. The thought delighted her ; she 
 went about in a day-dream, full of imaginings. 
 When she was sure of not being observed, 
 she stole into the drawing-room, and picked 
 out the air for herself. It was the high, 
 ringing notes that had specially fascinated her, 
 but on the piano they would not come. There 
 was a poverty, a feebleness, a flatness about 
 it all that filled her with despair, and she ended 
 by creeping under the piano and bedewing 
 the carpet with fruitless tears. 
 
 " What is citron ? " she asked her nurse one 
 evening as she was being undressed. 
 
 " Citron, Miss Luigia ? why, it's the peel stuff 
 a-top o' the cakes as gives you toothache." 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " I don't believe it," said Luigia, flatly. 
 
 " You're a bad, disbelieving child, then ! " 
 returned the nurse. " You're always a-askin' 
 questions and never a-believin' of the answers. 
 But there now ! if I don't know candy-peel, 
 I shall be a-wonderin' what my own nose is 
 next. You get into bed, and don't go askin' 
 so many questions." And with a shake, not 
 unkindly meant, she thrust her charge between 
 the sheets, and took away the light. 
 
 This was a great blow to the brilliance of 
 Luigia's imagination. That the lovely song 
 should be all about the stuff on the top of 
 cakes was sadly unromantic ! But, then, she 
 did not believe it. She had found out long 
 ago that servants scarcely ever understand 
 things, and she still chose to imagine the 
 citron-flower as larger, sweeter, whiter than 
 any she had yet seen, and the land where 
 it orrew a Paradise of sunshine. 
 
 There was a concert to be given in aid of 
 the hospital, and Luigia heard that the lady 
 staying in her father's house was going to 
 sing at it. One of the servants had a pro- 
 gramme of the entertainment, and Luigia saw 
 that, " Knowest thou the land," was put down 
 against the name of the lady. From that 
 moment she was wild to go. But, how to
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 35 
 
 manage it ? She dared not ask her father, 
 and none of the servants would take her. She 
 worried herself over this problem day and 
 night for half a week, and at last, on the day 
 of the concert, carried out a bold resolve. She 
 hung about the landing and staircase all the 
 morning, hoping to meet the lady with the 
 lovely voice. 
 
 At last she was rewarded by seeing her 
 come upstairs, and alone. Luigia, hang- 
 ing over the banisters and swinging her 
 feet through the posts, waited till she was 
 actually passing her, and then she turned 
 suddenly. 
 
 " Please, won't you take me to the concert ? " 
 she said, looking up into her face wistfully. 
 
 M Why, my dear child, do you come to me 
 about it ? " said the lady, stopping in sur- 
 prise. " Who are you ? — Mr. Daubigny's 
 little girl ? " 
 
 " I am Luigia Daubigny. I want to go 
 and hear you sing this evening — more than 
 anything else. I will hide under the seat 
 of the carriage if you will take me." 
 
 She did not speak passionately, but ther^. 
 was a restrained force in her voice that had 
 its effect. The lady laughed a little, and 
 looked at her intently. The pale, uplifted
 
 36 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 face, with its tremulous mouth and shadowy- 
 eyes, touched the vein of romance in her, and 
 she said gently — 
 
 " Of course, you may come — at least, I 
 suppose so. I will take you with me. But, 
 why don't you go to your father about it, 
 darling ? " 
 
 To this she made no reply, but stood there 
 in silence, rubbing her finger backwards and 
 forwards along the rail of the banister with 
 downcast eyes. The lady, half guessing some- 
 thing of the history of neglect, kissed her and 
 went away, promising to take her in the 
 evening if she could. 
 
 How it w r as all managed Luigia never knew, 
 but a message came to the nurseries that she 
 was to be dressed and sent downstairs. She 
 drove to the town with her father and the 
 lady and her husband, and sat in the first row 
 of the seats at the concert. The lady was 
 very kind to her, and when she went away 
 to sing she whispered a few words to her 
 husband, who, laughing, turned to Luigia and 
 tried to amuse her by saying funny things. 
 But Luigia thought him very tiresome, and 
 wanted only to sit still and listen. Presently 
 the lady came forward, and stood in the front 
 of the platform, with a diamond star in her
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 37 
 
 hair, and some one began to play the accom- 
 paniment. Luigia looked around her at the 
 audience with a proud consciousness of pro- 
 prietorship in the lady and what was coming, 
 but when it came she could think no more 
 of the people. The beautiful, high notes rang 
 out louder than ever, sometimes joyful, some- 
 times sad, and there was an indescribable 
 pathos about it all that touched her to the 
 quick. She wanted to cry, but pride forbade 
 such an exhibition of feeling, and, after the 
 song was over, her one longing was to go 
 home and to bed, away from the eyes of all 
 beholders. 
 
 The next morning the lady came into the 
 nursery. 
 
 " I am going away to-day," she said, " but, 
 if you like, you can come with me to the 
 drawing-room now, and I will sing to you as 
 long as you like, as you seem so fond of 
 music/' 
 
 Luigia went with her. She drew a chair up 
 to her side, and sat there gravely listening for 
 an hour or more, with her hands in her lap, 
 her feet dangling, and her eyes fixed on the 
 lady. The room echoed with beautiful, soft 
 notes, and Luigia's mind went away on the 
 wings of her fancy into far-off regions.
 
 38 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " What have you been thinking about all the 
 time, you funny little girl ? " said the lady, 
 when she stopped. 
 
 But no words could tell that, and Luigia did 
 not try. She only put her chair back and ran 
 away, and the lady looked after her won- 
 deringly. 
 
 Once she found, in one of the disused rooms, 
 an old guitar. Its ribbons were faded, its 
 strings were out of tune, but it was richly 
 inlaid with ivory and silver, and deserved a 
 better fate than that of being stowed away 
 with useless and dilapidated furniture. She 
 did not know that it had belonged to her 
 mother, and that Daubigny had given it to 
 her on the day that she had promised to be 
 his wife, but she recognized it at once as the 
 same that lay in the hands of the beautiful lady 
 in the picture she had found in the garret. 
 She touched the strings delicately with the 
 tips of her fingers, but could make very little 
 of the sounds they uttered till she took it to 
 the blind boy at the lodge, who had a fiddle. 
 Between them they managed to get it into 
 tune, and then Luigia learned to play on it 
 after a fashion of her own. 
 
 One morning Daubigny, who was pacing the 
 conservatory, cigarette in mouth, was arrested
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 39 
 
 by sounds that had long been foreign to his 
 ear. They came from the drawing-room ; it was 
 summer time, and the windows were thrown 
 open. He went to one of them and peeped 
 in. The sight that met his eyes was an odd 
 one. The blind boy from the lodge had been 
 decoyed by Luigia into his master's house, 
 and stood near the open window, fiddle in 
 hand, playing some air he had caught from 
 a Savoyard beggar-boy and his concertina. By 
 his side on the floor sat Luigia, accompanying 
 him on the guitar, and singing softly in a 
 childish, treble voice. The words were all 
 make-believe — mere gibberish without mean- 
 ing — but her power of imitation was so great 
 that an involuntary smile stole over Daubigny's 
 face as he listened. The next instant, however, 
 it clouded and he turned away. He loved 
 music, but there was something in the sound 
 of that guitar that grated on his nerves. He 
 began to pace restlessly up and down the con- 
 servatory, and ended by throwing himself on to 
 one of the cane lounges as far from the little 
 musicians as possible. 
 
 When the performance was over, Luigia led 
 the blind boy carefully through the window, 
 and along the conservatory towards the door 
 into the garden. Daubigny was half hidden
 
 4-0 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 behind an orange tree, and she was unconscious 
 of his presence until they reached it. She 
 started as she came upon him, and the hand 
 that held the blind boy's twitched convulsively. 
 She came to a sudden standstill. 
 
 The boy's thin face flushed uneasily, and, 
 aware that he was in the presence of a superior 
 — probably the master of the house — he began 
 to fumble with trembling fingers for the handle 
 of the door. 
 
 Daubigny rose from the lounge, and, coming 
 forward, laid his hand kindly on the boy's 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Don't be afraid of me ; you have done 
 nothing wrong. I will give you a better violin 
 than that if you will come up and play to me 
 sometimes. I am very fond of music, you 
 know." 
 
 The boy's face flushed a still deeper scarlet, 
 and his lips twitched nervously. 
 
 " Thank you, sir. You are very kind, but 
 — but I don't play well enough to be listened 
 to. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " cried Daubigny, laughing re- 
 assuringly. " I am no great critic ; you need 
 not be afraid of me. Come up on Sunday — 
 Sunday afternoon, and I'll give you a new 
 violin, and you shall tell me how you like it."
 
 The Dawning of Genius. 41 
 
 The boy murmured his thanks again, and 
 Daubigny, seeing that he was embarrassed 
 almost beyond endurance, opened the door for 
 him, and let him escape. When alone with 
 Luigia, he turned to her with a very different 
 look and tone. He pointed to the guitar she 
 held. 
 
 " Where did you get that ? " 
 
 " I found it," said Luigia, clutching it tightly, 
 as the idea rose in her mind that it might be 
 taken from her. 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " In one of the rooms upstairs." 
 
 " Give it to me." 
 
 She held it out to him obediently. 
 
 " You must find something else to play on," 
 he said, and he flung it behind him on to the 
 lounge. 
 
 She turned slowly and walked away. 
 
 He watched her in silence, with a frown 
 cratherinor on his brows. As she reached the 
 further end of the conservatory, and a dozen 
 yards of matting-covered pathway stretched 
 between them, he called out — 
 
 " Luigia." 
 
 She turned and looked at him hesitat- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Come here," he said.
 
 42 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She went back. He took up the guitar 
 hurriedly, and held it out to her. 
 
 " Here, take it — do what you like with it — 
 only never let me see it again." 
 
 She clasped it in her arms as though it were 
 some living creature she believed she should 
 never see again, and turned away without a 
 word. Daubigny meanwhile watched her nar- 
 rowly. When she had gone, he threw himself 
 back again on the lounge, muttering — 
 
 " She may as well have it. What is that 
 senseless bit of wood to me ? Why should I 
 hate to see it touched or hear it played ? I do 
 not — I will not care. As for the child, she is 
 part and parcel of it. They were both hers, 
 and can only mean pain to me — more pain !" 
 
 He lifted his hand, absently plucking a 
 flower from the orange plant, which grew so 
 near where he was sitting that its blossoms 
 almost touched his face. He snapped it from 
 its stalk, and flung it away. 
 
 " But all that is past now," he muttered, with 
 a shrug of the shoulders. " I care for nothing, 
 and never will again. It is the only true 
 wisdom." And he proceeded at his leisure to 
 roll another cigarette.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LADY ADELAIDE. 
 
 SHORT time after this little incident 
 Luigia's ears caught the rumour of an 
 event which was supposed by the household 
 to be near at hand. It was discussed in her 
 hearing with all the freedom for which servants 
 are remarkable. 
 
 " I'll not put up with it ! " cried Jane Sharpe, 
 one of the housemaids, bursting into the nursery 
 one afternoon to deliver herself of her wrath 
 in Fanny's sympathetic hearing. " I'll give 
 notice if it goes on like this. There she is 
 again, a-sweepin' thro' the place as tho' it all 
 belonged to her, and a-castin' her heyes into 
 the corners on the look-out fer dust and cob- 
 webs. I'll not stand much more of it. 'Aughty 
 thing!" 
 
 " There now!" exclaimed Fanny, laying 
 down her work to listen, " it's a clear proof how
 
 44 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 she'll carry on when she is mistress. I, for 
 one, won't stop. The day she comes in, that 
 day I go out, as sure as my name's Fanny 
 Parsons." 
 
 Luigia was sitting reading in the window, 
 but she laid down her book to listen. The 
 maids scarcely lowered their voices in her 
 presence, for their master's neglected child was 
 no more to be feared than one of themselves. 
 
 One of the footmen passing the open door, 
 and catching the drift of the conversation, came 
 in to add the weight of his opinion to the 
 matter in hand. 
 
 " There's no denying as she's a fine-lookin' 
 woman," he observed, "one can see with half a 
 eye as she's kerridge-born, and the way she 
 holds her head is quite the lady." 
 
 " Ah, but then, you never see the first Mrs. 
 Daubigny," said Jane Sharpe, lowering her 
 voice with a glance at Luigia, " you wouldn't 
 think nothink o' Lady Hadelaide if you had. 
 Such elegant ways you never did see, and so 
 easy and haffable in her speech as you'd think 
 we was all ladies-born a-sittin' in our drawing- 
 rooms. It's a sad pity she went as she did ! " 
 
 " Ah," sighed Fanny, "and I always say as 
 Miss Luigia'll go just the same " — Luigia 
 dropped her eyes on to her book and pretended
 
 Lady Adelaide. 45 
 
 not to hear what was being said — " for she's 
 got just the same way with her." 
 
 All three looked at Luigia with deep interest, 
 and a moment's silence intervened. Then the 
 housemaid remarked, in a significant under- 
 tone — 
 
 " He's not over set on her, to be sure, but 
 he's as proud as lucifers — as proud as a whole 
 box o' matches, if you come to that — and 
 there's no sayin' what he'd do if it happened a 
 second time. The missis sunk terrible deep, it 
 did." 
 
 " Pr'aps the new missis'll make him forget 
 the old one," suggested Mr. Price. 
 
 "Not she!" cried Fanny, "bein' a widder, 
 and the other side o' thirty, and that cold she'd 
 freeze a kitchen fire on a summer's day. You'd 
 never see her eyes look as Miss Luigia's ma's 
 used to look. My word ! didn't they shine 
 when she was dressed up for company ! " 
 
 "No 'aughty Lady Hadelaides for me!" cried 
 Jane, leaving the room with a bounce. " She 
 can get her cobwebs swep' by someone else for 
 all I'll be trodden underfoot and made a black 
 slave of." 
 
 Luigia listened to this conversation, and 
 many similar ones, with breathless interest. 
 What did it mean ? She knew he did not love
 
 46 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 her, but she was quite as jealous where he was 
 concerned as if he did. She could not endure 
 the idea of this marriage. She had often seen 
 Lady Adelaide Carmichael driving through 
 the town or calling at the house with her 
 mother, but she had never taken any interest 
 in her. The little girl, however, who rode 
 the rough Shetland pony, and had such a 
 bright, merry face, she had often envied. She 
 had no pony of her own, and her riding con- 
 sisted of a barebacked mount over a rough 
 field when the groom was out exercising, or 
 a few minutes astride her father's horse after it 
 had been sent round to the stables. 
 
 She could not frame in words her horror of 
 this rumoured marriage ; she could not even 
 understand why she so hated it, for she had 
 nothing to lose and everything to gain by it. 
 Yet it was a constant nightmare to her. At 
 one moment she was on the point of imploring 
 her father to give it up, but the next she 
 shrank back, with an intense fear of a rebuff. 
 When had he ever listened to her ? What 
 weight would her wishes have in the matter ? 
 She knew only that a frown was sure to 
 cloud his face at sight of her, that he would 
 dismiss her with a few brief, cold words, and 
 that she should have to go away. There was
 
 Lady Adelaide. 47 
 
 nothing to be gained from her father, and her 
 only hope lay in Lady Adelaide herself. So 
 she formed some sort of childish plan, and 
 awaited her opportunity. 
 
 It happened in the beginning of September 
 that one afternoon Lady Adelaide, with her 
 mother and little girl, drove over from Friars- 
 gate to call. Five o'clock tea was served on 
 the lawn, and Luigia, who, in company with 
 her rag doll, was playing near, could watch the 
 party through the trees without being seen. 
 She seated herself on the low bough of a tree, 
 and, with the doll lying neglected in her arms, 
 fixed her eyes and thoughts on her father and 
 his guests. 
 
 It was a very merry party apparently. 
 There was a good deal of talking and laughing, 
 and much of the general attention was centered 
 on Lady Adelaide's little daughter, a showy, 
 handsome child of about thirteen. Daubigny 
 was teasing her, stealing her peaches, waiting 
 on her with exaggerated politeness. The girl 
 seemed used to that sort of treatment, and 
 coquetted with him as readily as if she had 
 been a woman of the world. She was evidently 
 clever and amusing, too, for her remarks were 
 received with much laughter, and once Luigia 
 saw Daubigny take her hand and kiss it with
 
 48 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 all the elaborate homage he might pay to 
 royalty. The daughter of the house watched 
 in silence the attentions and flatteries that were 
 lavished on the little visitor, and a feeling of 
 bitter jealousy rose in her heart. Even the 
 dog was allowed to mingle with the party, and 
 lie at Daubigny's feet, while she, his nearest 
 possession, could only watch him from afar. 
 
 " There's your ma as is to be, Miss Luigia ! " 
 cried Fanny, who, with her work was seated 
 on a bench beneath the tree. " Don't she 
 look proud and pleased at the way your pa 
 goes on with Miss Isabelle ! He'll make a fine 
 lot o' her when they comes to live here, I'll be 
 bound ! " 
 
 Luigia's eyes moved from her father to Lady 
 Adelaide, who, leaning back beneath the shade 
 of her parasol, watched the playful warfare 
 between Daubigny and her child with an 
 amused smile on her proud lips. But she said 
 nothing, and the maid continued — 
 
 " Ain't she dressed fine, too ! Look at her 
 pretty white frock, and long feather ! You 
 ain't got a feather like that, for all your pa's 
 so rich ! " 
 
 Luigia was still silent. 
 
 " It's to be hoped as your new mail be kind 
 to you," continued Fanny, taking up her work
 
 Lady Adelaide. 49 
 
 again with an indignant sniff, " tho' it's flyin in 
 the face o' nature to expect it. Stepmothers 
 never is. There was a gell in our village as 
 her stepmother beat her to death — not as her 
 ladyship would do that — but it comes to much 
 the same thing in the end." 
 
 She rose, folded her work, and went indoors, 
 telling; Luigia to follow in a few minutes for 
 tea. But Luioria forgot her tea, and her doll 
 lay forlornly on the ground. Her eyes were 
 fixed on the group on the lawn, which was now 
 breaking up. Daubigny, with the old lady 
 on his arm, was strolling off in the direction 
 of the lake, and Lady Adelaide with her little 
 girl followed slowly. Luigia kept them within 
 sight, full of her project. Fortune favoured 
 her, for on reaching the lake Lady Adelaide 
 seated herself on a bench, while the child went 
 down to the water's edge to feed the swans. 
 
 Luigia waited until Daubigny and old 
 Lady Friarsgate had disappeared round a 
 bend in the lake, and then she made her 
 desperate venture. Clutching the ugly doll 
 more tightly than before, she forced her way 
 through the thick bushes behind the bench 
 on which Lady Adelaide sat, and suddenly 
 appeared before her with her petition. 
 
 "If you marry my father," she began abruptly, 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 looking up into her face with great earnestness, 
 " you can't think how unhappy it will make 
 every one. The servants will all leave, and 
 so will Mrs. Parsons the housekeeper, and 
 it will be dreadful !" 
 
 Lady Adelaide's face was a cold and some- 
 what haughty one ; she was a woman of the 
 world, and it was probably years since she had 
 blushed or looked confused. But she blushed 
 now : a flood of crimson mounted to her 
 temples, and to the very roots of her hair. 
 She orazed at the little figure before her with 
 unutterable surprise and disdain. 
 
 " Who are you ? " she exclaimed. 
 
 " I am Luigia Daubigny." 
 
 Lady Adelaide probably knew of Luigia's 
 existence, but she had utterly forgotten it, for 
 she was seldom seen by any of Daubigny's 
 o-uests. She could not have looked more 
 aghast if a thunderbolt had fallen at her feet. 
 She sat in silence, staring at her. 
 
 Luigia came a step nearer, and fixed her 
 dark eyes, full of melancholy, on the stern face 
 that looked down on her. 
 
 " You have Isabelle and other people. I 
 have only father. If you marry him he will 
 forget me still more." 
 
 The pathos of this appeal might have touched
 
 Lady Adelaide. 5 1 
 
 Lady Adelaide if her mind had been free to 
 receive impressions, but it was filled with one 
 absorbing thought — that her private affairs 
 had been made public property and gossiped 
 over. The rumour mi^ht even have reached 
 Daubigny's ears, and at the thought her face 
 took a still deeper hue of shame. She rose 
 to her feet, and confronted Luigia with extreme 
 hauteur. 
 
 11 Who put this idea into your head ?" 
 
 " I think it was Jane, one of the housemaids, 
 or it might have been Price. But afterwards 
 they all said the same, and they won't any 
 of them stay. They've quite made up their 
 minds. '*' 
 
 Lady Adelaide looked down on her, and 
 said with a curl of her lip — 
 
 " I suppose you do not mean to be imper- 
 tinent, but you can tell your friends the 
 servants when next they mention the subject, 
 that Lady Adelaide Carmichael has no inten- 
 tion whatever of marrying their master." 
 
 She turned on her heel to walk off, and, as 
 she did so, came face to face with Daubigny 
 and her mother, who could not have failed to 
 hear the last words she uttered. Indeed, one 
 glance at his face was sufficient to show that 
 he grasped the whole situation. A flush of
 
 52 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 deeper embarrassment than any that had 
 coloured Lady Adelaide's cheek rushed into 
 his own, and, out of consideration for her, he 
 bent his eyes upon the ground. He was 
 utterly confused and ashamed, and stood silent 
 in the presence of the woman who had refused 
 him before he had asked her to be his wife. 
 An awkward silence ensued. 
 
 Luigia, the culprit, stood in their midst in 
 her faded cotton frock, with her long black hair 
 hanging loosely round her. She was ignorant 
 of how she had offended, yet aware that she 
 was in dire disgrace. She saw and felt at 
 once that her father was angry with her. She 
 saw also that he held in his hand the hand 
 of the beautifully dressed little girl, who was 
 caressed and well beloved, while she, his own 
 daughter, stood apart, cared for by none. 
 
 The awkward silence lasted only one moment, 
 for old Lady Friarsgate came to the rescue, 
 and lifting her gold-headed stick towards the 
 distant woods, remarked upon the exquisite 
 beauty of the autumn tints and the wonderful 
 mildness of the weather. Lady Adelaide re- 
 gained her presence of mind immediately, and 
 spoke and moved with composure. 
 
 They all walked back towards the house, 
 Daubigny, almost in silence, at Lady Adelaide's
 
 Lady Adelaide. 53 
 
 side. But he was not thinking of Lady 
 Adelaide, or of the embarrassing position in 
 which they had both been placed ; he was 
 thinking of a beautiful, brilliant face that had 
 vanished for ever from his sight, of soft lips 
 that had once been pressed to his, of a sweet 
 voice that still echoed in his ears. He turned 
 to look back at the child of the woman who 
 had ruined his life, but whose memory was 
 still so passionately loved in the secret depths 
 of his heart. She stood there alone, in dis- 
 grace, gazing after them. He had half a mind 
 to turn back and speak to her — but then, he 
 had nothing to say ! To tell the truth, he was 
 both shy of and afraid of hen 
 
 He walked back to the house beside Lady 
 Adelaide, but little Belle's hand was no loneer 
 in his. His conversation with her mother was 
 both formal and forced, and she believed him 
 to be still embarrassed by what had occurred. 
 In reality, he was living far more in the past 
 than in the present. 
 
 As the carriage containing Lady Adelaide 
 and her mother and child drove away, he 
 turned back to the house with a sense of 
 relief. 
 
 " Have I really been mad enough to think 
 of such a thing ! Should I be satisfied to have
 
 54 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 that woman where she used to be ? — a block 
 of ice to warm me where I once had living 
 fire ? " He smiled scornfully ; then, in a 
 moment, changed his tone. " Fire ! Yes, but 
 fire is dangerous ! I will never meddle with 
 it again. Lady Adelaide would not make 
 havoc of a man's heart. Til try my luck with 
 her yet — in spite of this idiotic affair to-day ! " 
 
 But in two days' time news came to the 
 Hall that Lady Adelaide and Miss Isabella had 
 gone to Paris on a visit, and that they meant 
 to spend the winter abroad. There was re- 
 joicing throughout the household, but none 
 guessed it was to Luigia they owed this happy 
 escape from a threatened calamity.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE ITALIAN SINGING-MASTER. 
 
 ADY ADELAIDE lived abroad for 
 several years, and by degrees all dread 
 of a second marriage passed out of Luigia's 
 mind. She grew from childhood into girlhood 
 apparently without Daubigny being aware of 
 the fact, and they lived as far apart as ever. 
 This was not by design, but from force of 
 habit. He neglected her entirely, and allowed 
 her to live her own life without interference. 
 When her Aunt Grace paid her flying visits 
 to the Hall, she tried to remedy matters as far 
 possible, but her innovations were never long- 
 lived. Arrangements were made for Luigia 
 to share lessons with the children at the 
 vicarage, but when winter came, and she had 
 a cold, she stayed at home for several weeks, 
 and the custom was never resumed. Another 
 time an elderly governess was procured for
 
 56 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 her, who spent her day in crocheting counter- 
 panes for some charitable institution, while her 
 charge ran almost as wild as before. When 
 Aunt Grace married and went to India there 
 was no one left in existence who concerned 
 themselves the very least in the matter. 
 
 By the time she reached the age of fifteen 
 or sixteen, she began to feel her ignorance 
 acutely, and, far too proud to ask her father 
 to trouble himself about her in any way, she 
 set herself to learn what she could unaided. 
 She taught herself, in spite of Miss Green's 
 incompetency, and studied hard to make up 
 for lost time. It was no good going to her 
 governess for help ; Miss Green was one of 
 the o-ood, old-fashioned school, who wrote a 
 lady-like, "running" hand, sketched unnaturally 
 from Nature, played spasmodically on the piano, 
 and insisted upon an upright deportment, a 
 mildness of speech, a neat arrangement of the 
 hair, an absence of ideas, and all other essen- 
 tials in a young lady's education. But she was 
 no use for real study, and Luigia pored over 
 her books alone. 
 
 She had grown into a tall girl, with a pale, 
 dusky skin and black hair. She was not 
 beautiful like her mother; she was not even 
 pretty, for she had a wide mouth and a childish,
 
 The Italian Singing- Master. 57 
 
 undeveloped figure. But she still had her 
 beautiful eyes. Daubigny never could bear to 
 look at them, since they reminded him of her 
 mother's. If he met her accidentally, and she 
 looked at him in her direct and fearless way, 
 he experienced an uncomfortable feeling, as 
 though he had done her some sort of injury, 
 and she held herself aloof from him. This 
 was perhaps the case. A new feeling had 
 entered into her love for him ; she was no 
 longer afraid of him, and she could have stood 
 his coldest word and sternest frown without 
 flinching, for she had hardened her heart, and 
 excessive pride had taught her self-control. 
 
 Although she would have gone without the 
 bare necessities of life rather than have begged 
 them from him, there was one matter in which 
 her desire overcame her pride, and this was 
 her education in music. For years she pinched 
 and saved the chance trifles of money that fell 
 into her hands with the idea of paying a master 
 to teach her, but it was very little, after all, 
 and at last she went to Miss Green about it. 
 The governess had an interview with Daubigny, 
 in which she represented that Miss Daubigny 
 was rapidly reaching an age when it would be 
 desirable for her to receive instruction in the 
 line arts, and that if she might venture to
 
 58 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 suggest a few lessons in music and painting 
 from eminent masters 
 
 Daubigny cut her short, laid a banknote on 
 the table, begged her to make all necessary- 
 arrangements, and to come to him when she 
 needed more money. There it ended, and 
 he never inquired how she carried out her 
 instructions. 
 
 But Luigia was happy. She went down 
 once a week to Miss Baldwin's famous school 
 in the town, and received piano and singing 
 lessons from the master, who came from 
 London to instruct her pupils. Miss Baldwin 
 was, of course, greatly flattered at having the 
 young lady from the Hall, and imagined that 
 Mr. Daubigny must have been struck by the 
 elegant playing of her young ladies at the Town 
 Hall concert in aid of foreign missions. Her 
 manner to Luigia was always one of deep 
 respect. 
 
 The singing-master was a strange, impetuous 
 little Italian, who was filled with the soul of 
 music, and a passionate love of his art. He had 
 once possessed a tenor voice, from which he 
 had hoped great things, but asthma had seized 
 him as its victim, and the voice had disappeared. 
 He had then been obliged to exchange the role 
 of performer for that of teacher, for he was
 
 The Italian Singing-Master. 59 
 
 very poor. His days were spent in trying to 
 dun into commonplace pupils some faint know- 
 ledge of the divine art, which it is impossible 
 to either learn or impart. He was often driven 
 nearly mad, and the young ladies of Crawford 
 House considered him vastly wanting in 
 manners when he flung their music to the 
 other end of the room, and declared it was 
 useless wasting further time and money on 
 them. 
 
 Luigia came to him as an oasis in the desert. 
 She was a treat to which he looked forward 
 the whole week. He had no other pupil so 
 industrious, so promising. Besides her natural 
 love for, and sympathy with, music, she had a 
 perfect ear, a beautiful voice, and an amount of 
 dramatic talent rarely found in a nature that is 
 entirely English. 
 
 " You were born for the stage — you should 
 sing in the opera ! " he would cry. " You have 
 the fire — the soul — the spirit of it ! You would 
 make your name ! " 
 
 She only laughed at the time, but she kept 
 his words in mind, and practised, if possible, 
 more diligently than before. She was entirely 
 satisfactory to the Signor, who delighted in 
 seeing genius developing under his eye and 
 in moulding it according to his ideas. She
 
 60 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 was after his own heart. So it came to pass 
 that he often sent her tickets for concerts and 
 special performances in London, which she 
 could not, of course, attend. He knew nothing 
 of her condition in life, whether she were rich 
 or poor — only that she was capable of great 
 things in the art to which he could never be 
 anything but a humble servant. 
 
 The lessons went on regularly for a year. 
 Wet or fine, Luigia, accompanied by Fanny, 
 never failed to appear at the appointed hour on 
 Wednesday afternoons. She had made great 
 progress, and the Signor was indignant that so 
 much talent should be wasted in a private 
 career. He spoke to Miss Baldwin on the 
 subject one Wednesday afternoon, just before 
 the hour for Luima's lesson. 
 
 " Miss Daubigny has genius. She ought to 
 make a name. She has a wonderful voice, and 
 emotional capacity. It is a thousand pities 
 they should be wasted. Can she not study for 
 a professional career ? " 
 
 " Oh dear no ! " cried Miss Baldwin aghast. 
 " She is a young lady of very good family. 
 Her father is a rich man, and she is his only 
 daughter. She lives at the Hall — that sreat 
 place with the park and iron gates. Oh dear 
 no! I should think not, indeed!"
 
 The Italian Singing-Master. 61 
 
 "It is a sad pity!" he ejaculated. "Many 
 and many a name is made with far less talent. 
 If only she were poor ! " 
 
 At that moment Luigia entered the room 
 somewhat hurriedly, with her music in her 
 hand. Her face was flushed — perhaps from 
 the quickness of her walk in the hot sun. She 
 went to the open window, and stood there until 
 Miss Baldwin, after a few more words on in- 
 different subjects, had left the room. Then she 
 went at once to the piano, and, without a word, 
 began the exercise he set her. 
 
 It was recitative ; a most difficult passage — a 
 passage in which every other pupil of his had 
 invariably failed. She sang it faultlessly. The 
 Signor was in raptures. He turned from one 
 to another of the exercises with eager hands, 
 and she sang whatever he demanded of her 
 without hesitation or a single fault. There 
 was in her voice that day an additional force 
 and power which her master felt as well as 
 heard. 
 
 At the end of the lesson he turned to her, 
 unable to entirely suppress his delight. 
 
 "You have done well to-day — better than 
 usual." 
 
 " Yes," said Luigia, " I intended to do so." 
 
 There was something in her manner that
 
 62 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 made him twist round on the music stool and 
 face her critically. She was standing behind 
 him, her usually pale face flushed, and her eyes 
 filled with suppressed excitement. 
 
 " It is a sinful waste of a fine talent!" said 
 the little music-master impetuously. "You 
 should enter the profession and make a name." 
 
 " Will you help me to do it ? " she said. 
 
 " What!" cried the little man, staring at her 
 as though he felt he had not heard aright. 
 
 " I want to go on the stage," she said 
 deliberately. " I think I could sing — I think 
 I could act. My mother's father did both in 
 the Italian opera, you know." 
 
 " Indeed ! I did not know. Ah ! that 
 accounts ! But I am delighted to hear this. 
 I feared that your family — your guardians — 
 would dislike the idea." 
 
 " I shall not ask leave. My father would not 
 o-ive it if I did, I dare say. But it is nothing to 
 him, and everything to me." 
 
 The Signor looked at her doubtfully. She 
 was very young to speak so decidedly about 
 her affairs, but, with her genius for music, she 
 was mistress of the world. 
 
 " You intend to leave your home, made- 
 moiselle ? " he said, slowly — " and for the 
 stage ? "
 
 The Italian Singing-Master. 63 
 
 " If I only could. Anyway, I can run away, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Ah, mademoiselle, you are too young, too 
 inexperienced. How can you go out alone into 
 the world to fight your way ? " 
 
 " It can be done, I suppose. I am not 
 afraid. Anything is better than living at 
 home." She flung back her head, and her eyes 
 flashed. " My father is going to be married 
 again in three months' time. I have only just 
 heard." 
 
 "Ah, so that is it ! " exclaimed the music- 
 master, jumping off the stool with excitement. 
 "Oh, if you but go on the stage, believe me, 
 your fortune is made, and your name is in 
 every mouth. I speak with certainty." 
 
 " What do you think of my voice ? " 
 
 "Your voice is divine, mademoiselle." 
 
 "And how long a training should I require?" 
 
 He looked her over from head to foot. 
 
 " May I take the liberty of enquiring made- 
 moiselle's age ? " 
 
 " Seventeen." 
 
 "That is young, but it is better to begin 
 young. You will need years of study before 
 you can come out. You must not strain your 
 voice by singing in public too early." 
 
 M That training is the drawback. I have no
 
 64 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 money of my own, and do not know how to 
 pay for it." 
 
 " Have you no one who would help you ? " 
 
 " No one." 
 
 A little silence fell, during which the Signor 
 lost himself in thought. He was brought to 
 his senses by hearing a clock strike six — half 
 an hour after the usual time for the lesson to 
 be ended, and, starting up in sudden consterna- 
 tion, he took his leave. 
 
 The following Wednesday he awaited the 
 hour for Luigia's lesson with both dread and 
 impatience. He had decided to take an im- 
 portant step, the wisdom of which he could 
 not help doubting. But he felt he must make 
 the plunge, whatever the result might be. He 
 was alternately lavish of his praise, and 
 irritably critical throughout the lesson, but 
 Luigia bore his changes of mood with a quiet 
 dignity that made him even more nervous. 
 He was glad when the lesson was over, and he 
 was at liberty to speak what was on his mind. 
 
 " Have you decided for the opera, made- 
 moiselle ? " he began abruptly. 
 
 " I have thought about it a great deal," she 
 answered, " but I do not see how to manage it. 
 What do you suggest ? " 
 
 " Have you really made up your mind ? "
 
 The Italian Singing- Master. 65 
 
 " Quite." 
 
 " Then listen to me," cried the little man, 
 suddenly jumping up, and speaking excitedly. 
 " You will think what I am going to say very 
 strange, but you must give it consideration. 
 There is one way in which this thing can be 
 done." 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, with a sudden 
 light flashing into her eyes. 
 
 "You must marry me. As my wife it would 
 be easy." 
 
 Her lips parted with something like a gasp, 
 but she spoke steadily enough. 
 
 " Tell me how." 
 
 The Signor leaned heavily on the keys of 
 the piano, eliciting from them a heavy muffled 
 clang, which, however, neither of them heard. 
 He spoke rapidly. 
 
 " I am an elderly man, a bachelor and poor. 
 But my name is well known, and I am acquainted, 
 more or less, with all the greatest singers and 
 musicians of the day. Any protdgde of mine 
 could be introduced into their world with the 
 greatest ease, and she could get a thorough 
 training for nothing, or next to nothing. You 
 wish to enter that circle, and have that train- 
 ing — it is your natural atmosphere. As my wife 
 it would be easy." 
 
 VOL. i. 5
 
 66 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She turned away to the window with a 
 dramatic little gesture expressive of suppressed 
 excitement, but she did not speak, and he went 
 on. 
 
 " It is true that I am old and you are young, 
 but that is the case in many marriages. I hear 
 that you are rich, and I — I am poor. But 
 what of that ? Youth and wealth are nothing 
 to those who have art. Art is everything. I 
 do not want your money ; I would not accept 
 it if it were flung at my feet, but I do want you. 
 Think well, mademoiselle, before you throw 
 away the offer of what I can give you — better, 
 perhaps, than any one you are ever likely to 
 meet." 
 
 He spoke vehemently, bent upon carrying 
 all before him, and she looked at him fully, 
 steadily, calmly. Could she do this thing ? 
 Was it possible to marry the man before her ? 
 She would do a great deal for her art, but 
 would she do that ? For an instant the doubt 
 lay in her ; then she threw it away. This little 
 man, with his odd, wrinkled, yellow face, his 
 thin hair, his ugly hands, and funny clothes ! 
 No, the thing was impossible ! " 
 
 " We do not love each other," she said 
 slowly. 
 
 " No, but, believe me, love would come in
 
 The Italian Singing-Master. 67 
 
 time," he cried, eagerly advancing a few steps 
 towards the window where she still stood, with 
 her back turned to him again. " Besides, I 
 should be content with a quiet affection, and 
 a wife who cared for the things I cared for. 
 My joy would be in watching your genius 
 develop, and in clearing your path before 
 you. I am past the age, perhaps, for any very 
 romantic feelings." 
 
 " But, I am not ! " she cried, turning to him 
 with such a sudden flash in her beautiful eyes 
 that he began to doubt if he were really as 
 secure as he imagined. " Your offer is very 
 tempting, but I do not think I will accept 
 it." 
 
 The Signor caught her hand in his. 
 
 " Consider again before you refuse. It is 
 your best — your only chance." 
 
 " I know, but I dare not take it." 
 
 He looked at her in silence for a moment, 
 then, as she turned her eyes on him in mute 
 appeal against the manner in which he was 
 still holding her hand, he dropped it. 
 
 " I daresay you are right. Heaven knows I 
 have made many mistakes in my life, and this 
 might have been my greatest. It is, perhaps, 
 too great a risk to join together the old and the 
 young."
 
 68 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Yes," said Luigia, looking at him fully and 
 reflectively with great calm eyes. 
 
 " It is better so — it is better so," he said, 
 turning towards the door. " And yet — and yet 
 I would have risked it. If ever you change 
 your mind, mademoiselle, do not be afraid to 
 let me know." 
 
 " Thank you," said Luigia. 
 
 He made her a profound bow, and left the 
 room. He was not broken-hearted, but he felt 
 more lonely and disappointed than he had 
 done for years. The vision of a young wife at 
 his fireside had haunted him for a whole week, 
 and it was hard to give it up. 
 
 "She would have been a great pleasure to 
 me," he murmured to himself on his homeward 
 journey, "and I should not have been afraid to 
 trust her. She has a very quiet manner, and a 
 straightforward way of saying exactly what she 
 means. She is not of the giddy kind. And 
 then her voice ! " 
 
 And Luigia, how did she spend the hour 
 after receiving this, her first offer of marriage ? 
 
 The hot June day had ended in a thunder- 
 storm, and Fanny was late in coming to fetch 
 her. She waited in the deserted schoolroom, 
 and sat down on the window-seat, where many 
 a girl had scratched her name in ink or cut it
 
 The Italian Singing-Master. 69 
 
 with a penknife on the wood. Her hands 
 were folded in her lap, her eyes fixed absently 
 on the laurels outside, from which the heavy 
 rain was washing the dust of weeks. 
 
 " I suppose he would have been glad to be 
 rid of me," she was thinking. " I have made 
 a mistake — I ought to have said yes." 
 
 She walked home through the rain without 
 waiting for Fanny, who had no intention of 
 fetching her young mistress in a thunderstorm, 
 and was much more agreeably engaged in 
 stopping up her ears behind the kitchen door 
 while Daubigny's French valet protected her 
 from the lightning with his person. 
 
 In passing through the hall, wet and draggled, 
 Luigia heard the unusual clatter of teacups in 
 the drawing-room, and through the half-open 
 door she caught a glimpse of Lady Adelaide 
 and Lady Friarsgate seated there, with Dau- 
 bigny in attendance. A pile of wraps, silk 
 cloaks, and umbrellas lay on the hall table, with 
 their cards, and a little toy terrier ran out into 
 the hall and snapped at her skirts as she 
 passed. 
 
 She went upstairs and locked herself in 
 her room violently. Her black brows were 
 drawn together in a frown. 
 
 " I will say ' yes ' next time, whoever it may
 
 7<d The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 be — yes, whoever it may be ! even if it is a 
 little queer man ten times queerer and older 
 and uglier than the Signor ! I will not live 
 here another moment if ever I am offered a 
 loophole of escape." And she stamped her 
 foot passionately.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SQUIRE OF RODNEY. 
 
 T was quite true that Luigia's father and 
 Lady Adelaide were to be married very 
 shortly. 
 
 Rumour, which is generally so far in advance 
 of fact, had, in this instance, been wonderfully 
 slow, and not a hint had been dropped before 
 the news burst like a thunderclap on the un- 
 suspecting world. It was not contradicted, 
 and the lady and gentleman chiefly concerned 
 received the congratulations that poured in 
 upon them without evincing either surprise or 
 annoyance. It was an undisputed fact, and 
 preparations for the wedding were carried on 
 with great rapidity. 
 
 The happy pair were to be married from 
 Friarsgate, which was about ten miles distant 
 from the Hall. A formal invitation to the 
 wedding was sent to Luigia, but she declined
 
 72 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 it, and preferred to spend the week in which 
 the ceremony took place with her governess, 
 Miss Green, in her little home at Ely. She 
 gave this visit as a reason for her refusal, and 
 held herself aloof from everything in connection 
 with the marriage. 
 
 Her father, during the few remaining weeks 
 before his marriage, filled the house with a 
 shooting - party. Among the guests Luigia 
 recognized the elderly gentleman who had been 
 with her father years ago when she offered him 
 the flowers on the staircase. She found out 
 that he was the squire of a parish in Deneshire, 
 and that his name was Rodney. He was also 
 reported to be immensely rich, and to have, 
 besides the property which he inherited from 
 his ancestors, a million or more of money which 
 he had dug up for himself in his youth out of 
 the Australian gold mines. 
 
 He had not forgotten Luigia, it seemed, for 
 on meeting her in the gardens one morning, as 
 he was taking his constitutional, he accosted 
 her at once as the "flower-maiden/' and de- 
 clared he had been looking for her everywhere. 
 The others had gone off shooting, and he was 
 left to entertain himself. He told her he was 
 very fond of flowers, and a great gardener at 
 home, and he made her pilot him through the
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 73 
 
 greenhouses, and point out her favourite plants. 
 This she was nothing loth to do. Flowers 
 were her friends and she knew their habits far 
 better than she knew the ways of the world. 
 If he had asked her where Timbuctoo was 
 situated, or which of our kings was beheaded, 
 she might not have been able to answer him, 
 but her lonely life had led her to find occupa- 
 tions for herself, and practical experience in the 
 tending of favourite plants had taught her far 
 more than any lectures on botany would have 
 done. The old squire, as he was generally 
 called, was delighted with her and her gentle 
 ministrations, and followed her about the whole 
 morning, snipping, cutting, watering, with a 
 patience that knew no flagging. 
 
 Another morning, when he came upon 
 her sitting on a bench in the shade of the 
 syringa bushes, with an open book on her knees 
 and a frown of severe application puckering 
 her brows, he was just as determined to ascertain 
 her taste in literature as he had been to probe 
 the depths of her botanical knowledge. 
 
 " What frantic novel is this I have caught 
 you reading ? " he cried, coming suddenly upon 
 her from behind, and putting his hand on the 
 open page, so that she could not withdraw the 
 book. " Something most absorbing, I should
 
 74 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 say, from your face. Is it suicide or murder, 
 or a love-tale gone wrong ? " 
 
 She looked up into the quizzical face of the 
 old gentleman, and dismissed her frown. 
 
 "It is 'Greene's English History.'" 
 
 "English History? Nonsense! I know 
 better! You are trying to deceive me, and 
 it is really some tremendous novel in disguise," 
 he said, still keeping prisoner the book and 
 the hand that held it, and looking down intently 
 into the clear depths of the eyes that were so 
 innocently put at his disposal. 
 
 " No," said Luigia, gravely, "it is really and 
 truly 'Greene's English History.' I am study- 
 ing by myself. I am very ignorant, you know. 
 Other girls know twice as much as I do." 
 
 11 1 like ignorance," said the old gentleman, 
 flatly. "It is a good, old-fashioned quality 
 that we rarely see now. Every one is so 
 tremendously clever nowadays. The more 
 ignorant you are, the better I shall like you, 
 my dear." 
 
 " Then you ought to like me very much 
 indeed," laughing a little. 
 
 " Perhaps I do, but it wouldn't do to tell 
 you so." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because," scrutinizing her closely with his
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 75 
 
 keen blue eyes, " you would think I was in my 
 second childhood, or had suddenly lost my 
 senses. I leave it to the young men to tell 
 you how much they like you." 
 
 She picked a syringa leaf to use as a book- 
 marker, and closed her history on it. 
 
 " I am going in to practice," she said, and 
 she walked off without further delay. 
 
 She was not elegantly dressed, but the old 
 gentleman watched her with a smile of 
 admiration as well as amusement lingering 
 round his lips. She wore a loose holland 
 apron, or pinafore, reaching nearly to the hem 
 of her skirt — a garment calculated to utterly 
 obscure any grace she might chance to possess 
 — and low on her brows lay a flat, wide- 
 brimmed, straw hat, without a vestige of 
 trimming. Evidently she dressed more with 
 a view to use than to beauty ; but, for some 
 odd reason of his own, old Squire Rodney 
 chose to admire her, and after she had dis- 
 appeared round the last of the syringa bushes, 
 he sat himself down on the bench she had 
 quitted, and thought about her for fully an 
 hour. 
 
 He was himself by no means a romantic- 
 looking figure. He was short and broad, and 
 inclined to be stout ; his thick, crisp hair was
 
 76 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 iron-grey, his mouth and chin clean shaven, 
 and his features ruddy and irregular. But 
 their irregularity was redeemed by an expres- 
 sion of shrewdness and good nature, the 
 absence of which makes many a handsomer 
 face less pleasing. 
 
 The next morning he came upon her again 
 as she was gardening in the hot sun. 
 
 "You ran away from me so hurriedly 
 yesterday that I had no time to ask a favour 
 of you which I came expressly to ask. What 
 frightened you away ? " 
 
 " I was not frightened," she said, stopping, 
 rake in hand, and lifting her eyes. 
 
 " Was it press of business, then ? " 
 
 " I did not run away from you," she said 
 calmly. " Why should I ? " 
 
 Squire Rodney smiled. The tables had 
 been skilfully turned on him, and he did not 
 know how to answer her. 
 
 " Well, we will dismiss the subject, and go 
 back to the favour I have to ask. I want you 
 to sing to me." 
 
 She threw down her rake at once, drew off 
 her gardening gloves, and led the way into 
 the house without any of the usual excuses 
 young ladies are so fond of making. 
 
 The drawing-room was in twilight from the
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 77 
 
 shade of the striped linen blinds that shaded 
 the conservatory windows, and felt cool and 
 secluded after the glare of the August sunshine 
 outside. 
 
 She seated herself at the piano and struck 
 the keys softly with her dusky fingers. Before 
 beginning she looked up for a moment under 
 the shade of her hat. 
 
 " How did you know I could sing ? I never 
 told you." 
 
 " No," replied the old gentleman, drawing 
 a chair up to her side and preparing to listen 
 intently, " no one told me you could sing, but 
 — I saw it in your eyes." 
 
 There was some expression so apparent in 
 his own that she dropped hers. She began 
 to sing, and sang as long as he cared to 
 listen, which was till the luncheon-gong sounded 
 at one o'clock. 
 
 Luigia lived entirely in her own rooms. 
 Daubigny breakfasted, lunched, and dined 
 alone unless there were visitors. He rarely 
 met his daughter, and then, more often than 
 not, by chance. Sometimes he forced himself 
 to speak to her, but it would never be more 
 than a few words. They had grown into this 
 habit through long years, and, unnatural as it 
 may seem, it was more natural to them than
 
 78 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 a less distant intercourse would have been. 
 If either had made an attempt at anything 
 warmer it would have been chilled by the 
 other, partly through pride, partly through 
 embarrassment. Father and daughter were 
 hopelessly estranged, and this second marriage 
 could place them no further apart than they 
 were already. Luigia knew this, and yet she 
 resented that marriage as vehemently as she 
 had done in her childhood six years before. 
 
 She heard from her maid Fanny, when she 
 returned from her little visit to Ely, that the 
 wedding had been a comparatively quiet one. 
 Miss Carmichael had been much admired, and 
 those of Daubigny's servants who had gone 
 over to Friarsgate declared that she was 
 a great beauty. The bride and bridegroom 
 went to Switzerland for their honeymoon, and 
 returned through Paris. There, at the end 
 of a fortnight, Miss Carmichael was to join 
 them. 
 
 Towards the middle of September old Mr. 
 Rodney happened to be in Paris on business, 
 and he saw a good deal of the Daubignys. 
 Lady Adelaide's daughter was also of the 
 party, and a mild flirtation sprang up between 
 her and the Squire. He paid her a great 
 deal of flattering attention, took endless trouble
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 79 
 
 to secure her good seats at the opera, was 
 indefatigable in escorting her sight-seeing, and 
 altogether proved himself a devoted admirer. 
 Miss Carmichael was gracious enough to 
 accept his homage and to openly acknowledge 
 him, old gentleman as he was, in her train of 
 devotees. 
 
 Rumours spread abroad, and even reached 
 as far as England, that the Squire's wary heart, 
 which had withstood the fire of lovely eyes 
 for nearly sixty years, had at last surrendered 
 to the charms of a pair that were as bright as 
 they were blue, and Rodney Manor began to 
 expect shortly the arrival of a young mistress 
 to rule over its bachelor hearth. 
 
 A few days before the return of the party 
 to England, Mr. Rodney called on the Dau- 
 bignys to pay his adieux. 
 
 The ladies were out shopping, and Daubigny, 
 cigarette in mouth, was consoling himself in 
 their absence by leaning over the balcony and 
 looking into the busy street below. 
 
 " I called to say good-bye," said Squire 
 Rodney, " and am sorry to find the ladies out. 
 I cross to Dover to-day and shall be at Rodney 
 to-morrow for the tenants' ball. I could not 
 well miss that without hurting their feelings." 
 
 " Bad policy to hurt their feelings," drawled
 
 80 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Daubigny, lazily. " How awfully hot it always 
 is in Paris ! A fellow can scarcely take the 
 trouble to exist in such weather as this. They 
 wanted me to go shopping with them, but I 
 exerted myself sufficiently to escape, though 
 Heaven alone knows how ! for when Belle 
 Carmichael wishes a thing she generally 
 manages to get it." 
 
 '•'You are an immense favourite in that 
 quarter." 
 
 " I dare say. I buy her everything she 
 condescends to want, which is, I believe, a 
 sure, though somewhat expensive, road to a 
 lady's heart." 
 
 " What a cynical fellow you are ! Why, I 
 am pretty nearly double your age, and I 
 declare I'm as fresh as ever. I think better 
 of women than to believe they are won in such 
 ways." 
 
 " You have not had much practical experience 
 of them, perhaps. Turnips and hay are more 
 in your line down at Rodney, I should imagine. 
 But, by the way, when are you coming to us for 
 the pheasants ? We shall be home at the end of 
 next week." 
 
 " Thanks. But I'm not sure I shall come at 
 all, after all. There is business — engagements 
 — all sorts of things to prevent."
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 81 
 
 " Indeed ! And what do you mean by that ?" 
 
 Daubigny turned his eyes on to his companion 
 with a more wide-awake scrutiny than he had 
 appeared capable of a minute ago. 
 
 "Why, to tell the truth" — with a shame- 
 faced smile — "your daughter has been pretty 
 near making a fool of me ! " 
 
 " Has she ? " — elevating his eyebrows, and 
 smiling carelessly. " It is a way she has, though 
 I should have thought that you were pretty 
 safe." 
 
 " Not in the least," replied the old gentleman. 
 " Never felt more insecure in my life. Hadn't 
 the least notion what I should say or do next." 
 
 " Really ? " said Daubigny, fairly laughing. 
 " Well, every man to his taste ; she is a lively, 
 handsome girl, and I suppose " 
 
 "Good heavens! I don't mean that one!" 
 broke in the Squire emphatically. " I mean the 
 other — the one with the eyes and the voice ! " 
 
 " Luigia ? " ejaculated Daubigny, staring into 
 his friend's face with suddenly arrested atten- 
 tion. " That child ? You can't mean her ? " 
 
 " I do indeed, child as she is, and in spite of 
 her outlandish, foreign-sounding name. By the 
 way, how did she come by it ? " 
 
 " How should I know ? " replied Daubigny 
 shortly. 
 
 vol. i. 6
 
 82 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 The squire took no notice of this sudden 
 change of manner, and continued in a highly 
 delighted tone of voice : " She very nearly made 
 a fool of me, and that's the truth ! I fell in love 
 with her years ago as a child, you remember." 
 
 " She is a child still," muttered Daubigny, in 
 a low voice. " I never heard of anything more 
 ridiculous — more absurd ! " 
 
 "Absurd? Not at all. My dear fellow, 
 you cannot have looked at her, or else you 
 have not the good taste with which I have 
 always credited you. She is not nearly as 
 handsome as Miss Carmichael, I own ; in fact, I 
 don't believe she has a single good feature in 
 her face beyond her eyes. But they are enough 
 in themselves ! Then her voice— both in speak- 
 ing and singing — is the very sweetest I ever 
 heard, and the way she moves — why, it's a treat 
 to watch her. She has the makings of a 
 dangerously fascinating woman about her if you 
 give her time to develop." 
 
 " Don't speak to me of fascination ! " cried 
 Daubigny fiercely. " It's a woman's curse. 
 Let her be dull, plain, stupid — anything but 
 fascinating. I hate the very sound of the 
 word ! " 
 
 " That cannot alter the fact. I tell you she 
 has very nearly turned my head — a catastrophe
 
 The Squire of Rodney. 83 
 
 I never had any serious fear of before — and she 
 is seventeen and I am sixty. It may be ridicu- 
 lous and absurd, but it is true. You will have 
 to look after her, for if she can vanquish an old 
 veteran like me, you may be sure those who 
 are fresh to the fray will drop down quicker 
 still." 
 
 " I do not choose to hear my daughter dis- 
 cussed — even by you," said Daubigny, haughtily, 
 with such a flash of fire in his eyes that the 
 poor squire apologized before he knew what he 
 was about. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. It was very rude of me, 
 but I spoke of her as a child, and I look on 
 her in that light. If she wore elegant dresses, 
 instead of a child's pinafore, and a bonnet 
 instead of a garden-hat without a ribbon in it, 
 I might not have dared to do more than 
 mention her name. But, for all that, I could 
 not have respected her more truly than I do 
 
 now." 
 
 Daubigny turned his back on his companion, 
 merely accepting his apology by a slight 
 inclination of the head, and showing by his 
 whole manner that he did not wish to continue 
 the subject. The good-natured squire, not at 
 all hurt by his moodiness, turned the con- 
 versation into another channel, and after a few
 
 84 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 minutes took his leave. But before he went 
 Daubigny, repentant, held out his hand. 
 
 " I have a horrible habit of being dis- 
 agreeable without rhyme or reason," he said, 
 half laughing, half serious. "It is the family 
 temper, I suppose, which has always been 
 considered a remarkably fine one. Please 
 think no more about it ; and, to show that you 
 don't, will you meet us in London at the 
 ' Burlington ' on Friday, and go down home 
 with us ? I shall consider it a favour if you will." 
 
 " Of course I will," cried the squire, wringing 
 his hand energetically. " My dear boy, I've 
 been exposed to your squally weather too often 
 for it to upset me. I know it blows over with 
 the next wind." 
 
 And, laughing, they shook hands again and 
 parted.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 luigia's debut. 
 
 UIGIA was sitting alone in her room in 
 the twilight. It was a warm October 
 evening, the evening of the day on which her 
 father and stepmother had returned from their 
 bridal tour, and the household was in a state 
 of excitement such as it had not known since 
 the dreadful day of the first Mrs. Daubigny's 
 flight. 
 
 Luigia alone appeared undisturbed. She 
 had not gone to dine with the travellers, 
 who had only arrived in time for seven 
 o'clock dinner, but had received a message 
 from Lady Adelaide that she would be glad 
 to see Miss Daubigny in the drawing-room 
 afterwards. She heard that Miss Car- 
 michael, Squire Rodney, and Lord Bertram, 
 who had ridden over from Friarsgate that 
 afternoon, were also of the party ; she would,
 
 86 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 therefore have quite a formidable ddbut to 
 make, in facing so many people who were 
 almost strangers to her. 
 
 She sat in her own room now, with her 
 hands idle in her lap, and nothing more 
 absorbing to occupy her attention than the 
 twittering of the sleepy birds in the ivy outside 
 the window. 
 
 There came a tap at the door, and Fanny 
 entered. 
 
 " If you please, Miss Luigia, her ladyship 
 wishes me to say as they have finished dinner, 
 and are in the drawing-room, and will you 
 please to go down." 
 
 " Very well," said Luigia. 
 
 She rose as the maid went out, and, leaning 
 her elbows on the window-ledge, looked down 
 on to the terrace below. Through the gloom 
 she could just distinguish the figures of two 
 men pacing up and down, smoking as they 
 talked. One was her father, and the other she 
 did not know. She could hear their voices, 
 and see their faces every now and then as 
 they passed the flood of light that streamed 
 through the open windows of the dining-room. 
 She waited until the fragments of cigarette had 
 been thrown away as the figures disappeared ; 
 then she went down.
 
 Luigia's Debut. 87 
 
 She was ready, perfectly ready. She had 
 expected the summons, and had dressed fully 
 two hours before it was likely to come. Every 
 detail of her appearance had been carefully 
 attended to. There was not a hair among 
 the soft, dark coils crowning her head that 
 did not lie smoothly in its place ; there was 
 not a fold in her dress that had not been 
 studied and arranged, yet the result was one 
 of extreme simplicity. The dress itself was of 
 an inexpensive material, but it fell in flowing, 
 graceful folds, and she wore it with an air of 
 dignity. For two whole months she had been 
 preparing herself for this moment, and now 
 that it had come, she was neither discomposed 
 nor anxious. 
 
 The drawing-room was in darkness when 
 she entered it ; the windows leading into the 
 conservatory were thrown wide open, and a 
 sweet scent of flowers filled the air. She could 
 hardly distinguish the different figures, but she 
 noticed at once that her father and Miss Car- 
 michael were standing at one of the windows 
 in conversation. She stood for a moment on 
 the threshold of the doorway, and looked 
 around her. All eyes turned to the white 
 figure that had appeared suddenly and quietly 
 in their midst, and for a second or two no one
 
 88 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 seemed to recognize her. It was not till Mr. 
 Rodney came forward and took her hands that 
 Lady Adelaide rose from her chair to greet her. 
 
 " Why, here is my flower-maiden at last ! " 
 cried the squire, in his kind, hearty way. " I 
 have been wondering whether she would con- 
 descend to honour us at all this evening, but 
 I am glad to see she has some consideration 
 for our feelings. Why didn't you come 
 before ? " 
 
 She turned from him without answering, but 
 allowed her hand to remain in his while she 
 gave the other to Lady Adelaide, who had 
 come forward at last. 
 
 Lady Adelaide was surprised. Daubigny, 
 when he had mentioned his daughter at all, 
 had spoken of her as a mere child, and, during 
 the three months of her engagement to him, 
 she had only once paid a hasty visit to the 
 Hall. The last time she had seen Luigia was 
 as a child of ten years old on the memorable 
 day of her embarrassing interview with her, 
 and she had never realized how many years 
 had passed between now and then. Indeed, 
 Daubigny's daughter entered so little into his 
 calculations that it was not wonderful that 
 other people, less closely connected with her, 
 should come to regard her existence as a mere
 
 Luigia's Debut. 89 
 
 nonentity. She had expected to see a lanky, 
 awkward schoolgirl, who would come into the 
 room shyly, and blush and stammer when 
 spoken to. She had intended to greet her 
 kindly, perhaps to kiss her, and lead her to 
 a seat beside her own, where she would be 
 sheltered from observation, and able to hide 
 her embarrassment till she grew more used to 
 her surroundings. But, instead, she found her- 
 self confronted by a step-daughter who came 
 into the room with the quiet dignity of one 
 who felt herself a daughter of the house, and 
 had the manner of receiving guests rather than 
 of being received. She could see her large 
 dark eyes shining calmly through the darkness, 
 and she took the hand held out to her, 
 hesitatingly. 
 
 " How do you do, Luigia," she said, almost 
 awkwardly. " I hope you are quite well ? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you," and Luigia with- 
 drew her hand. 
 
 " You do not know my daughter, I believe ? 
 Let me introduce her," said Lady Adelaide, 
 regaining her usual manner, and moving across 
 the room to the window where Daubigny and 
 Miss Carmichael were standing. 
 
 Luigia followed her, and the introduction 
 took place in due form.
 
 90 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She could see very little of this new sister 
 of hers beyond a tall, elegant figure framed in 
 the open window. She was far more conscious 
 of a dark form beside her, which neither moved 
 nor spoke, though it could not fail to see her. 
 
 " How do you do, papa ? " said Luigia, 
 coldly, going up to him, and an apology for 
 a kiss passed between them. 
 
 She turned away, and seated herself in a 
 low chair near the window at which Miss 
 Carmichael was standing. 
 
 " I have been persuading your father to let 
 us have a gondola, such as they use in Venice," 
 said Miss Carmichael, turning to her with the 
 instinct of politeness. " We could use it on 
 the lake here, and it would look so picturesque 
 and romantic, wouldn't it ? " 
 
 " I have never seen one," said Luigia. 
 
 "Haven't you?" — in surprise. "Oh, well, 
 you will see one now, for I am going to 
 have one of my own. It is a pity the year 
 is so far advanced, or we might have had such 
 delightful water pic-nics. But I suppose we 
 must try and wait till next summer. I mean 
 to learn the guitar ; it sounds so perfectly 
 enchanting on the water in the evenings." 
 
 " Are you fond of music ? " 
 
 " Oh, I adore it. I am simply lost without
 
 Luigia's Debut. 91 
 
 it. It is quite a passion with me, you know. 
 Wherever we go the very first question I put 
 is, ' What music is to be had ? ' People are 
 beginning to understand that I can't live without 
 it" 
 
 " Do you sing as well as play ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. I am always at the piano, morn- 
 ing, noon, and night. Mama and I have been 
 travelling about constantly for the last six 
 years, and whenever we went to a place where 
 there wasn't a piano, I wouldn't stay. It might 
 be the loveliest scenery in the world, but it 
 couldn't make up to me for the absence of a 
 piano. You have no idea what a passion music 
 is with musical people ! Do you play or sing 
 at all?" 
 
 -A little." 
 
 " I'm so glad. We must get up some 
 duets together. I am longing to try your 
 piano. My own is coming from Friarsgate 
 to-morrow, and my fingers quite itch to touch 
 
 it again." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by 
 Lady Adelaide's clear tones. 
 
 " Belle, my dear, when are you going to give 
 us some music ? Mr. Rodney is getting quite 
 impatient." 
 
 "What shall I sing ? I am quite willing to
 
 g2 The Desire of the Moth 
 
 oblige with anything, from an anthem to the 
 last French opera. " 
 
 " Sing your pretty new song — the one we all 
 liked so much." 
 
 Miss Carmichael turned to Luioqa with a 
 comical expression of dismay. " How am I to 
 know which she means when I have at least 
 half a dozen new songs every week ? Ah ! here 
 comes my cousin Frank. He must be intro- 
 duced to you, and make himself agreeable while 
 I go and hunt up a song." 
 
 A tall figure lounged in from the conservatory 
 and bowed to Luigia. It dropped into the seat 
 vacated by Miss Carmichael, and remarked 
 upon the unusual mildness of the weather. 
 Luigia did not deny the assertion, and silence 
 fell between them. 
 
 Miss Carmichael had gone to the piano, and 
 was turning over her music. Luigia could see 
 her plainly now, in the light of the wax candles 
 which stood on the piano, though the rest of 
 the room was still in darkness, and she took in 
 every detail of her appearance from head to 
 foot with a critical eye. 
 
 Isabelle Carmichael was two or three years 
 older than Luigia, and had the manners and 
 appearance of a young lady who had been 
 much in society, and was thoroughly confident
 
 Luigia's Debut. 93 
 
 of herself. She was a handsome girl, tall and 
 well developed. She wore a pale blue gauze 
 dress, fashionably made by an expensive Parisian 
 authority ; her hair was of the palest flaxen, 
 and piled high upon her head, her eyes were 
 large and blue, her nose aquiline, her mouth 
 small, her skin delicately fair. She had a lively 
 vivacious manner, and a tendency to smile and 
 show her teeth on all possible occasions. 
 Luigia did not admire her on the whole — but 
 then, she was not an unprejudiced observer. 
 
 Daubigny assisted in looking through the 
 portfolio, and many were the small jokes that 
 appeared to pass between them during the 
 search. At last a song was found and placed 
 upon the piano, and Isabelle Carmichael seated 
 herself before it. 
 
 Luigia waited for the first notes with an 
 almost breathless anxiety ; when they came 
 she sat back with a sigh of relief. There was 
 nothing in them to swell the music-loving soul 
 with a rapture it could not express, there was 
 no vibration in the voice to stir a responsive 
 chord in Luigia's passionate heart. It was 
 strong and clear, and highly trained, and the 
 song was an air from a new French opera, a 
 light, flowery thing, full of shakes and runs, 
 well calculated to exhibit skilful execution ;
 
 94 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 but as far as reaching the heart of the listener 
 is concerned, it was a failure. Luigia looked 
 at her father. He was leaning on the piano in 
 an attitude of deep attention, but when a moth 
 fluttered into the candle near him, he saw it at 
 once, and turned to save the foolish thing. He 
 was not absorbed, riveted, carried away — that 
 she could easily see — and as she watched him 
 from her dark corner, she felt the desire to 
 move him with her own voice rise strongly 
 within her. She was in the mood for music ; 
 she longed to use her power over him, to see 
 his face change, to know that she had moved 
 him. She felt her throat swell and her heart 
 beating fast, as, in watching that dark face, 
 every moment the desire grew stronger. 
 
 The sone was ended. A chorus of thanks 
 showered upon the performer, which she 
 graciously accepted while turning over her 
 music for another song. 
 
 " Not a bad tune ! " drawled Lord Bertram 
 condescendingly, turning to Luigia during the 
 pause. " Only one's gettin' a trifle sick of it 
 now, don't you know." 
 
 " I never heard it before." 
 
 " Oh, come now ! " looking at her sleepily, 
 "when every barrel-organ in London grinds 
 away at it all day long."
 
 Luigia's Debut. 95 
 
 " But I never was in London in my life." 
 
 " What?" ejaculated his lordship, raising his 
 eyeglass slowly to scrutinize the young lady 
 who dared make such an assertion. " Come 
 now, you're jokin', Miss Daubigny." 
 
 " No, indeed, it is quite true." 
 
 " Where on earth do you go, then ? " 
 
 " Nowhere. I have only been away from 
 home once, and that was for a week to Ely. ,, 
 
 He stared more than ever. 
 
 " Couldn't exist in the country all the year 
 round myself. Horrid bore ! don't you know, 
 to be out of the swim of everything. But I 
 suppose the huntin' keeps you alive, don't it ? " 
 
 " Oh no. I don't ride. I haven't even a 
 habit." 
 
 She fairly laughed at his look of consternation, 
 but Miss Carmichael had besom another song, 
 and the silence demanded by politeness reigned. 
 The Squire crossed the room on tiptoe and 
 bent to whisper in Luigia's ear. "We must 
 have a song from you presently, We can't 
 have you hiding your voice and your eyes 
 away in this dark corner the whole evening." 
 
 She smiled up at him, and promised with her 
 eyes to favour his request. 
 
 Her turn came later on. Lady Adelaide 
 felt that she must not neglect her step-daughter,
 
 g 6 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 and she turned to her as Belle rose from the 
 piano. 
 
 "Are you at all musical, Luigia ? If so, I 
 wish you would oblige us by playing some- 
 thing." 
 
 " Or by singing," put in the squire, rubbing 
 his hands together with evident anticipation of 
 enjoyment. 
 
 Luigia rose immediately, much to her step- 
 mother's surprise, and walked over to the piano. 
 She sat down and played the opening bars of 
 Schubert's " Appeal," and sang it through. 
 Simple as the song is, it is most difficult to 
 sing ; each slow note dwelt upon lingeringly 
 in turn, has its own weight and place, and 
 there is no chance of producing an effect by 
 slurring, hurrying, or drowning with the accom- 
 paniment. But she did not fail. Her voice 
 in its exquisite softness and pathos rose and 
 floated through the room and to each listener's 
 heart. She had never heard her mother sing, 
 and did not know that she had inherited from 
 her the voice that had lured more than one 
 man from the path of duty, and brought 
 him to her feet against his will. There was 
 something divine about it, yet there was also 
 something so humanly passionate and emotional 
 that it was impossible to resist its influence.
 
 Luigia's Debut. 97 
 
 Daubigny, who had stood beside the piano 
 when she first came to it, turned away, and 
 leaned again in the open window, with his 
 back to the room. If he were surprised at 
 this exhibition of her talent he did not choose 
 to show it. 
 
 She let her hands fall into her lap when she 
 had finished, and sat still for a minute or two. 
 Lady Adelaide and Miss Carmichael murmured 
 their thanks without evincing any unusual 
 enthusiasm. In reality they were astonished, 
 and both felt at once that Isabelle was entirely 
 eclipsed. Miss Carmichael had scarcely looked 
 at Luigia, and had considered her, in the few 
 words that passed between them, a quiet, 
 uninteresting girl, quite incapable of rivalling 
 her in any way. She no longer felt this. The 
 first notes of that exquisite voice told her that 
 this girl possessed a power over the hearts of 
 her listeners that she could never exercise. 
 She looked at her with new eyes. She saw 
 Lord Bertram lounge over to her side, and 
 beg her to sing again, and she saw Mr. Rodney, 
 with a tear yet undried on his ruddy cheek, 
 go forward and say something to her in a 
 whisper, that caused her to look up at him 
 with a swift, half shy glance. Then, for the 
 first time, she noticed the beauty of her eyes. 
 vol. 1. 7
 
 98 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She rose and went over to the piano. 
 
 " That is a lovely song, but a little too 
 melancholy for my taste. I prefer something 
 lighter in a general way, especially in a draw- 
 ing-room and to a mixed audience." 
 
 " Do you ? " 
 
 Luigia flashed her eyes at her, and laid her 
 hands again on the keys. She turned to Mr. 
 Rodney. 
 
 " I will sing you the Italian flower-girl's 
 song," she said. " I learnt it especially for you, 
 since you always call me the flower-maiden." 
 
 Mr. Rodney's wrinkled old face reddened 
 with pleasure as she sang it to him. She was 
 both audacious and pleading in turns ; her face 
 and voice changed swiftly with each change in 
 the mood of the song ; she was one moment 
 daring him to buy with laughing impudence, 
 the next she was melting his very soul with 
 the most piteous appeal. He was utterly 
 bewildered and fascinated, and, for^ettinof 
 everything but Luigia, sat and looked at her 
 and listened to her, spell-bound. 
 
 11 1 didn't understand a word of it," he said, 
 when it was over. "It was all gibberish to 
 me ; but I know if you sang like that, you 
 might get what you liked out of me — even 
 to my last penny ; and I shouldn't grudge
 
 Luigia's Debut. 99 
 
 it — no, not if I went a beggar the rest of my 
 days." 
 
 She laughed, and went back to her dark 
 corner. 
 
 And what did Daubigny think of this 
 daughter of his, who had suddenly emerged 
 from the shadows and forced herself into his 
 notice ? He was fascinated by her, and could 
 not turn his eyes away. He leaned in the 
 shadow of the curtained window, and watched 
 her and the men beside her with absorbing 
 closeness. He saw every glance she gave 
 them, and he felt more keenly than either the 
 allurement of her voice. And then, when it 
 was ended, and before he could turn away, she 
 raised her eyes and met his glance, fully and 
 deliberately. What did each see in the other's 
 eyes ? Luigia was triumphant. She had moved 
 him ; he was not indifferent to her music, 
 as he had been to Miss Carmichael's, and she 
 cared very little for admiration from any one 
 else. She left the piano with a feeling of com- 
 plete satisfaction, and retreated to her corner, 
 followed by the gentlemen, who vied with each 
 other in paying her attention. 
 
 Daubigny went out into the conservatory, 
 and paced it in the dark. 
 
 "How could I have ignored her? How
 
 ioo The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 was it I never saw it in her ? She is like her 
 — painfully like her — dangerous, irresistible, 
 alluring. It will be the same thing over again. 
 She will madden men — and ruin them ! " 
 
 A few minutes later, when the lamps were 
 brought in and a card-table set out, Daubigny 
 joined the party as calm and unmoved as usual. 
 He gave one hasty, sweeping glance into the 
 dark corner, but the white-robed figure had 
 disappeared, and was not seen again that night.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN ARTISTIC TEMPERAMENT. 
 
 HE next morning Lady Adelaide visited 
 Luigia in the schoolroom, and made a 
 thorough investigation of her possessions and 
 acquirements. She underwent the examination 
 calmly enough, and was quite unabashed by 
 each fresh display of her ignorance. Lady 
 Adelaide, after it was over, went straight to 
 her husband's smoking-room, and proceeded to 
 cross-examine him also. 
 
 " My dear Eustace, I hope you can spare 
 me a few moments. Are you particularly 
 busy ? " 
 
 Daubigny admitted that his labours were not 
 of any vital importance, and that Tim, the 
 terrier, who was being instructed in the art of 
 fetching and carrying, could easily postpone his 
 lesson. He put the glove out of reach, for- 
 bade the pupil to interrupt the conversation,
 
 102 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 and placed a chair for Lady Adelaide near the 
 window. She seated herself in it. 
 
 " I want to talk to you about your daughter 
 — about Luigia," she said. 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 He seated himself on a corner of the table, 
 and awaited the coming conversation with any 
 but pleasant anticipations. 
 
 " I have been talking to her this morning, 
 and looking through her books, and I must say I 
 am horrified — quite horrified — at her ignorance. 
 She tells me, what I can scarcely believe is 
 strictly true, that she has never learned French 
 nor had a dancing lesson in her life. Can it 
 really be so ? " 
 
 " I suppose so, if she says it." 
 
 She looked at her husband with an incredu- 
 lous air. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have done 
 nothing in the way of educating her ? " 
 
 " She has had governesses, I believe, but I 
 really know very little about it. I have neg- 
 lected her in every possible way. No beggar 
 child in the streets has been more utterly un- 
 cared for." 
 
 He spoke almost defiantly, and Lady Adelaide 
 looked at him in surprise. 
 
 "It is most extraordinary," she said, "and
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 103 
 
 — really, you must allow me to say it — 
 wrong." 
 
 He made no reply ; he would neither ex- 
 cuse nor condemn himself, and allowed her 
 to put what construction she chose on his 
 conduct. 
 
 " Well," she continued, after a pause in which 
 she evidently expected him to justify himself, 
 " it is not, perhaps, for me to go back into the 
 past, I must simply start with things from the 
 point at which I pick them up. The question 
 now is, what is to be done with her ? " 
 
 " Done with her ? " echoed Daubigny, " why, 
 what on earth could be done with her ? " 
 
 " She must be educated," replied her lady- 
 ship, coldly, " that is all I mean — and the 
 question is, how ? I know of a very good 
 school in Paris, which Belle attended for 
 some " 
 
 " She shall not go abroad. I strongly 
 object to a Continental education," he inter- 
 rupted quickly. 
 
 " On what ground ? Belle has received the 
 whole of her education abroad, and I do not 
 see that she has suffered in consequence. Why 
 do you disapprove ? " 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 11 In my opinion," she continued, " a year
 
 104 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 or two on the Continent is the making of an 
 English girl. It does away with something of 
 her insular pride and stiffness of manner." 
 
 " Luigia is not English, and she has not a 
 stiff manner." 
 
 " Not English ? " she exclaimed in surprise. 
 
 " No," said Daubigny, abruptly. " You know 
 as well as I do that she is partly Italian. 
 There is no need to try and give her what she 
 already naturally inherits. Besides, I particu- 
 larly object to foreign polish and manner. I 
 prefer the stiff, cold, English pride — in women." 
 
 Lady Adelaide had been slightly embarrassed 
 as he touched on the subject of his first 
 marriage. She never remembered to have 
 heard him say as much before, and though, 
 of course, she knew the facts of the case, not 
 a word concerning them had ever passed 
 between them. She hastened now to turn the 
 conversation into a more agreeable channel. 
 
 "Well, then, she might go to school at 
 Miss Ponsonbys at Scarboro'. I know Miss 
 Ponsonby personally, and Lady Thomas's 
 
 daughters were " 
 
 " Why are you so anxious she should go 
 away ? Do you want to be rid of her ? " 
 he said, suddenly rising and turning away. 
 " I do not understand you," said Lady
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 105 
 
 Adelaide, haughtily. "Why should I wish to 
 be rid of her, pray ? " 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure. I spoke without 
 thinking. I beg your pardon." 
 
 " Indeed, I think you owe me an apology. 
 I was wishing to act entirely for your daughter's 
 good." 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know — of course." 
 
 He had an uncomfortable feeling that he was 
 absurdly irritable where Luigia was concerned. 
 He might not love her, but he had the instinct 
 to defend her if any one but spoke her name. 
 He was loyal to those he loved. He had 
 never been known to utter a single word 
 against the wife who had deserted him, and 
 perhaps his championship of Luigia found its 
 origin in the fact that she was the child of this 
 woman, who had once been everything to 
 him. 
 
 " If you attributed to me so mean a motive 
 as that of wishing to leave Belle unrivalled," 
 continued Lady Adelaide, " I can only say 
 that I fear nothing from Luigia, even if I 
 thought about such things, which I do not. 
 She is younger — much younger — and wholly 
 ignorant on all matters that are essential to a 
 girl in society. She is musical, certainly very 
 musical, but that is her only accomplishment."
 
 106 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " And I would far rather she had none than 
 that," he observed moodily. 
 
 " Why ? I thought you were so fond of 
 music ? " 
 
 " So I am. It is because I feel its power 
 that I fear it. The musical — the artistic 
 temperament is a most dangerous gift. I 
 would not wish any one belonging to me to 
 possess it." 
 
 ''You are speaking in exaggeration, I am 
 sure. You are always pleased to hear Belle 
 sing and play — at least you say so. What is 
 the meaning of this sudden dislike ? " 
 
 " There is music and music. How can I 
 explain ? Belle's is a drawing-room accomplish- 
 ment, a pleasant way of enlivening an evening. 
 She has a pretty voice, and is well trained, and 
 I always enjoy listening to her. But Luigia's 
 music is different." 
 
 " How different?" 
 
 He was driven into a corner, and forced to 
 explain himself, however little he might wish 
 to do so. 
 
 " Hers is genius — emotional, dramatic. No 
 one can listen to her without sharing in any 
 mood she may feel at the moment. Her 
 influence for good or evil over her listeners 
 is very great, and can only be measured by
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 107 
 
 the character of the nature on which it acts. 
 On sensitive and artistic temperaments it would 
 probably be almost unlimited." 
 
 Lady Adelaide was somewhat cold and im- 
 movable. Daubigny was impulsive and 
 emotional. They were as alien to each other 
 as is the Equator to the North Pole, and, con- 
 sequently, very often found it impossible to 
 enter into or understand the light in which each 
 so differently viewed the same subject. She 
 was really fond of him and anxious to under- 
 stand him, but she often found it impossible. 
 This was one of those occasions. She could 
 catch the sense of his words, but had no light 
 into the meaning that lay beneath them, 
 having never in her life been really moved by 
 a beautiful picture, a romantic story, or a 
 pathetic song. She returned to the original 
 theme, and determined to steer clear of " artistic 
 temperaments" in future. 
 
 " Well, Eustace, what do you wish with 
 regard to her education ? " 
 
 u I don't care. I don't want to be consulted. 
 Send her to France if you like, or keep her at 
 home. She is entirely in your hands now. 
 Do as you think best." 
 
 He ended the interview by calling out his 
 dog again, and strolled whistling from the room.
 
 108 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 From that moment he never alluded to or 
 evinced the slightest interest in his wife's 
 arrangements concerning Luigia. If it had 
 not been that she insisted upon informing 
 him of them, he would have known no more 
 than he did before. 
 
 Lady Adelaide did not send Luigia to 
 school. She engaged a " finishing governess " 
 for her, who demanded a high salary and every 
 consideration. The finishing governess, Miss 
 Elliot by name, was almost paralyzed by the 
 state of ignorance in which she found her 
 pupil, and Luigia was forthwith put under 
 a severe regime. The schoolroom was re- 
 plenished with books, globes, pens and ink, 
 and the old holland aprons were brought forth 
 again. Miss Elliot found Luigia both the 
 most industrious and at the same time the 
 most idle pupil she had ever come across. 
 She would work morning, noon, and night 
 over subjects that interested her, and yet she 
 could not be induced to take the slightest 
 trouble over the tasks that were uncongenial. 
 It was in vain to threaten or implore. She 
 was deaf and indifferent to both reason and 
 argument, and pursued her own course in the 
 path of learning. 
 
 "You are so inconsistent!" cried poor Miss
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 109 
 
 Elliot in despair one day. " Nothing will induce 
 you to give me your attention when I take 
 up the arithmetic or grammar, yet you will 
 sit for hours over a French or German poem 
 of which you hardly understand a word. 
 There is no order or method about your 
 work." 
 
 " No," said Luigia, leaning her head on her 
 hand, and biting the end of her pen, " I was 
 born without either, and I hate them both 
 from the bottom of my soul." 
 
 11 Hate order and method ! How very 
 shocking ! Why, they are the basis of every- 
 thing — nothing can be done without them. 
 Look at music, for instance — your favourite 
 study — would; you be able to play and sing 
 if you had not practised regularly every day ? " 
 
 11 I practise because I like it, and because 
 I cannot possibly keep away. I never went 
 to the piano in my life from a sense of duty." 
 
 Miss Elliot sighed. 
 
 " You will make a most inconsistent — a 
 most unsatisfactory woman," she said. 
 tl People who act from impulse, and not from 
 principle, are often very wicked." 
 
 " How can people help their natures ? If I 
 was born bad, it will be impossible to make me 
 good. And there is bad blood in my veins.
 
 no The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Every one says so." She held out her hand 
 and examined it minutely, tracing the veins 
 on it with the quill of her pen. " I cannot 
 help it if I am bad," she continued, "any 
 more than a nettle can help stinging. We 
 are made so." 
 
 " I cannot allow you to say such things," 
 exclaimed Miss Elliot, much shocked at this 
 reckless way of talking. "It is really very 
 wrong." 
 
 " Scold the stinging-nettle for stinging," 
 said Luigia with a little laugh as she put 
 away her books. " It will have just as much 
 effect." 
 
 This little conversation shows the deep 
 impression the careless words of servants 
 years ago had made on her. She might 
 have been very different if she had not been 
 impregnated from her babyhood with the idea 
 that she was destined to do wrong. 
 
 Poor Luigia ! Everything was against her 
 from the day of her mothers flight. Francesca 
 Daubigny had sinned against her husband 
 when she fled from his house with her lover, 
 leaving him a hopeless, reckless man, but she 
 had sinned far more against her innocent little 
 daughter. From that moment Luigia was 
 looked upon with mysterious dread, neglected
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 1 1 1 
 
 by her father, and stigmatized by all who saw 
 her as the child of a sinful woman. She was 
 weighted from her very start in life with the 
 curse of being flesh of her flesh, bone of her 
 bone — a doom from which it was impossible 
 to escape. 
 
 The first wrong act — how far does it go ? 
 Immeasurably farther than the actor ever 
 knows. Evil-doing, however slight, has no 
 end. It is like the stone dropped into the 
 water — the circles spread wider and wider till 
 one loses count. So it is with the secret ways 
 of sin. 
 
 The first link in Francesca Daubigny's chain 
 of wrong-doing was wrought when she married 
 a man she did not love. She thought she 
 realized fully the extent of that evil, and that 
 it ended within the range of her vision, but 
 she was mistaken. She could not foresee the 
 many other links stretching away into the 
 dim future — her own ruin, the wreck of her 
 husband's affections, energy and faith in 
 human nature, the neglect of her child, the 
 results of that neglect, and again — the whole 
 new chain that grew and was fettered, link by 
 link, around unknown people in the unknown 
 future from the hand of that little daughter 
 for whom she was responsible.
 
 ii2 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 From the day of her step-mother's arrival 
 at the Hall, Luigia s life was a completely 
 different one. She was confined to the school- 
 room during the day, but dined with the family 
 unless there were visitors, and spent the even- 
 ing in the drawing-room. Lady Adelaide 
 considered her not yet old enough to make 
 her formal entrde into society, but she was 
 determined her husband should not accuse her 
 of treating her otherwise than as her own 
 daughter. So it came to pass that Luigia and 
 her father were thrown together every day. 
 He rarely spoke to her, and it was Belle who 
 sat on his right hand at dinner, and received 
 the greater part of his attention, but for all 
 that, he saw her, marked every detail of her 
 appearance, and was acutely sensitive to her 
 slightest movement or remark. She and all 
 her habits and opinions were becoming ex- 
 ceedingly interesting to him, though, through 
 reserve and pride, he concealed the fact. 
 Luigia herself knew of no change in his feel- 
 ing towards her. 
 
 But, although Daubigny slighted her, she 
 was no longer neglected. Her stepmother 
 was kind to her, Isabelle was friendly, and 
 Lord Bertram, who constantly rode over from 
 Friarsgate, was condescendingly attentive.
 
 An Artistic Temperament. 113 
 
 About the same time, too, another young 
 cousin of Belle's came to stay at the Hall 
 with his tutor while preparing for Sandhurst, 
 and immediately fell head over ears in love 
 with her. 
 
 Alan Carmichael was about her own age, 
 but, in spite of this fact, she treated him as 
 a mere boy, and accepted his extravagant 
 worship as a thing of no account. He, on 
 his side, became her champion on all occa- 
 sions, and fought her battles, both just and 
 unjust, with a dogged obstinacy worthy of a 
 better cause. 
 
 He was an ugly fellow, over six feet high, 
 lanky and loose-jointed, with high cheek-bones, 
 a freckled skin, and sandy hair. But she was 
 kind to him, very kind, with a touch of sub- 
 mission in her manner that aroused in him a 
 devotion as chivalrous as it was blind. He 
 spent all his spare time with her, to the neglect 
 of his studies ; he taught her to ride, to row, 
 and to dance. The last-named art they prac- 
 tised on landings and passages after lessons 
 were over, without the aid of music, and often 
 in the dark. Before a month had passed, 
 young Alan Carmichael was as far gone as it 
 is possible for youth to go, victimized by that 
 most virulent of all diseases — love. The little 
 vol. 1. 8
 
 ii4 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 schoolroom was a paradise, Luigia's eyes were 
 heavenly stars, her hand — the hand he clasped 
 in his — was something too precious to be 
 named, her very dress was enchanted and 
 unearthly. 
 
 There was nothing wrong in all this ; they 
 had but conferred mutual instruction. He had 
 taught her to dance, and she had taught him 
 to love. What young lady with any sense of 
 justice could have done otherwise ?
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SQUIRES MANIA. 
 
 HE old squire of Rodney was seized with 
 a mania for business that winter ; he 
 was constantly running up to London on some 
 important matter, the nature of which he never 
 explained. This new craze provoked further 
 rumours among his neighbours and tenants, 
 and it was whispered that the squire " went 
 a-courting" to London, and that the ''blue- 
 eyed young lady" lived somewhere in that 
 region. It was observed, too, by the sharp- 
 eyed of the village, that he never returned 
 from these visits without an entirely new set 
 of clothes, each being of a more fashionable 
 and expensive design than the last. This was, 
 of course, conclusive ; no further evidence was 
 needed. The squire was courting beyond a 
 doubt, and it only remained to find out the 
 name of the lady. This was difficult, since the
 
 n6 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 inhabitants of Rodney were quiet, stay-at-home 
 people, and so the village had to wait open- 
 mouthed and dying of suspense till such a 
 season as the squire thought fit to reveal his 
 secret. 
 
 Mr. Rodney himself was in a dozen different 
 minds a day. He had never felt so confused 
 and uncertain in his life ; he had not the 
 vaguest idea of what he meant to do, and only 
 one conviction — namely, that he was a fool. 
 In each of his journeys to London he found 
 time, in spite of press of business, to run down 
 to the Hall, if it were only for an hour or two. 
 He was fond of Daubigny, he respected Lady 
 Adelaide, and he admired Belle Carmichael. 
 But Daubigny need not have flattered himself 
 that these constant visits were to him, Lady 
 Adelaide was a person of little consequence 
 beyond her position as hostess, and the blue- 
 eyed young lady might lavish her smiles on 
 him or treat him to frowns without causing 
 him a single palpitation of the heart. Alan 
 Carmichael, too, came and went, and it was 
 a matter of indifference. Who was it, then, 
 that proved the attraction ? Only a dark-eyed 
 school-girl — a slip of a creature with black hair 
 and a soft voice. The squire, in spite of all 
 his sixtv summers, would redden and stammer
 
 The Squire's Mania. 117 
 
 when she who had known but seventeen came 
 near him. It was no use calling himself a fool 
 and an ass — it did not even relieve his feelings, 
 and the fact remained the same. She was 
 a child, a mere baby, and he was old enough 
 to be her grandfather — even her great-grand- 
 father at a pinch ! He went home, but the 
 house seemed dull and empty ; he was irritable 
 with the servants, uninterested in his old 
 pursuits, restless and lonely, and time hung 
 heavily on his hands. It was only natural, 
 therefore, that another pressing matter of 
 business should await him in London, the 
 importance of which was so great that neither 
 deep snow nor high winds could induce him 
 to postpone his journey. And yet — what 
 satisfaction did he get from these glimpses of 
 Luigia with which he feasted his eyes once 
 a fortnight ? None whatever. They only 
 served to confirm him in his " foolery," and 
 to make him more certain than ever that it 
 was foolery, without one single grain of 
 redeeming commonsense. 
 
 At last, on the sixth of these flying visits to 
 the Hall, and a clearer insight than ever into 
 the subject of Luigia's extreme youthfulness 
 and indifference to him, he made up his mind 
 thoroughly and finally to go away, and not
 
 n8 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 come back until he was cured. Luigia was 
 
 a child, and he was an old man, and there was 
 
 something wicked and inhuman in the idea 
 
 of taking her for his wife ; he would entertain 
 
 the idea and the desire no longer ; he would 
 
 say good-bye to her in a kind and fatherly 
 
 manner, and go back to Rodney and his turnips 
 
 without letting any one into his foolish secret. 
 
 He came to this resolution slowly, and with 
 
 much reflection, but, once made, it was not 
 
 to be broken, and he prepared to carry it out 
 
 with a heavy heart. He told Daubigny he 
 
 must leave by the six o'clock train, and travel 
 
 half through the night, in order to reach home 
 
 for a most important engagement next morning. 
 
 Daubigny, though sorry to lose him earlier 
 
 than he had expected, offered no opposition, 
 
 and ordered the dog-cart to be ready at five. 
 
 The poor squire took out his watch. It was 
 
 then four ; he had, therefore, jusfan hour before 
 
 he started on that dismal journey back to 
 
 Rodney, from which he had resolved no more 
 
 business, however urgent, should lure him for 
 
 the next six months. 
 
 He wandered about the room in a restless, 
 aimless way, with his hands in his pockets and 
 an inclination on him to whistle melancholy 
 airs. There was no hope of seeing Luigia —
 
 The Squire's Mania. ng 
 
 she was at her lessons. Oh, the irony of that 
 fact ! Fate was indeed cruel when it brought 
 his grey hairs to such a pass ! Five o'clock ! 
 She would scarcely have finished before he 
 had to go. But he could go up to the school- 
 room and say good-bye ; Miss Elliot would 
 not object to that, and her presence in the 
 room would make it safe, and allow of a word 
 or two of fatherly affection perhaps. Yes, 
 it would be as well on the whole that the 
 governess should be there, for who knew what 
 Luigia's eyes might not do with him in a weak 
 moment ? 
 
 The hour came, and with it the dog-cart to 
 the door. The squire bade adieu to Lady 
 Adelaide and Belle on the drawing-room 
 hearthrug, and followed Daubigny through the 
 hall towards the hated vehicle. On the door- 
 mat, however, he was suddenly struck by an 
 idea which brought him to a standstill. 
 
 " I declare I've not said good-bye to — to 
 Luigia," he exclaimed, as naturally as he could, 
 turning a shade ruddier than usual. " There's 
 time, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Oh, there's time," replied Daubigny, care- 
 lessly, turning up the collar of his ulster in 
 preparation for the snowy drive. " Only 
 there's no need whatever to bother about it."
 
 120 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " No bother at all ! I'll just run up. I 
 shouldn't like her to think I'd forgotten her. 
 Wont be a minute." 
 
 With all his good resolutions strong upon 
 him, the old squire mounted the staircase. It 
 would be rude, disagreeable, ungentlemanly 
 to go off like a bear without a word of farewell 
 to her — he couldn't possibly bring himself to 
 do such a thing ! He was not going to be 
 rash or foolish ; he was not going to say one 
 tender thing ; he should simply put his head 
 round the door with a " Good-bye, Luigia," and 
 then, when they had shaken hands, he should 
 retire without another word or glance. 
 
 He found himself at the schoolroom door 
 before he knew where he was, and he had 
 entered before he had quite mustered up 
 courage to do so. In fact, he had no more 
 idea of what he was about than the man in the 
 moon. 
 
 The schoolroom was dingy and dark, and 
 the fire burned low, and Miss Elliot was not 
 there. The divinity sat at the table, with its 
 head on its hand in a dejected attitude, a slate 
 pencil in its mouth, and a slate adorned with 
 a long column of figures on its knee. It wore 
 a holland apron, somewhat crumpled, and its 
 hair was loosened and drooped carelessly over
 
 The Squire's Mania. 121 
 
 the forehead and ears. It sighed as the Squire 
 of Rodney entered (the plan of merely putting 
 the head round the door having been aban- 
 doned at first sight of Luigia), and looked up 
 with eyes in which there was just a suspicion 
 of unshed tears. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Rodney, do help me with this 
 sum. I have got to find the average age of 
 boys at a school, and the answer will come out 
 seventy-nine. It doesn't sound right, does it ?" 
 
 The squire, if he had not formed certain 
 resolutions on the subject, could have told her 
 of cases in which men of sixty felt remarkably 
 like boys of sixteen, but he refrained, and gave 
 his attention entirely to the subject in hand. 
 It was, of course, deeply interesting to him, for 
 if the accurate average age of those boys could 
 not be ascertained, the unshed tears in those 
 deep dark eyes might overflow, and then what 
 an insupportable calamity that would be ! He 
 could not bear the mere idea. He went down 
 on his knees on the schoolroom floor at Luigia's 
 side and took the slate into his own hands. 
 She, meanwhile, sat nibbling her pencil in utter 
 unconsciousness of the various emotions that 
 were struggling in his breast. 
 
 " I hate sums ! " she said, " especially when 
 there's ice. Alan has gone skating, and I had
 
 122 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 to stay behind. And what does it matter about 
 the average age of boys ? Besides, I believe 
 it is seventy-nine, for I have done it three 
 times." 
 
 " My dear," said the squire solemnly, " boys 
 of seventy-nine never go to school. The thing 
 is unheard of." 
 
 " It might be a school for backward boys," 
 suggested the divinity, scribbling on the edge 
 of the slate in an idle manner. 
 
 Now the Squire of Rodney had never been 
 more serious in his life than he was at that 
 minute. He was, therefore, much surprised, on 
 looking round, to find the suspicion of a mis- 
 chievous smile hovering round the corners of 
 her mouth. Everything was forgotten in that 
 glance — prudence, resolutions, Daubigny, the 
 dogcart — everything but Luigia, the schoolgirl. 
 He suddenly pushed the slate with its un- 
 solved problem away from him, and said as 
 impetuously as any hot-headed youth — 
 
 " You say you hate lessons. If you would 
 come and live with me you shouldn't have any. 
 You should do just as you liked all day long." 
 
 "How nice!" said Luigia, "but they will 
 never let me come. The holidays are over, 
 you know." 
 
 Her simple words brought him to his senses;
 
 The Squire's Mania. 123 
 
 he saw that she was quite unconscious of his 
 real meaning, and he determined to say no 
 more. Visions of Daubigny impatient and the 
 waiting dog-cart flitted before his eyes, and he 
 rose to his feet. 
 
 " I must go," he said. " I ought not to have 
 stayed so long. I am returning to Rodney 
 to-night, you know." 
 
 "Are you ? I am so sorry." Softly, "Well, 
 good-bye, then," and she put her hand into his. 
 
 " Good-bye," said the poor squire. Then, with 
 another impulse, as he felt her fingers lying so 
 confidingly in his, he added : " And I did not 
 mean a visit — I meant to live always — for ever 
 — to make it your home." 
 
 Then he went on rapidly before she could 
 make any answer : "I am sure you would like 
 it ; it is such a cosy old place, with plenty of 
 fruit and flowers in the garden, and as many 
 horses and dogs as you like — you like dogs, 
 don't you ? And there is a pond I could have 
 enlarged for you to skate on in the winter, and 
 you could have — well, anything else in the 
 world you chose to fancy, you know." 
 
 Luigia was looking at him with fascinated, 
 almost frightened eyes, during this speech, but 
 she made no attempt to draw away her hand, 
 and stood silent and pale before him.
 
 124 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Do you understand me ? " said the squire, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I'm not quite sure," she said. 
 
 " I would ask you to be my wife, my dear, if 
 I were not such an old fellow compared to 
 you," he said wistfully. " You ought to have a 
 handsome young husband, only a few years 
 older than yourself. But I can't help it ; I 
 am a fool, a weak-minded old fool, I dare say, 
 but I'm sure I care for you as much or more 
 than any man ever will, however young and 
 handsome he may be." 
 
 " Oh, no one cares for me," she said, shaking 
 her head. She turned away, and with her hand 
 still in his, looked out into the gloom of the 
 winter's evening with a sad and thoughtful air. 
 
 " Don't say that ! " cried the old gentleman. 
 " I tell you / care for you — love you — love you 
 heartily — admire you — would give everything 
 I have to have you always with me." 
 
 She turned her eyes from the gloom back 
 to him. 
 
 "Well, you may have me, then," she said, 
 "for no one wants me here, and you are so 
 kind I think I should like to live with you." 
 
 " My dear," said the old squire, in a trembling 
 voice, "don't decide hastily. Remember it is 
 a lifelong matter. You can never draw back."
 
 The Squire's Mania. 125 
 
 " I shall not want to. You care for me, and 
 no one else does." 
 
 " You shall have whatever you want," he 
 repeated, with an uncomfortable feeling that he 
 was taking advantage of her, and anxious to 
 make the bargain as liberal as possible. 
 
 11 Thank you," she said gravely. 
 
 " You shall have anything in heaven or earth 
 that I can give you," he cried impetuously, 
 11 if you will come and be my little wife, Luigia." 
 
 "Very well," said Luigia, "I will come." 
 And so the bargain was agreed upon. 
 
 He did not dare to kiss her. Her extreme 
 youth and innocence shielded her from any- 
 thing like familiarity, and placed her in an 
 atmosphere that he did not dare disturb. He 
 merely raised her hand to his lips and kissed 
 that. The fingers were inky from her recent 
 labours with the pen, and as he saw it he 
 smiled. She smiled too, rather shyly. 
 
 " I always make blots when I write," she said, 
 " and as to my arithmetic — it never comes 
 right ! You will be shocked at my ignorance 
 when you find it out. I am being ' finished ' as 
 they call it, although I have never been 
 'begun.'" 
 
 " Poor little thing!" kissing the inky fingers 
 yet again, "but I like ignorance, as I told you
 
 126 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 once before. I shall be prouder of my ignorant, 
 childish wife than any man ever was of the 
 cleverest woman upon earth. We shan't want 
 much learning down at Rodney, shall we ? 
 We will manage to enjoy ourselves without 
 it, eh?" 
 
 A sound of footsteps was heard coming along 
 the passage, and the squire, dropping her hand 
 with guilty haste, made for the door. The 
 next instant Miss Elliot entered, and, with a 
 muttered apology for trespassing on her pre- 
 mises, he passed her and escaped. He tramped 
 down the passage and the stairs in a tumult of 
 conflicting feelings. He had won the young 
 creature with the mournful dark eyes and soft 
 fingers, who seemed to him the only bit of 
 poetry he had come across in his life, but could 
 he make her happy ? She had entrusted herself 
 to him, but was he capable of fulfilling that 
 trust ? A strange sinking of the heart mingled 
 with the joy that made it beat so fast.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 luigia's worldly wisdom. 
 
 IQUIRE RODNEY reached the hall, and 
 was met at the library door by Daubigny, 
 who no longer wore his ulster. 
 
 " You've lost the train," he said, " so make 
 the best of it, and come and have a smoke. I 
 had half a mind to come up and see what you 
 were about, you were such an unconscionable 
 time." 
 
 He linked his arm in his, and drew him into 
 the library. 
 
 u I've sent the trap back to the stables. 
 There isn't another train till 9.30. So you 
 must dine with us anyway ; and, upon my 
 word, I shall think it very unfriendly if you 
 insist upon turning out at that time of night. 
 Throw over the engagement, whatever it is, and 
 stay with us a day or two longer." 
 
 "Well," said the squire, seating himself
 
 128 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 straddlewise over a chair, and looking into the 
 fire with an expression of deep deliberation, " I 
 don't know whether I won't after all, since you 
 ask me." 
 
 " Haven't I asked you a dozen times already, 
 my dear fellow ? " 
 
 "Well," said the squire, wrinkling up his 
 ruddy face into keen appreciation of the joke, 
 " I've made another engagement now — a more 
 important one, on the whole — in fact, never 
 entered into anything more serious in my 
 life ! " 
 
 " What on earth do you mean ? " said 
 Daubigny, struck by his manner. 
 
 " I mean that I've asked Luigia to be my 
 wife." 
 
 " The devil you have ! " he cried with sudden 
 vehemence. " What madness is this ? I don't 
 understand." 
 
 " The long and short of it is, I'm bewitched," 
 said the squire, revelling in the joke. " I'm a 
 fool, I own it frankly, but I can't help it. I 
 made enough resolutions to keep a fellow safe, 
 especially an old fellow like me, but not 
 one of 'em could stand firm. They went 
 down like ninepins the first time she looked 
 at me." 
 
 Daubigny kicked the smouldering log on
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 129 
 
 the hearth into a blaze, and turned to scru- 
 tinize his companion with a dark scowl on his 
 face. 
 
 " Go on," he said. 
 
 " I intended to run away from her, but it 
 wouldn't work. I went to say good-bye for 
 ever, and in the same breath I asked her to be 
 my wife. Heaven alone knows how or why. 
 It is absurd! preposterous! — but I rather 
 like it ! n 
 
 " You must be mad," was Daubigny's reply, 
 " raving mad. I see no other solution of your 
 conduct." 
 
 " You are uncommonly polite," he returned, 
 chuckling good-humouredly, "and I might 
 quarrel with you if I hadn't pretty much the 
 same opinion myself. However, we are all apt 
 to be the victim of madness at some period 
 of our lives. Mine has come on late, you see, 
 and I rather enjoy the novelty of the disease." 
 
 Daubigny thrust his hands into his trouser- 
 pockets and paced the room, his usual mode of 
 proceeding when agitated. 
 
 " I shall not allow it," he said at last, con- 
 fronting the squire on the hearthrug, and 
 looking down on him as he sat in the light of 
 the flickering fire. " I utterly and entirely 
 refuse my consent." 
 
 VOL. I. q
 
 130 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " My dear fellow, what is the good of doing 
 that ? She has given me her promise, and I 
 intend to have her, with or without consent — 
 by hook or by crook." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried Daubigny, with a flash in 
 his eyes. " You seem to forget that I am her 
 father." 
 
 " No," said the squire, rising and speaking 
 very seriously for the first time during the 
 interview, " I have not forgotten it — but if I 
 had, would it have been very remarkable ? 
 Forgive my plain speaking. I am a man who 
 speaks his mind. It was your neglect of her 
 that first brought her before my notice. I pitied 
 her, and then I learned to love her. She was 
 never a favourite of yours, and she knows it ; 
 she has not been happy here, and what wonder 
 is it if she is willing to go away ? I have 
 offered her my home, and she has accepted it, 
 for she has had neither love nor home in this 
 house." 
 
 Daubigny turned on his heel and paced the 
 room again. The squire stood with his back 
 to the fire, and pulled his coat-tails through his 
 arms. It was a pugnacious attitude, and he 
 spoke pugnaciously. 
 
 " She wants to come to me, and I mean to 
 have her. Therefore, Daubigny, much as I
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 131 
 
 like you, I shall not consider your wishes in 
 the matter. Her will shall be law. If she 
 wants to break it off to-morrow, I shall set her 
 free, but if she doesn't, I shall stick to it through 
 all the opposition in the world." 
 
 " Do as you like," said Daubigny, coming 
 back to the hearth, and leaning against the 
 mantelpiece in a dejected attitude. " It is as 
 you say — I am a father to her only in name, I 
 cannot begin to control her actions, and say 
 what she shall or shall not do so late in the day 
 as this. She can act as she chooses — it is not 
 for me to interfere." 
 
 The Squire of Rodney took his hand and 
 held it in both his own. 
 
 " My dear boy, don't talk so bitterly, or I 
 shall feel more like a robber than — than a son- 
 in-law /" 
 
 His eyes twinkled as he uttered the last 
 word, but Daubigny remained profoundly 
 
 grave. 
 
 "Why didn't you choose the other ? " he said. 
 "Why wasn't it Belle?" 
 
 " Because," replied the squire, " she cannot 
 make your heart jump into your mouth by just 
 lifting her eyes, and because she cannot twist 
 you round her little finger, however stout and 
 elderly you may happen to be, and because
 
 132 The Desire of the Moth 
 
 she cannot make you laugh and cry with her 
 singing, and — oh ! a hundred other reasons. 
 Principally and finally, because she did not 
 make me fall in love with her. Do you under- 
 stand ? " 
 
 " Yes," he said, with a sigh. " I under- 
 stand only too well. I learned the same lesson 
 once." 
 
 That evening Luigia was shy, and did not 
 go down to dinner. Immediately after the 
 meal was over Belle visited her in the school- 
 room, curious to see what she would say and 
 do under the new circumstances. She found 
 her alone, sitting over the fire. Her attitude 
 was despondent, her head resting on her hand, 
 her hair, still loosened and neglected, drooping 
 over her cheek. She roused herself as Belle 
 entered, and looked up with a faint smile. 
 
 " What is this I hear?" cried that young 
 lady, dropping on her knees beside her in her 
 most gushing style. " Is it really true — this 
 most extraordinary and wonderful news ? " 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " You queer little creature ! What an idea ! 
 Why, he's ever so ancient ! What made you 
 think of such a thing ? " 
 
 " He asked me." 
 
 " Yes, and so may dozens of men, but that
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 133 
 
 is no reason for accepting them. What made 
 you accept him ? " 
 She was silent. 
 
 " It isn't because he is young and handsome 
 and fascinating, most certainly. What a worldly 
 little thing you are, Luigia ! Mama is quite 
 amazed at your cleverness. He is as rich as 
 Croesus, and his friends have been trying to 
 marry him for years ! " 
 
 Luigia changed her attitude, and clasping 
 her hands round her knees, looked drearily 
 into the fire. 
 
 " Money has nothing to do with it," she 
 said. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense ! Little girls of seventeen 
 don't marry their grandfathers for love — dear, 
 kind old man as he is ! You are a clever, 
 designing, worldly little creature, in spite of 
 all your innocent ways. I should never have 
 believed it of you ! " 
 
 "He is kind to me," said Luigia. 
 
 " Well, my dear, are not we all kind to 
 you ? " she said, struck by the sadness of the 
 tone in which this remark was made, and she 
 took Luigia's hand and held it on her knee. 
 
 " Oh yes," she said, but the voice was 
 listless. 
 
 " Well, you are engaged before me after
 
 134 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 all ! " Belle went on after a pause, " though, of 
 course, I have had plenty of offers. There 
 was that wretched creature Mr. Blythe, at 
 the school-treat over at Friarsgate the other 
 day, came up and stammered through some- 
 thing like a proposal — as though I could ever 
 bring myself to marry a man with a beard ! 
 And that same evening I had one from Major 
 Dunlop. Rather amusing, wasn't it — two in 
 one day like that ? But they all have the Belle 
 fever over at Friarsgate." 
 
 " There is no need for you to marry," said 
 Luigia, looking into the heart of the fire. 
 
 " Oh, but I must some day, I suppose. In 
 fact, I am to be Mrs. Jean Ingram, whenever 
 Mr. Jean Ingram chooses to make me a formal 
 offer." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Another cousin of mine — they swarm, you 
 know. He is Lord Cranburn's heir, and is 
 coming into the title and property when the 
 old man dies. But he wont die — that is the 
 worst of it. He goes on living for ever — 
 sleeping on an iron mattress, and getting up 
 at six like the Duke of Wellington — you know 
 the sort of constitution ! And, in the mean 
 time, poor Jean hangs about, not knowing what 
 to do with himself."
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 135 
 
 " Is he nice — Mr. Ingram ? " 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " That is according to taste. He isn't good- 
 looking, but he's clever — horribly clever. He 
 has an alarming amount of information on 
 every possible and impossible subject, but 
 he's so cynical ! He thinks nothing of himself 
 or anybody else. He criticizes everything till 
 there's nothing left. If you like that sort of 
 man, well and good, but, if you don't, you hate 
 him. He can be very disagreeable, I assure 
 you." 
 
 " When are you going to be married ? " 
 
 " My dear, how shockingly frank you are ! 
 Why, we are not even engaged. There is 
 no hurry. We both know it must come in the 
 end, and we are quite willing to postpone the 
 crisis a little longer." 
 
 " But why must you marry him ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know exactly, but I've always 
 known it — so has he. Our properties lie 
 together, and all that — though mine isn't worth 
 much, I'm sorry to say. We are destined for 
 each other, and I suppose it is inevitable." 
 
 " I wouldn't marry a man if I didn't like 
 him." 
 
 " Wouldn't you ? " laughing. " Why, you'd 
 marry him in a minute if he asked you, just
 
 136 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 for the title and the property, for you're the 
 most calculating little minx in the world. But 
 to tell you the truth, I like him better than 
 any one else. There's a certain amount of 
 interest in trying to strike a spark from a 
 flint. If you get the spark it is worth a good 
 deal." 
 
 " Do you really think I am designing and 
 calculating ? " said Luigia, turning her face 
 away into the shadow. 
 
 " Of course I do. Who could think other- 
 wise ? But I don't suppose you could ever 
 fall in love as other girls do, so it's all right, 
 I suppose. You never seem to care much 
 about anything." 
 
 "No?" 
 
 " No. Mama was talking to me about it 
 just now. She says you are the kind of girl 
 who has no sentimental fancies to stand in 
 your way, and that when you are left a rich 
 young widow, you will marry again — some one 
 young and handsome. She says you are wise 
 beyond your years." 
 
 Luigia turned back from the shadows, and 
 looked at Belle with great, fascinated eyes. 
 Was she accused of such heartless calculations 
 as these with regard to the man she had 
 promised to marry ? The idea was horrible !
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 137 
 
 but she did not deny it. What was the use of 
 words if they understood her so little ? 
 
 The next day, late in the afternoon, she was 
 sent for to the drawing-room. Belle was pour- 
 ing out tea at a little gipsy-table near the fire, 
 Lady Adelaide sat at her embroidery frame, and 
 the squire stood in his favourite attitude on the 
 hearthrug with his coat-tails through his arms. 
 
 " We were obliged to send for you in self- 
 defence," said Belle, as Luigia entered. " The 
 squire has been so dreadfully restless, and 
 asked so many questions about you, that we 
 could bear it no longer. He couldn't wait till 
 dinner time, he said." 
 
 " 1 was afraid the fairies had cheated me 
 out of my luck, and whisked you off," he said, 
 coming forward to take her hand. "What 
 have you been doing with yourself all day ? 
 I haven't caught a glimpse of you." 
 
 " I have been at my lessons. And, oh, do 
 you know, I have found out the average age 
 of the boys at that school, after all." 
 
 "Really ?" and he looked as keenly interested 
 as if she were about to inform him of some 
 tremendous scientific discovery. " What was 
 it, then ? " 
 
 " Only fourteen. I made a mistake in the 
 way I worked it."
 
 138 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! I'd back your way against 
 all the arithmetic books in the world. I hate 
 accuracy. Here, come and sit down by the 
 fire and forget all about it, and talk to me 
 instead." 
 
 He waited on her with tea and cake. Belle 
 teased them a little, but they did not seem to 
 care. As for Luigia, she could not have borne 
 herself with greater calmness had she been 
 engaged all her life. 
 
 When Lady Adelaide and Belle went to 
 dress for dinner, Luigia rose to follow them, 
 but the squire stopped her. 
 
 " I have something to show you — something 
 to give you," he said, fumbling in his waist- 
 coat-pocket, and producing a tiny jewel-case. 
 " I went to London to-day on a very important 
 matter." He opened the box, and disclosed a 
 ring glittering with a mass of diamonds. " I 
 could not find one good enough till I saw this," 
 he said. u I hope you like it." 
 
 " Is it for me ? " looking up. 
 
 " Of course" — in a voice that trembled 
 against his will — " who else should I buy rings 
 for ? Give me your hand." 
 
 She held out the right. The little mistake 
 seemed to bring before him more strongly 
 than ever the fact of her extreme youth and
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 139 
 
 ignorance. He took it, and drew her a little 
 closer to him, looking down into her eyes 
 anxiously. 
 
 " Luigia, my poor little darling, do you quite 
 understand what you are doing ? Do you 
 realize what you are about ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; it was very stupid of me " — still 
 looking up into his face — " I ought to have 
 given you my left, oughtn't I ? " 
 
 " Am I to put on the ring ? Are you willing 
 to be bound, then ? " 
 
 He took the childish hand almost reluctantly, 
 and slipped the ring on to her finger. It was 
 a very heavy, handsome ring, far too heavy 
 and handsome for the hand that bore it, and 
 the diamonds glittered almost painfully in the 
 firelight. At any rate, if they were not painful 
 to the two who were plighting their troth, they 
 hurt the eyes of Daubigny, who just then 
 entered the room. 
 
 Was this stout old gentleman to take for his 
 wife the childish creature who put her hand so 
 confidingly into his ? It must not be. He 
 would forbid the unnatural act, and claim a 
 right over his daughter. He moved forward 
 to do so, but even as he went the words on 
 his lips were changed, and he spoke quite 
 apart from the feeling in his heart. Had he
 
 140 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 uttered them there is no knowing how the 
 story of Luigia's life would have ended. 
 
 " I am sorry to interrupt so interesting a 
 scene," he began sarcastically, " but, prosaic as 
 it may be, the dinner-gong " 
 
 He never finished his sentence, for, while he 
 was yet speaking, Luigia wrenched her hand 
 from the squire's grasp, fled past him like a 
 hunted thing, and disappeared in the dark- 
 ness of the hall. Daubigny turned to stare 
 after her. 
 
 "What is the meaning of that?" he said 
 grimly. 
 
 " Haven't an idea!" returned the squire, 
 shortly. Then, parting his coat-tails again for 
 the better warming of his lower person, he 
 added, " I'm glad she doesn't run away from 
 me like that ! " 
 
 Daubigny made no reply, and, throwing 
 himself into a chair, buried himself behind 
 the newspaper. 
 
 On the staircase she met Alan Carmichael, 
 who stopped her. He looked taller and more 
 gaunt than ever, and was pale and heavy-eyed. 
 
 " What is this they tell me ? " he said, in a 
 voice that vainly strove to smother its emotion. 
 " I do not — I will not believe it till I hear it 
 from your own lips."
 
 Luigia's Worldly Wisdom. 141 
 
 " It is quite true," she said, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " True ? Then all the rest was false ! Why- 
 did you let me learn to love you if you meant 
 to marry some one else ? Why did you let 
 me hold your hand and look into your beauti- 
 ful eyes ? Did you think I could do that 
 without getting mad with love ? But I see 
 how it is — you must make a grand marriage. 
 I am too poor, too insignificant. You must 
 marry a millionaire, whether you care for him 
 or not." 
 
 She did not speak, and he went on after a 
 pause, catching her hand on which shone the 
 newly given ring. 
 
 " This is not like the ring / should have 
 given you. Mine would have been paid for 
 with money I had pinched day and night to 
 save. You have sold yourself for riches ! " 
 
 She tried to pass him, and turned away her 
 head. 
 
 " I will not let you speak to me if you say 
 such things," she said. 
 
 He caught her hand again, crying out — 
 
 " Forgive me, Luigia. I am mad and sus- 
 picious, but I am too wretched and hopeless 
 to know what I am saying. Why " — he bent 
 towards her and lowered his voice — " why did
 
 142 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 you let me kiss you, Luigia ? I can never 
 forget it." 
 
 " You may kiss me still," she said calmly. 
 " No one else does. He did not." 
 
 He saw her beautiful eyes shining through 
 the gloom ; he saw her soft lips drooping with 
 the piteous droop of self-pity, and he had a 
 hard struggle between his love for her and his 
 sense of honour. 
 
 " No," he said at last, " not when you belong 
 to somebody else. Though I am poor, I am 
 not a thief," and he stalked off with his head 
 held proudly erect.
 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 jean Ingram's warning. 
 
 T was the day before the wedding, and 
 preparations for the ceremony filled 
 everybody's mind. 
 
 The only guests staying in the house were 
 Mr. Rodney's niece Mrs. Harburton, and her 
 husband, the Major, just home from India. 
 The squire took rooms for himself and his 
 servant at an hotel, but spent most of his 
 time at the Hall in the company of his future 
 bride. 
 
 Luigia herself, although she was the heroine 
 of the hour, took things very quietly. She 
 was at everybody's beck and call without a 
 murmur, never tired, never cross, never any- 
 thing but grateful and willing to be pleased. 
 She, less than any one in the house, was 
 disturbed by the excitement around her. 
 
 Jean Ingram, the only other guest invited
 
 144 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 to the house, arrived in the afternoon of the 
 day before the wedding. He was ushered 
 into the drawing-room, where he found Belle 
 alone, dressed in an elegant tea-gown, writing 
 letters. She threw down her pen as he entered, 
 and rose to meet him. 
 
 " My dear Jean, I am so glad you have 
 come. We are all quite distracted ! I am 
 answering innumerable notes, and feel quite 
 dazed. A wedding is far harder work than 
 giving a ball, I find." 
 
 He shook hands, and sat down opposite 
 her. 
 
 " It is astonishing to me that people ever 
 get married," he said, " when they know what 
 a disturbance it creates." 
 
 " Oh, the bride and bridegroom have nothing 
 to do but enjoy themselves," cried Belle, anxious 
 to disabuse his mind of such disagreeable 
 impressions with regard to marriage. " They 
 have no bother. This child Luigia has a very 
 easy time of it compared to mama and me ; 
 but then she never has any sense of respon- 
 sibility about anything, it is true. She goes 
 her own way, and lets things arrange them- 
 selves." 
 
 " She must be an unusually sensible young 
 lady!"
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 145 
 
 " Oh, it's her disposition. She has no feel- 
 ings, and doesn't care a bit if her dress doesn't 
 fit. I believe that if mama said she must be 
 married in one of her old school pinafores, 
 she would be perfectly willing. She is most 
 unnaturally phlegmatic — considering that she 
 is only just eighteen, too ! " 
 
 "And the bridegroom," said Mr. Ingram, 
 " is a very ancient person, I understand ? 
 What a charming mdnage it will be — till the 
 other man turns up." 
 
 " The other man ? " said Belle, looking at 
 him inquiringly. " Who is the other man ? " 
 
 " Oh, I don't know his name — neither does 
 she yet, I suppose. But there will be a third 
 to the story one of these days, as surely as 
 my name is Ingram. Everybody recognizes 
 that fact, of course, whether they own it or 
 not." 
 
 " I am ashamed of you, Jean," said Belle, 
 flushing a little, and rising from her seat in 
 indignation. " You have no right to say 
 such things — and to me, too ! It is most 
 insulting " 
 
 " I beg your pardon," returned Mr. Ingram, 
 with a slight shrug of his shoulders. " I forgot 
 I was not in Paris. I will endeavour to respect 
 your prejudices in future. A thousand apologies! 
 
 vol. 1. 10
 
 146 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 English women are so frantically shocked if one 
 alludes to a spade as a spade, but I had for- 
 gotten that pretty little trait of theirs, having 
 lived so long out of England." 
 
 He walked over to one of the windows as 
 he spoke, and stood there looking out on to 
 the sunny gardens, with a contemptuous smile 
 on his lips. 
 
 He was a short, thin, frigid young man, 
 with refined, accentuated features, keen, critical 
 eyes, a cold manner, and deliberate speech. 
 He was known to be clever, even brilliant, and 
 had he not been heir to his uncle's title and 
 position, would probably long ago have done 
 something to distinguish his name among men. 
 As it was, he had studied surgery for some 
 years in a dilettante way, both in Paris and 
 Vienna, and gone in for experimental science 
 to a certain extent, but without any definite 
 aim or object. His writings were well known 
 among a certain set, and his reputation was 
 above the average. His contributions to the 
 literature of the day were entirely on medical 
 or scientific subjects, and his style curt, dry, 
 decided, forcible. He allowed neither eloquence 
 nor imagery, and went straight to his point 
 in the shortest manner possible. His talent 
 was unquestionable, and men of his world
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 147 
 
 were apt to declare that the brilliance of his 
 career was ruined by waiting to step into dead 
 men's shoes, instead of putting his hand to 
 the plough with the will to work. Had he 
 been a poor man dependent upon his own 
 exertions, he would have been a brilliant 
 success ; as it was, he did nothing. 
 
 There might have been yet another cause 
 that acted as a clo£ on the wheel of his o:ood 
 fortune, and kept him from rising, yet no one 
 knew the rights of the story, and no one 
 ventured more than a dark hint concerning 
 it. There were rumours of some tremendous 
 love-affair when he was quite a young man, 
 in which a duel, pistols, and dying speeches 
 formed but a small and insignificant part. His 
 aunt Lady Adelaide, who professed to have 
 a correct version of the affair, declared that 
 he was engaged to be married to an exquisitely 
 beautiful French marquise, who, a week before 
 the marriage, was discovered in an intrigue 
 with a nobleman of her own nationality. Jean 
 Ingram called him out, and shot him dead on 
 the spot. He then visited the lady, and 
 informed her, hat in hand, of his extreme 
 regret at having been compelled by circum- 
 stances to blow out the brains of her friend, 
 Monsieur le due, but assured her that he should
 
 148 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 not feel called upon to interfere further in her 
 affairs, and trusted that she would be able 
 to console herself for the loss without serious 
 injury to her health. 
 
 A lady in Paris, however, who was probably 
 far more behind the scenes than Lady Adelaide, 
 gave a totally different version of the story. 
 The heroine was a beautiful Russian serf whom 
 he had befriended in Paris, and whom he was 
 prevented from marrying by the ignominy 
 of her birth. That she possessed his heart, 
 however, was certain, and that while she lived 
 he would marry no one else was firmly believed 
 by those who knew him best. Lady Adelaide 
 refused altogether to credit this story, and took 
 care that no rumour of it should reach Belle's 
 ears. He was a talented and virtuous young 
 man, devoted to progress in science and 
 medicine, and incapable of any but the most 
 blameless and exemplary of lives. Lady 
 Adelaides faith in him was such that all the 
 mountains in the world could have been moved 
 by it collectively had she chosen to exert her- 
 self in that direction. 
 
 Belle had just turned to her letter-writing, 
 anxious to finish the note in hand, when the 
 squire entered the room. 
 
 " How de do ? Glad to see you," he said,
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 149 
 
 shaking hands heartily with Ingram. " Where's 
 Luigia ?" looking round him in a lost way. 
 
 " Oh, no one knows where Luigia is," cried 
 Belle, with a shrug of her pretty shoulders ; 
 " with her jackdaw probably." 
 
 " Have you seen her yet ? " continued the 
 squire, turning to Ingram, with a face brimful 
 of smiling pride. " No ? Then come with 
 me, and we'll find her. She is sure to be in 
 the gardens somewhere." 
 
 Mr. Ingram distinctly preferred the cool 
 fragrance of the drawing-room and the society 
 of his cousin to the hot gardens in search of 
 the squire's fiancee. However, he rose 
 obediently, and the squire, linking his arm 
 in his, led him out on to the terrace. 
 
 It was a glorious afternoon. Every leaf and 
 twig glistened in the dazzling sunshine ; the 
 very stones of the terrace burned the bare hand. 
 
 They walked through the gardens without 
 finding a trace of Luigia, and at last the squire, 
 struck by a happy thought, suggested the lake. 
 And there, as they approached it, they saw her 
 far away in a punt under the shade of the trees. 
 
 "There's my little girl!" cried Mr. Rodney, 
 his face lighting up as he caught sight of her. 
 " I wonder what she is doing. But, hush ! Let 
 us take her by surprise."
 
 150 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 He crept round the margin of the lake on 
 tip-toe, screened from observation by the bushes, 
 and Ingram followed. They peeped at her 
 through the brambles and underwood — the 
 squire with his finger to his lips to impress 
 silence. 
 
 The sunshine was gleaming on the waters 
 of the lake, except where the overhanging trees 
 threw a deep shadow near the bank. On the 
 opposite shore Luigia had fixed her punt, and 
 was sitting motionless in the cool gloom of the 
 close-leaved willows that drooped over the 
 water. She was looking straight before her, 
 with eyes that saw nothing of her surroundings, 
 her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her 
 hands. She was lost in dreams, and, to judge by 
 her expression, they were rather sad ones. The 
 old flat straw hat was tilted to the back of 
 her head, the well-worn holland pinafore, of 
 antiquated cut, was donned again for the last 
 time. On her knees lay the hideous rag doll 
 that had been the friend and chief companion 
 of her solitary childhood ; on her shoulder 
 perched the jackdaw ; at her feet sat a Skye 
 terrier, with hanging tongue, and bright eyes 
 gleaming through his tangled mass of hair. 
 A Persian kitten played with its own tail in 
 the bottom of the punt, and two silver-grey
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 151 
 
 rabbits nibbled lettuce-leaves at the further 
 end. It was a happy family — happy except 
 for Luigia, whose profile showed signs of a 
 profound melancholy. There were even tears 
 upon her cheek, or so the squire imagined, 
 and a queer mixture of sadness, tenderness, 
 and shame filled his face. 
 
 It was evident to both men that she was 
 taking a farewell of her childhood in a well- 
 beloved spot, and had gathered together her 
 favourites for the last time. She had come 
 there to be alone with them, to kiss and cry 
 over them undisturbed. With a guilty feeling 
 the squire turned to go as quietly as he had 
 come, but a second impulse turned him back 
 again. 
 
 " Why, Luigia, what are you doing there all 
 alone ? " he cried out cheerfully. " I've been 
 looking for you everywhere.'' 
 
 She looked round quickly, and a little smile 
 of welcome flitted over her face. 
 
 " It is cool here," she said. 
 
 11 Come," he continued, pulling at the rope 
 that moored the punt, and hauling it through 
 the water-lilies to the bank. " Here is Mr. 
 Ingram waiting all impatience to be introduced. 
 Ingram, this is Luigia." 
 
 She looked at him shyly. She had never
 
 152 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 seen him before, but she guessed he was the 
 man whom Belle would eventually marry, and 
 she was interested in him on that account. 
 She swept the rag doll off her lap into the 
 bottom of the punt with a hasty movement — 
 ashamed of having been caught nursing it — 
 and pulled her hat straight. There was some- 
 thing in Mr. Ingram's eyes that seemed to 
 penetrate and scrutinize alarmingly, — even 
 with the width of half the lake between them. 
 
 He came down to the edge of the bank, and 
 she, rising and standing in the middle of the 
 punt, held out her hand to him. He took it 
 and held it for a moment, looking into her face 
 curiously. 
 
 " You seem to have quite a menagerie here," 
 said the squire, as the jackdaw jumped off her 
 shoulder with an irritable cry. " What are you 
 all supposed to be doing ? Have you been 
 singing them a farewell dirge, eh ? " 
 
 She looked down on all her pets with a 
 wistful expression. 
 
 " How I wish they were all coming with us 
 to-morrow ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " So they shall, every man-jack of them, if 
 you wish it. We'll take the whole crew and 
 welcome." 
 
 " But they wouldn't like it," she said, shaking
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 153 
 
 her head. " No, I am afraid they must stay 
 behind." 
 
 She sighed, and the squire, planting one of 
 his legs in the punt and keeping the other 
 firmly on land, took her by the chin and turned 
 up her face for inspection. 
 
 " Tears, my sweetheart ? What do they 
 mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she replied, and she wrenched 
 her chin out of his detaining grasp with a 
 movement not altogether devoid of defiance. 
 
 " But you have been crying. Why ? " 
 
 She hesitated a moment, and then, with her 
 head still turned away, said in a low voice, 
 " Only because I am going away from them 
 all." 
 
 " But, my pretty one, we shall have them 
 down at Rodney as soon as ever we get back." 
 
 " Oh, I know, but— it will be different." 
 
 To hide the trembling of her lips she took 
 the jackdaw on to her finger, and smoothed his 
 glossy wing against her mouth. "Get out!" 
 cried the bird, hoarsely. 
 
 11 There ! " she exclaimed, looking up at 
 Ingram, and he fancied there were more 
 unshed tears about her eyes. " He always 
 says that. Once, late in the evening, I came 
 to his ca^e, and I heard him fluttering about
 
 154 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 and saying 'get out' in a very sleepy voice, 
 and when I looked in I saw a mouse eating up 
 his food. Wasn't it clever of him ? " 
 
 " Very," said Ingram, rather at random, for, 
 to tell the truth, he had not listened to the 
 story. He was filled with an overwhelming 
 astonishment — astonishment at the audacity 
 of the deed which should make this child the 
 wife of an old man to-morrow. He had 
 known women of the world, having lived but 
 eighteen years, who would not have hesitated 
 a moment to sell themselves for a million of 
 money to any one who chose to offer the 
 bargain, but that this little girl, with her hat 
 at the back of her head and her tears and 
 her queer pets, should be sacrificed in a way 
 she evidently did not understand was a 
 calamity. Man of the world as he was, and 
 accustomed to every form of social barbarism, 
 it would scarcely have seemed unnatural to him 
 if the skies had fallen to avert the catastrophe. 
 
 The squire, meanwhile, cleared the punt in 
 a wholesale manner, and when he came to 
 the rag doll, his face broadened into a wide 
 smile. 
 
 " What's to be done with this young lady ? " 
 he said, picking it up with the tips of his 
 fingers, and holding it out to ridicule.
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 155 
 
 But Luigia's face flushed with a mingling of 
 shame and anger, and Ingram did not dare to 
 smile. She took it with a proud gesture. 
 
 " You may think she looks horrid," she said, 
 " but that is nothing to me ; and / should never 
 laugh at anything you cared for." And, turning 
 her back, she walked off with an air of offended 
 dignity. 
 
 The anxious and thoroughly penitent squire 
 followed in silence, carrying the silver-furred 
 rabbits by their ears. 
 
 Later in the day Ingram had a little con- 
 versation alone with Luigia. They were on 
 the lawn under the trees, and she was leaning 
 against the hammock in which Belle had been 
 lying before she went indoors. 
 
 " I wonder," he was saying, " why I never 
 came here before, considering the number of 
 times I have been to Friarsgate. It was very 
 stupid of me." And he looked at her. 
 
 "Yes," she said simply, "it is a pretty 
 place." 
 
 "Oh, it is more than pretty," he returned, 
 and he still looked at her. 
 
 "And I am going away from it," she said, 
 looking round her absently ; then, suddenly 
 lifting her eyes to his face, " I am going to be 
 married to-morrow."
 
 156 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 He looked down into her eyes, which were 
 the eyes of a child, and did not fall beneath 
 his gaze. 
 
 "Yes, I know," he said gravely. 
 
 A pause followed, during which she gazed 
 away into the distance thoughtfully, and he 
 looked at her. 
 
 " Marriage is a serious thing," he observed 
 presently, folding his arms and leaning against 
 the trunk of the tree. 
 
 " Yes, very," she replied, equally gravely, 
 turning up the face of a daisy with her toe. 
 
 " But do you realize what it means ? " 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " That I am going to live all my life with 
 Mr. Rodney, and that he will give me all my 
 clothes." 
 
 " Is that all?" 
 
 " Oh no. I shall do just as I like, and have 
 horses and dogs of my own, and go out to 
 dinner-parties and pay calls, and" — looking 
 down on the daisy she was tormenting — " I 
 shall nurse him if he is ill, and do everything 
 I can think of to make him happy and 
 comfortable." 
 
 " Yes," said Ingram, with an involuntary 
 smile, " it means all that, but it means a great
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 157 
 
 deal more, too. Where is the love to come in, 
 in this marriage of yours ? " 
 
 Never in his life before, perhaps, had he 
 spoken so seriously on the subject of marriage. 
 He was wont to say that it meant but an arrange- 
 ment of mutual convenience between two people, 
 a social union that left them nearly as much 
 freedom as they had before. As for love — 
 that had little to do with the matter. It was 
 not possible for a man to be madly in love with 
 the woman who sat every morning of her life 
 at his breakfast table — love requiring a certain 
 glamor of romance around its object to keep it 
 alive. And the woman — well, she was satisfied 
 with the spending of her husband's money and 
 the freedom of action that came with her 
 position. He had no illusions left as to the 
 marriage state, no yellow-backed novel con- 
 ceptions of eternal love, no desire to find a 
 kindred spirit, no high-flown faith in human 
 nature. He knew life as it was, and expected 
 nothing better. But for once, as Luigia 
 looked at him with her beautiful/innocent eyes, 
 and he knew she was running her head into a 
 noose that could never be untied, and taking 
 upon herself responsibilities she did not under- 
 stand, an honest indignation rose within him. 
 It was treachery to take advantage of her
 
 158 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 ignorance — a base unmanly act — and even he, 
 with all his callous worldliness, would have 
 hesitated before such a deed. 
 
 4 'As for love," said Luigia, with a scornful 
 little movement of her mouth, " I shall take 
 care to avoid it — at least, the sort of love 
 one reads of in novels. I can be hard if I 
 like — and not love. I have done it before. 
 It is the only way not to be miserable." 
 
 "What do you know about love, pray ?" 
 
 " Something. I have cared for somebody 
 who never has cared and never will care 
 for me." 
 
 " Who ? A man ? A man you wanted to 
 marry ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no." Her lips curled more 
 scornfully than before. " It was nothing to do 
 with marriage. It was some one belonging to 
 me — in my own family— that is all." 
 
 " Indeed ! How original — how charming ! 
 And so you think, because you have managed 
 to subdue this unrequited affection for a father 
 or an uncle, that it will be the same with a 
 lover ? My dear child, you are most fearfully 
 and wonderfully young ! " 
 
 He moved away from the tree, and came and 
 stood in front of her — directly in front, so that 
 she could not get away. When he spoke
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 159 
 
 there was no longer the slightly scoffing tone in 
 his voice that generally ran through it. 
 
 11 Listen to me. You are a child, and I am a 
 man of the world, and I know many things you 
 do not. I know this — that beyond all shadow 
 of doubt you will live to regret this marriage." 
 
 She looked up at him a little frightened. He 
 spoke impressively, and it seemed to her it was 
 the prophetic voice of Fate that was warning 
 her. 
 
 " Some day," he went on, " there will come a 
 man — a man you could love, and who loves 
 you — and it will be all over with you. You 
 will find yourself imprisoned, and the end of 
 the story, whatever it may be, will be misery. 
 Listen to me. Do as I tell you, for I know. 
 Break off this marriage while there is yet 
 time, and wait till you know what you are 
 about." 
 
 " If that man came," she said, looking startled, 
 " I should not listen to him. I should send him 
 away." 
 
 " And suppose he would not go ? Suppose he 
 would be heard ? " 
 
 " A gentleman always does what a lady 
 wishes." 
 
 " Not when he is madly in love." 
 
 He was planted directly before her, and
 
 160 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 she was looking up at him with a fascinated 
 gaze. Her lips parted, but she did not 
 speak. 
 
 " I tell you," he went on, " that you will be 
 able to do nothing with him when he comes. 
 You and your little wishes will be light as air." 
 He snapped his fingers. "You may tell him 
 to go, but he will stay. You may refuse to 
 listen, but he will speak. A man in love is 
 beyond his own control, and far and away 
 beyond yours. He will frighten you, no doubt, 
 but what of that ? You will get used to him, 
 and, if you love him, love casts out fear." 
 
 As he spoke, a glimmering of some unknown 
 power, before which she would be helpless, 
 forced itself into her mind. Her emotional 
 nature was stirred, her dark eyes deepened 
 with a fascinated fear. But suddenly he laughed 
 and turned aside. 
 
 " What in the name of mischief possesses 
 me ? To think that / should preach senti- 
 ment ! — /, who have not a rag of it left, and 
 believe in it no more than I believe in 
 fairies, and all the rest of the pretty delusions ! 
 Run away, little girl, and know that there 
 is not a word of truth in what I have been 
 saying." 
 
 But he was really indignant that such a
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 161 
 
 monstrosity in the way of marriages should 
 be allowed, and uttered his indignation so 
 strongly in the privacy of Lady Adelaide's 
 boudoir that she was quite astonished. 
 
 "My dear Jean, you speak as though she 
 were being forced into some horrible thing 
 against her will. It is entirely her own doing, 
 I assure you. No one influenced her in any 
 way." 
 
 " That may be, but she is too much of a child 
 to know her own mind." 
 
 " She is not such a child as you imagine. 
 She has a pretty strong will of her own, as I 
 have found to my cost several times. Besides, 
 she is devoted to the squire, and he to her." 
 
 " Devoted ! He is old enough to be her 
 grandfather twice over." 
 
 " You are speaking in exaggeration, my dear 
 Jean. He is only just sixty." 
 
 " Sixty or six hundred, it is all the same 
 thing," cried her nephew, much perturbed, 
 wandering restlessly about the room. " The 
 marriage is a monstrosity, and some one ought 
 to put a stop to it." 
 
 u That would be quite impossible. Besides, 
 there is no reason. I have known several 
 similar marriages turn out remarkably well. 
 She is really very fond of him." 
 
 VOL. I. II
 
 1 62 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Is she ? I doubt it. And even if she 
 thinks she is now, she will find out her mistake 
 before long." 
 
 " He left the room too indignant to make 
 himself agreeable, and wondering what on 
 earth everybody could be about to allow 
 such a marriage to take place in a civilized 
 country, without lifting a finger to oppose it. 
 
 But the only person who had any real autho- 
 rity in the matter was silent. If he had 
 spoken he could have put a stop to the rash 
 proceeding, for a father's voice is not to be 
 lightly set aside. But he was silent, and let 
 things go their way. 
 
 In the evening, as Luigia was passing the 
 open door of his smoking-room, he called her 
 in. He put a small jewel-case into her hands, 
 saying hurriedly — 
 
 " I hope you will like it. I know you have 
 everything, but your mother seemed to think it 
 might be useful." 
 
 She opened it with trembling fingers, and 
 disclosed a slender gold bracelet, set with 
 diamonds. They flashed and sparkled in the 
 half liorht that came into the room from the hall, 
 and she knew that they must have cost a large 
 sum of money. Indeed, the thing was quite the 
 best of its kind that Daubigny could procure.
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 163 
 
 She looked at it in silence, and a storm of 
 conflicting feelings battled within her. It was 
 beautiful, but it was not what she wanted. 
 One kiss would have been worth a thousand of 
 such trifles. She laid it on the table. 
 
 " Thank you," she said coldly. " But I would 
 rather not have it." 
 
 " Don't you like it ? I can change it for 
 something else." 
 
 " Oh yes, I like it," raising her head proudly, 
 and looking him straight in the eyes, " but 
 Belle cares about these things more than I do. 
 You can give it to her." And before he had 
 recovered sufficiently from his surprise to stop 
 her, she had left the room. 
 
 He carried it to the light, and examined it 
 anxiously, wondering what it was that was not 
 to her taste. She had refused it for no reason 
 apparently. It was mysterious, but he was 
 not angry with her. Her luminous eyes, her 
 caprice, her swift vanishing were all too like 
 her mother for him to resent them in his heart, 
 and he could not judge her calmly. 
 
 He did not give the bracelet to Belle ; he 
 put it away in the secret drawer of his desk, 
 and there it remained for years. When it 
 again saw the light, Daubigny's eyes were dim 
 with tears, and his sigh was a heavy one as he
 
 164 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 looked down on it, bitterly regretting the irre- 
 parable past. 
 
 The next day the ceremony took place, and 
 everything went off well. The squire was 
 resplendent in a white waistcoat, with a picotee 
 in his button-hole. He was in the highest 
 possible spirits, and tipped everybody on the 
 premises with or without reason. Only one 
 shadow dimmed the brightness of the day for 
 him, and that was when, at an unfashionably 
 early hour he demanded a glimpse of his bride, 
 he was told that such requests were never 
 granted, and that he must control his impatience 
 until he joined her at the altar. Besides, 
 Luigia happened to be sobbing in Mrs. Har- 
 burton's arms at that moment, and was not fit 
 to make her appearance. 
 
 " Crying ? What for ? " demanded the squire, 
 with a sudden clouding of his radiant face. 
 
 " Nothing, merely excitement, which is quite 
 natural," was the answer, and with that he had 
 to be content. 
 
 When he saw her coming up the church 
 on her father's arm, with her long white 
 skirts sweeping behind her, and the orange- 
 blossom in her dark hair, he was of opinion 
 that her tears had in no way spoiled her 
 appearance, and that she had never looked so
 
 Jean Ingram's Warning. 165 
 
 lovely. But there were others who declared 
 the poor child was pale as death, and had more 
 the air of going to her funeral than her 
 marriage. But, if this were the case, it was not 
 much to be wondered at. The hushed stillness 
 of the expectant crowd in the church, the 
 staring of many eyes, the mysterious ceremony, 
 the weight of the unknown future that lay 
 before her, the swelling music, the flower- 
 decked altar — all combined to almost overwhelm 
 her. What wonder if she were pale, and dared 
 not lift her eyes ? What wonder if her heart 
 beat so fast that she could scarcely frame her 
 responses ? What wonder if her hand was 
 cold and trembling when her husband took it 
 to place upon it the plain gold ring of wife- 
 hood ? She saw nothing, and knew nothing, 
 till they were safely out of the church, and he 
 had taken her into his arms on their homeward 
 drive, and was kissing her back into life. 
 
 But she was completely dazed and bewildered 
 all through the hour and a half that lay between 
 the ceremony and the going away. She sat 
 twisting the new ring round and round her 
 finger, and wondering what she had done. And 
 it was a relief to more than herself when the 
 time arrived for the newly married couple to 
 set off on their travels. Jean Ingram persisted
 
 1 66 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 in viewing the whole affair as a monstrosity, 
 and Luigia as a sort of victim, in spite of 
 Lady Adelaide's arguments to the contrary. 
 
 The last he saw of her was as the carriage 
 drove off — pale, smiling, trembling, looking 
 back through the shower of rice and flowers 
 that was being flung at her, with the Skye 
 terrier clasped tightly in her arms. The rabbits, 
 kitten, and jackdaw had all been left behind on 
 account of their objection to foreign travel, but 
 the rag doll was safely packed into one of the 
 big trunks, between two of the prettiest dresses 
 in the trousseau. 
 
 Had Ingram known of this fact, he would 
 have said more emphatically than ever that 
 Luigia was a baby — more fit for the nursery 
 than for marriage. 
 
 " Why do you care ? " said Belle, noticing the 
 expression on his face as the carriage drove away. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders carelessly. 
 
 " It is an instinct," he replied. " I still have 
 instincts, strange to say. The other day, when 
 I saw a man brutally kicking a horse, I knocked 
 him down. That was an instinct. I object to 
 seeing a helpless creature caught in a trap — 
 that is again an instinct. I object to this 
 marriage on the same principle — instinctively, 
 and for no particular reason."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THREE YEARS AFTER. 
 
 T was nearly three years after Luigia's 
 marriage that one morning Lady Adelaide 
 and her daughter sat together in the boudoir 
 of Daubigny's London house. Lady Adelaide 
 was seated at her embroidery frame, engaged 
 with an elaborate piece of church work. Her 
 daughter held an open letter in her hand. 
 
 " It is from the squire," she said, looking up 
 as she finished reading it. " He wants me to 
 go down to Rodney and stay with Luigia. 
 He thinks she may find it dull after all the 
 excitement of their travels. For my part, I 
 should be bored to death staQmatinof in a dull 
 
 o o 
 
 country place like that ! " 
 
 " Still, it would be very different going on a 
 visit," said Lady Adelaide, thoughtfully. "There 
 are some good families living in that part of
 
 1 68 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 the world. Sir Ralph Bowden has a place he 
 bought there lately, and the Harburtons live at 
 Rodney, too. I think you might manage to 
 enjoy yourself." 
 
 Belle threw the letter aside with a little 
 frown. 
 
 " I want a change of some sort badly. I am 
 tired of society and the eternal round. Perhaps 
 a month or two in the country wouldn't be a 
 bad thing." 
 
 She rose and walked over to the window, 
 where she stood idly playing with the tassel of 
 the blind-cord. 
 
 " I suppose Jean would have no objection ? " 
 suggested her mother. 
 
 " Jean ? I should pay no attention to him if 
 he had ! I do not make his wishes my law. 
 Beside — he is not likely to object." 
 
 "He has not been very satisfactory lately." 
 
 " He never was. I cannot imagine why I ever 
 accepted him." She shrugged her shoulders 
 contemptuously. " Sometimes I really think it 
 would be better to put an end to it. What is 
 the good of dragging on like this without any 
 prospect of marriage ? I am tired of it." 
 
 "Certainly," returned her mother. "I think 
 you have every right to break off your engage- 
 ment since his expectations have fallen to the
 
 Three Years After. 169 
 
 ground. I told you so at the time, only you 
 would not listen to me." 
 
 "It looked so bad to throw a man over 
 because his uncle married again. People would 
 have called it heartless. But, now that Lord 
 Cranburn has a son, and Jean's prospects are 
 nothing whatever in that direction, I really do 
 think I should be justified in breaking it off. 
 No one wants to marry a man with a bare five- 
 hundred a year. I am, indeed, most un- 
 fortunate ! " 
 
 During the past three years Belle's affairs 
 had been highly unsatisfactory. In a moment 
 of pique with Ingram she had accepted the son 
 of a very rich brewer, and had regretted it 
 that self-same hour. At the end of two months, 
 however, the young man most obligingly died, 
 thus releasing her from an unpleasant connection 
 without giving her the trouble of moving in 
 the matter. She went into mourning, of 
 course, but since, on second thoughts, it seemed 
 wiser to ignore the little episode as far as 
 possible — brewers' sons being by no means 
 creditable, viewed in the light of affianced 
 husbands — it was not long before the pale 
 grey and lavender gowns were " piped with 
 canary," or "ruched with scarlet," and breweries 
 were a forbidden subject in her hearing. After
 
 170 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 a decent interval her cousin, Jean Ingram, came 
 forward and proposed for her hand with all due 
 formality. She accepted him, not only because 
 she liked him, but because Lord Cranburn was 
 lying at death's door at the time, and there 
 seemed a prospect of immediate succession to 
 the title and estate. Contrary to expectation, 
 however, his lordship rose from his bed of 
 sickness like a giant refreshed, married the 
 woman who had nursed him through it, and 
 took a new lease of life. Belle was furious, 
 and Ingram, smiling, offered to release her ; 
 but she refused this offer. Before the year 
 was out a son was born to the old man, and 
 Ingram saw his future crumble into thin air. 
 He bore the blow with the calmness of philo- 
 sophy, but Belle could not altogether hide the 
 depth of her disappointment. She was irritable, 
 discontented, undecided what to do, and in a 
 dozen different minds a day — the only fact 
 quite clear to her being the perverse and con- 
 temptible folly of old men marrying when they 
 ought to be in their graves. Ingram laughed 
 at her, snapped his fingers at his ill-fortune, 
 and devoted himself to his profession with new 
 and real energy for the first time. They had 
 been engaged a year, and were no nearer 
 marriage than at first, so it seemed. His name
 
 Three Years After. 171 
 
 was becoming known, but his pockets were 
 empty, and Belle, however much she liked a 
 man, had no intention of enduring- poverty for 
 his sake. 
 
 " Don't be too hasty, my dear," said Lady 
 Adelaide, soothingly, after a pause. "Why 
 not go down to Rodney for the summer, and 
 think it quietly over ? Luigia would be de- 
 lighted, and, who knows, perhaps you may meet 
 some one there who is far more suitable than 
 poor Jean. I have known those country 
 places do wonders sometimes. There was 
 Lady Lea's daughter, a plain, dowdy girl, who 
 went through three London seasons without 
 an offer, and one summer she went to stay with 
 a maiden aunt, buried alive in a moated grange 
 somewhere in the Fen district — a most melan- 
 choly spot — and before three weeks had passed 
 she was engaged to the Marquis of Melfort, 
 who was just recovering from an accident in 
 the hunting field. She took him grapes and 
 flowers, and drove him about the lanes in 
 her aunt's pony-carriage, and he made love to 
 her from sheer ennui. There wasn't another 
 girl in the place, I believe." 
 
 Belle did not smile at her mother's remarks ; 
 they were somewhat in accordance with her 
 own views.
 
 172 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " If I were only free," she said, " I might 
 make a much better match. And yet " 
 
 She paused, looking out into the sunny, 
 dusty London square with an irresolute ex- 
 pression. The truth was that she loved this 
 man — loved him as far as her nature was 
 capable of loving disinterestedly, and in spite 
 of his unlimited capacity for aggravating her. 
 His very coldness piqued and provoked her, 
 and she would have given a good deal to rouse 
 in him the fires of jealousy or passion. She 
 had tried him in a hundred different ways ; 
 she had coquetted with other men ; she had 
 professed indifference herself, she had exercised 
 all her arts and wiles without effect. He 
 showed no animosity towards the men she 
 flirted with, or signs of consternation when she 
 quarrelled with him ; he got her tickets for the 
 opera, and handsome bouquets when she went 
 to balls ; he complimented her on her new 
 dresses sometimes, and attended her on most 
 occasions when she demanded his company. 
 But it all came to nothing ; and they only 
 looked forward to marriage as an event for the 
 remote future. Miss Carmichael chafed under 
 the delay. Whatever she might say to the 
 world in general, she owned to herself in 
 private that it would be far more satisfactory
 
 Three Years After. 173 
 
 to marry at once, and to secure a man who 
 could give her a good position. Still, it would 
 be foolish to throw Jean over until she was 
 pretty sure of something better, and at present 
 there was no specially eligible bachelor on 
 the tapis. 
 
 The result of these reflections was that she 
 resolved to accept the squire's invitation, and 
 go down to Rodney for some months. As 
 her mother suggested, it might be easier to 
 secure a really good parti in the depths of the 
 country, where the established country families 
 were rusticating in their dull old houses, than 
 in the crush of a London season, where the 
 competition is more severe. At any rate, she 
 could £0 and see what Fate brought her. 
 
 Half an hour later the culprit, Jean Ingram, 
 dropped in. He found Belle busily employed 
 at her secretaire. 
 
 " I am writing to the dear old squire/' she 
 said, as she shook hands with him. " He 
 wants me to go down to Rodney for the 
 summer, to be with Luigia, who finds it fright- 
 fully dull after their travels. It must, indeed, 
 be tame work settling down as a farmer's wife 
 after racing all over the world as they have 
 been doing. I quite sympathize with the 
 poor girl ! "
 
 174 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " I think it was most unwise of the squire 
 to take her about so much at first," put in Lady 
 Adelaide. " It must have been completely 
 wasted on an ignorant child like Luigia, and 
 would only tend to make her extravagant, and 
 restless and discontented with her home. No 
 wonder she finds Rodney dull after Paris and 
 Rome and Athens, and all the other places he 
 has taken her to." 
 
 " He was so absurdly in love," said Belle, 
 "that he couldn't refuse her anything she 
 chose to ask. She asked to wander about the 
 world and spend his money, and, of course, he 
 was incapable of saying ' no.' But I dare say 
 he has got over his infatuation by this time, 
 though, no doubt, Luigia is completely spoilt." 
 
 " No doubt, poor child ! And now that at 
 last they have settled down together in a dull, 
 humdrum way for the rest of their lives, he is 
 finding out his mistake. She is crying her 
 eyes out with ennui, and begging him to take 
 her away again, and a fine state his crops will 
 be in if he listens to her ! " 
 
 Lady Adelaide half closed her eyes to 
 observe the effect of the white silk doves 
 and pale lilies she was working, and, finding 
 them all that could be desired, proceeded to 
 criticize the ways of her neighbours still further.
 
 Three Years After. 175 
 
 " The fact of the matter is that the poor 
 old squire lost his head like a foolish boy of 
 nineteen, and made a great mistake — a most 
 irreparable mistake — in marrying Luigia. It 
 was an absurd marriage — I said so at the 
 time, but nobody would listen to me. She 
 was an absolute child, only half educated, 
 utterly unfitted for anything but the discipline 
 of the schoolroom for another two years. 
 Instead of that she is brought forward, spoilt, 
 worshipped, indulged in every possible way, 
 taken about all over the Continent, in a useless, 
 extravagant fashion. What is the result ? At 
 the age of twenty, when he brings her home, 
 and expects her to settle down, she turns out 
 an unmanageable, selfish, wilful creature, whose 
 one idea is to amuse herself. I could have 
 predicted it from the first ! " 
 
 " Is she very much altered since her 
 marriage?" inquired Ingram, who had not 
 yet been allowed to speak. He had listened 
 to the tirade from the two ladies with a slight 
 smile of amusement. 
 
 " Oh, well, I have not seen her, you know," 
 admitted Lady Adelaide, who had been drawing 
 entirely fancy pictures of Luigia's development. 
 11 They were abroad until last autumn, and 
 then we wintered in Spa, and so really we
 
 176 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 have never had an opportunity of going down 
 to Rodney. We have only been back six 
 weeks, you know. But it is evidently as I 
 say. The poor squire writes imploringly to 
 Belle, begging her to go down as a sort of 
 companion to Luigia, who is moping herself 
 to death because she finds country life so 
 dull. ,, 
 
 " Luigia always was an unmanageable sort 
 of person," said Belle, "although her quiet 
 manner was apt to deceive people. It will be 
 rather amusing to see what she has developed 
 into since her marriage." 
 
 She turned to her letter again and wrote a 
 few lines without interruption. 
 
 " It will do you a world of good ! " said 
 Ingram, who was lazily regarding her. "You 
 can tuck up your petticoats and make hay, and 
 get up at five to milk the cows." 
 
 " Indeed, I shall do no such thing ! I never 
 could see the fascination of hay-making my- 
 self — a foolish running about with whisps of 
 prickly grass to thrust down one another's 
 necks ! " 
 
 "At any rate, it has the advantage of being 
 a healthy occupation." 
 
 " But it freckles a fair skin most unmerci- 
 fully," put in Lady Adelaide. " I should be very
 
 Three Years After. 177 
 
 sorry to see Belle expose herself to the sun of 
 an open hayneld." 
 
 44 What is the objection ?" inquired Ingram, 
 elevating his eyebrows. 
 
 ''Why, I should become a mass of freckles, 
 and a perfect fright ! " cried Belle, dipping her 
 pen afresh. 
 
 44 Impossible, ma chere. Besides, freckles 
 are adorable ! " 
 
 "What nonsense, Jean! You know you 
 detest them. It was only the other day you 
 complained of Emily Murton's complexion and 
 said she bored you to death." 
 
 " Very probably. But I don't suppose it 
 was the freckles that bored me. Of all things 
 in the world I love a rustic beauty." 
 
 44 You say so merely to annoy me, but if I 
 really did allow my face to burn, you would 
 be the very first to complain. You are quite 
 the most fastidious person I ever came 
 across." 
 
 " That may be, but it does not follow that 
 I hold the generally accepted opinions. I can 
 adore freckles and yet be difficult to please in 
 other matters." 
 
 14 I don't believe you adore them," returned 
 Belle, dipping her pen for the third time, with 
 a shade of annoyance on her face ; 44 and you 
 
 vol. 1. 12
 
 178 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 know as well as I do that they are intensely- 
 vulgar. " 
 
 He laughed, highly delighted with this con- 
 clusive argument ; and Lady Adelaide, seeing 
 the cloud on her daughter's brow, hastened 
 to the rescue. 
 
 " Come," she said, smiling leniently at 
 Ingram, " it is no good wasting time in 
 wrangling. You have an immense deal to 
 do, Belle, if you mean to go on this visit, and 
 had better see your dressmaker at once. Write 
 your letter of acceptance, and perhaps Jean 
 will take you down to Mount Street." 
 
 " No doubt Jean has important engage- 
 ments of his own," returned her daughter, 
 coldly. 
 
 " Nothing in the world. I am entirely at 
 your service, devoted hand and foot, your 
 abject slave. Shall I come and help you 
 choose your haymaking gowns ?" 
 
 " You may come to the dressmaker's and 
 see the stuffs, if you like," she said, rather 
 gratified. "It is as well to choose something 
 you like, as you leave me no peace if I am not 
 dressed to your taste/' 
 
 " Oh, my dear girl, it is not my taste that 
 has to be consulted. I am already attached 
 to your chariot wheels. It is all the rustic
 
 Three Years After. 179 
 
 swains down at Rodney that you must capti- 
 vate. Something flashy is probably in their 
 line ; they have, no doubt, been surfeited with 
 sprigged muslins and garden hats." 
 
 Belle folded her letter in silence, and he 
 watched her with a smile of amusement in his 
 eyes. How well he knew her, and how little 
 she understood him ! She had made up her 
 mind to do mischief among the simple, country 
 folk at Rodney, and he was well aware of the 
 fact. He laughed to himself at the idea ; it 
 amused and did not in the least displease 
 him. 
 
 " This visit of mine is to be an entire sur- 
 prise to Luigia," she said, as she rose, letter in 
 hand. " The squire wants me to come upon 
 her without warning. It will be rather amusing 
 to see her in her own home." 
 
 " Hardly amusing, I should say," ejaculated 
 Lady Adelaide. " I expect she is a very shift- 
 less, extravagant housekeeper. But perhaps 
 the squire has some one to manage for her. 
 He would hardly leave everything to that 
 child." 
 
 " My dear mother, he is foolish enough to 
 do anything — dear old man ! " laughed Belle 
 as she left the room. 
 
 When she returned, Ingram was waiting for
 
 180 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 her alone, with his hands in his pockets, stand- 
 ing in the sunny window. He turned round 
 to survey her in his half-cynical, half-amused 
 way as she entered. 
 
 "Well?" she said inquiringly, meeting his 
 look with complacency, since she knew she 
 was irreproachably attired. " Am I satis- 
 factory ? " 
 
 "As a fashion-plate you are perfect!" he 
 replied; "but for the rustics I should suggest 
 a trifle more colour. Their taste is uneducated, 
 you must remember, and they have probably 
 a savage love of ornament. Try the effect of 
 red feathers, or something of that sort. Glass 
 beads have gone out some centuries back, 
 but " 
 
 " I suppose you think my costume hideous, 
 — as usual ! " she broke in, buttoning her glove 
 with violence. 
 
 "Ma chere" he replied imperturbably, "you 
 are admirably turned out as a fashionable 
 woman, but, as I have told you many times, 
 I do not admire fashionable women." 
 
 " Oh no, of course not. You like immense 
 waists, and flat heels, and hair parted in the 
 middle — I know the style ! But if I dressed 
 according to your taste I should be hooted 
 about the streets as a lunatic."
 
 Three Years After. 181 
 
 " You misjudge me," he returned with a 
 wave of the hand. " I have no partiality for 
 affectation. All I ask is simplicity." 
 
 " Oh, you men talk a great deal about sim- 
 plicity, but if you come across it it bores you 
 to death, and you get away from it as fast as 
 you can. If the truth were owned, you really 
 in your hearts infinitely prefer a fashionable, 
 stylish woman." 
 
 " A fashionable woman is certainly amusing," 
 he replied gravely, as they emerged into the 
 sunny street and he opened her parasol for 
 her ; " and after all, amusement — or rather, the 
 absence of boredom — is the great thing to 
 aim at. So no doubt you are right, as usual." 
 
 The warmth of the May sunshine was about 
 them, glorifying everything as they strolled 
 together through the London park, but in spite 
 of the fact that he was devoting his time and 
 attention to her, and was lavish in the spending 
 of money he could ill afford, she was not happy 
 or contented. 
 
 She was beginning to realize that, beautiful 
 and charming as she might be deemed by the 
 world in general, she had not the power of 
 making this one man admire her. He liked 
 her, of course, as much as he could ever like 
 anything in his cynicism, but she did not
 
 1 82 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 understand him and she could not make him 
 happy. 
 
 She knew this in her heart, and chafed 
 under the knowledge, and was powerless to 
 alter it. Time alone could bring them together, 
 or it would drift them still further apart. 
 
 And she scarcely knew which of the alter- 
 natives she wished.
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF THE WOODS. 
 
 HE station was a little wooden wayside 
 building, with a wire railing to keep the 
 cattle from straying on the lines. On both 
 sides stretched miles of sandy heath, dark with 
 gorse and plantations of fir. The only colour 
 in the landscape was the white, winding road 
 and the sprinkling of yellow over the gorse 
 bushes. There was the smell of pines in the 
 air, and a heavenly, radiant sunshine to warm 
 the body and cheer the heart of man. 
 
 The squire, in drab gaiters and baggy 
 knee-breeches, looking just the same as ever, 
 was waiting on the platform for the London 
 express. There was a rose in his buttonhole 
 and a couple of setters at his heels. He 
 welcomed Belle with his usual crenial hearti- 
 ness, and grasped Ingram warmly by the hand. 
 
 11 Delighted to see you ! " he cried to the
 
 184 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 latter. " Glad you could spare the time ! I 
 thought you were one of those busy chaps who 
 never have a moment to enjoy themselves ; but 
 now you're here " 
 
 " I only came down to look after Belle," said 
 Ingram, a trifle off-hand in his manner, "and 
 I return to London by the next train." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear fellow ! Couldn't hear 
 of such a thing for a moment ! You must 
 come out to Rodney and sleep the night, at 
 any rate. We'll talk about the trains back to 
 town to-morrow. There's no such desperate 
 hurry as all that." 
 
 " There's a meeting at the College of 
 
 Surgeons " he began ; but the squire 
 
 refused to listen, and, linking his arm in his, 
 led him through the station building to the 
 road outside, where the Manor dog-cart was 
 waiting for them. 
 
 It certainly seemed wicked to turn one's 
 back on the lovely smiling country and return 
 to town, with its squalor, dust, and vulgar 
 noise. Ingram stood at the roadside in the 
 hot sunshine and considered the question. He 
 had honestly intended to go back by the next 
 up-train, but the squire's determined hospitality 
 and the view and the smell of the pines were 
 too much for him. He wavered, and was lost.
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 185 
 
 He got into the dog-cart when the squire bade 
 him do so, and in another moment the three 
 were driving rapidly along the white road, 
 and the wooden station and the cows were 
 becoming small behind them. 
 
 " You've a four-mile drive before you," cried 
 the squire, flipping the back of his fat mare 
 with his whip, " and we shan't be in for tea, 
 I'm afraid. How surprised Luigia will be 
 when you both walk in upon her ! I haven't 
 dropped the faintest hint. I told her I was 
 driving in to Woodleigh about a ploughshare, 
 and may Heaven forgive me the white lie ! 
 It was in a good cause." 
 
 " How is Luigia ? " asked Belle. " Is she 
 getting fat and rosy in this country air of 
 yours ? " 
 
 The squire laughed and shook his head. 
 " She's every inch of her a country squire's 
 wife," he said, " and there's no end to the 
 interest she takes in the land and the crops 
 and the cattle and all the rest of it ; but I 
 can't truthfully say that she's fat and rosy. 
 She'll never look the farmer's wife, though 
 she's heart and soul in the business. She 
 comes round with me every morning of her 
 life, even to the outlying fields, and makes her 
 suggestions for all the world as if she'd been
 
 1 86 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 born and bred to it. And very pretty and 
 impracticable some of 'em are, too ! " 
 
 His face beamed as he said this, and it was 
 easy to see that Luigia was the pride of his 
 heart still, as in the days of his courtship 
 of her. 
 
 " What's she like now ? " inquired Belle. 
 "Has she altered much since her marriage? 
 You must remember I haven't seen her for 
 nearly three years." 
 
 " Not altered a bit — at least, if she has, I 
 don't see it. Her face never changes for me. 
 When she's fifty or sixty I dare say I shan't 
 find out that she's grown old." 
 
 This was likely enough, since gentlemen of 
 a hundred and three are not, as a rule, close 
 observers ; but though both his companions 
 realized the immense difference in age between 
 him and his wife, the squire himself had long 
 ago forgotten all about it. 
 
 " Does she find country life dull ? " asked 
 Belle, presently. 
 
 " Bless you, no ! She enjoys it all as much 
 as I do, who was born and bred on the soil. 
 She's for ever ransacking the woods for wild 
 flowers, and filling the house with them, and 
 she has endless broods of chickens and duck- 
 lings and pigeons that she attends to herself,
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 187 
 
 and a regular menagerie at the back, where 
 she keeps her rabbits and squirrels and 
 puppies. I never interfere with her little 
 hobbies. I told her from the first she should 
 do as she liked, and she does — even to bringing 
 a number of dirty babies into the house and 
 making them sticky with bread-and-jam, and 
 giving their mothers a better dinner than we 
 have ourselves. And she spoils and pampers 
 my tenants till they're ready to kiss the very 
 ground she walks on. Oh no, I never inter- 
 fere with her." 
 
 "What a discontented, insolent crew your 
 tenants must be ! " remarked Ingram from the 
 back. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried the squire, 
 turning round indignantly. 
 
 " Oh, merely that I imagined they would 
 take advantage of such treatment. We all 
 do, you know." 
 
 "Well, perhaps you are right," he replied 
 with a broad laugh. "They know they can 
 get whatever they want out of me through 
 her. They bring her piteous tales, which she 
 repeats to me, and before I know where I am, 
 I have made all sorts of rash promises and am 
 a lost man. It's not a paying concern — a tender- 
 hearted, credulous wife, I can assure you."
 
 1 88 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Most expensive, I should say. A mania 
 for dress must be nothing to it ! " 
 
 " Why," continued the squire, " when I 
 take her the round of the cottages it's quite 
 ridiculous to see the way she gets imposed 
 upon. The number of new chimneys and 
 coppers and ovens and gates that are needed 
 when she is with me is astonishing — perfectly 
 astonishing ! And she looks so eager and 
 pathetic about it all — for all the world as 
 though it were her own stove, and gate, and 
 chimney — that what is a man to do ? I am 
 weak and helpless as an infant before her, and 
 lose money right and left. But I don't grudge 
 it — I don't grudge it ; " and his smile sobered 
 into a very tender expression as he shook his 
 head. 
 
 " She's the right sort of lassie ! " he ejacu- 
 lated after a pause, during which Belle cogi- 
 tated over this new view of Luigia. " She's 
 not above plain hard work if there's a push, 
 too. I've known her, when it looked like rain, 
 tuck up her sleeves and go down with me to 
 the hayfields and work there all day as steadily 
 as any of 'em, and laugh in my face when I 
 suggested her getting tired. She's no grand 
 lady when there's an honest day's work to 
 be done, I can tell you."
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. i8g 
 
 "So she has developed into a regular 
 farmer's wife ? n observed Belle, after a second 
 pause, during which she found it necessary to 
 banish at a sweep the imaginary pictures she 
 and her mother had been constructing of 
 Luigia. " I should not have imagined it, 
 somehow. And she has dropped her music, 
 I suppose ? " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! She sings and plays to 
 me in the evenings, while I read the Agricul- 
 tural Gazette, and very prettily she does it — 
 better than ever, in my opinion ; but, then, I'm 
 not a fair judge. She always was a sort of 
 Lorelli for me." 
 
 " Oh, I know her voice completely charmed 
 you," said Belle, with a little inflexion of 
 jealousy in her own. " Her style is very 
 Italian and emotional." 
 
 The squire made no reply, and they drove 
 on in silence. The mare's fast-trotting feet on 
 the hard road, and the bleating of the sheep 
 in the distance, were the only sounds to be 
 heard for miles. 
 
 The road had left the country of heath and 
 fir, and struck through the hills into a watered 
 and cultivated valley. Far and wide on both 
 sides stretched the hills in a sunny silence, with 
 the sheep feeding on their green slopes, or
 
 i go The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 lying, hot and still, in the shadow of the stone 
 walls. A stream, lined with pollard willows 
 and marigolds, watered the meadows of the 
 valley, and knee-deep in the grass among the 
 buttercups and daisies stood the gentle cows, 
 flicking the flies away with their tails and 
 scenting the air with the fragrance of their 
 breath. Here and there lay a village clustered 
 round its church, with its white walls and 
 thatched roofs half hidden in the trees, and 
 behind on the hills, a lonely farmhouse with 
 its haystacks and outbuildings gathered snugly 
 around it, and its western windows ablaze like 
 beacons with the fierce red light of the sinking 
 sun. The only wayfarers to be met on the 
 road were the carters in their blue jackets at 
 the head of their horses, or a herd of cows 
 driven home to milk. The hedges were full 
 of flowering May and budding roses, and the 
 tangled grass at the roadside was white with 
 dust, for there had been no rain for weeks. 
 
 It was the land of peace and plenty, of 
 rustic ignorance, of old-fashioned virtues, of 
 plodding simplicity, perhaps even of content- 
 ment. Ingram, as he looked into the scorched 
 and weather-beaten faces of the ploughmen, 
 and around him at the far-stretching hills in 
 their peace and their silence, felt that this was
 
 The Spirit of the Woods, igi 
 
 indeed a different world to the one he had 
 hitherto known. 
 
 " This is the old coach-road built by the 
 Romans, you know," said the squire. " It's 
 haunted at midnight by a coach and four driven 
 by a headless lady — and a rattling good pace 
 she goes, too, I can tell you ! As the church 
 clock strikes twelve, splash they all go into 
 the river — there, at that bend in the road ; " 
 and he pointed ahead of him with his whip. 
 " It's twenty feet deep there, or more." 
 
 11 You don't believe the story ?" said Belle, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Believe it ? Of course I do ! I'd swear 
 to it as sure as my name's Thomas Rodney. 
 There isn't a man in the village who wouldn't 
 do the same." 
 
 " But have you ever seen it ? " 
 
 " Not I. But there's half a dozen who have. 
 Besides, it's a true story. There was a coach 
 loaded with passengers all drowned there a 
 hundred and fifty years ago. They dragged 
 the river and found the skeletons — horses' and 
 all. Our blacksmith's got the horses' hoofs 
 nailed up in his forge, to keep off the Evil 
 One, to this very day. You can go and see 
 'em when you like. Oh, the story's true 
 enough ! "
 
 192 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " What delightful simplicity ! " reflected In- 
 gram to himself at the back. " How refreshing 
 — how wonderfully refreshing it is ! and how 
 far better worth having than all the wisdom 
 of the modern world ! What would I not give 
 to believe in that phantom coach and headless 
 lady ! " 
 
 " We're nearly there," said the squire. " This 
 is Rodney village. And now for a sight of 
 Luigia's face when she sees you both instead 
 of the ploughshare ! But she'll never forgive 
 me for telling a lie, bless her ! " 
 
 They were passing through a straggling 
 village street with white-washed cottages, a 
 red-tiled school-house, and a bow-windowed 
 inn. Sheepdogs and children swarmed in the 
 neighbourhood, and women in sun-bonnets 
 stood in their doorways and curtsied to their 
 squire as he drove past. 
 
 The village street ended in a winding 
 country road again, where the sun flickered 
 hotly through the network of leaves, and the 
 hedges were full of ragged robins and white 
 May. They drove past the lodge of Major 
 Harburton's house, with its lon^ avenue of 
 lime-trees now nearly dressed in the pale green 
 of spring ; past Miss Pettigrew's queer mill- 
 house astride the river ; past the Vicarage, with
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 193 
 
 its shady lawns and spreading elms, and on 
 again where an irregular red-brick wall, with 
 masses of ivy bulging over the top, screened 
 the dwelling within from view. 
 
 " Here we are !" cried the squire, flourishing 
 his whip as they drove up a broad gravel path 
 between wire railings. " This is the Manor 
 House, and now for Luigia s face 
 
 !" 
 
 But Luigia was nowhere to be seen. The 
 house-door stood wide open, giving a glimpse 
 into a cool and shady hall, but no Luigia ran 
 out to welcome the sound of wheels. The 
 gardens around were gay with flowers and 
 sunshine, but no Luigia came over the grass, 
 with eyes full of surprise, to greet her visitors. 
 The maidservant said that her mistress was 
 out — gone to tea at Mrs. Harburton's, she 
 believed — and the squire's face clouded at this 
 postponement of his delightful surprise. 
 
 " Never mind ! We'll go straight on there 
 and walk in upon the whole lot," he exclaimed, 
 after a pause. " Perhaps it'll be as good as 
 anything, after all. Jump in again, Ingram. 
 We'll drive round." 
 
 But Ingram was standing on the gravel path, 
 and did not look in the least inclined to "jump 
 in again " as he was bidden. He waved his 
 hand towards the lawn, lying deep in shadow. 
 
 vol. 1. 13
 
 194 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 " Grass," he observed eloquently, " is some- 
 thing so new and rare to me that, if you have 
 no objection, I will lie on it and smoke till 
 you come back. I quite thirst to make its 
 acquaintance." 
 
 " Don't imagine Dolly Harburton won't be 
 delighted to see you," cried the squire, look- 
 ing at him irresolutely. " She's my niece, you 
 know, and she'll be delighted, quite delighted. 
 I'll answer for her." 
 
 "Thanks. You are very good, but I can't 
 give up the grass. Belle will make my apologies 
 very prettily, and explain that I am a worn-out 
 London man. Worn-out London men are 
 always allowed to lie on their backs in the 
 shade whatever is going on." 
 
 " Oh well, do just as you like," cried the 
 good-natured squire, climbing in again. "You're 
 not tired, Belle ? You'd like to go, wouldn't 
 you r 
 
 " Very much," replied that young lady, 
 hastily touching up the little curls on her 
 forehead with a view to the expected crowd 
 of visitors in Mrs. Harburton's drawing-room. 
 
 " Make yourself at home," he cried, turning 
 back to Ingram. " Ring for what you want, 
 and do just as you like. We shan't be long ; " 
 and with a wave of the hand they were off.
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 195 
 
 " Jean is most incomprehensible," said Belle, 
 as they drove out of the gate. "He pretends 
 to hate society, and yet he goes out tre- 
 mendously, and is the greatest favourite every- 
 where. But he always puts on an air of being 
 dragged into things ; I believe he does it just 
 to enhance his value." 
 
 " No, no, my dear, you're too hard on him," 
 replied the squire, soothingly. "He's a clever 
 fellow, a tremendously clever fellow, and those 
 brains of his are busy all day and all night, 
 more or less, and I can quite understand his 
 liking a quiet hour on the grass with his 
 cigar. He'll lie and think of you, you know, 
 and be all the more delighted to have you 
 back." 
 
 Belle had her doubts on this point, but she 
 only said — 
 
 " I think it was distinctly rude of him to 
 refuse to come with us, and I shall tell 
 him so." 
 
 She turned her head to look back as she 
 spoke, just in time to see him throw himself 
 on the grass, with his face towards the house, 
 on which the mellow afternoon sunshine was 
 falling. She was annoyed with him that he 
 preferred anything to her, even though, in this 
 instance, the companion of his solitude was
 
 196 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 only an old bow-windowed house, with a 
 thatched roof and lattice casements. 
 
 Left alone, Ingram threw himself on the 
 grass, lighted a cigar, and fell into a day-dream. 
 
 He professed to despise artistic emotion 
 of every sort ; he analyzed the sentiment 
 expressed in music, painting, and poetry, till 
 it vanished before him and left him cold, 
 unmoved, and contemptuous. His will was 
 stronger than his senses, and his reason than 
 his heart, and he intended that it should be 
 so. He prided himself upon his incapacity 
 to feel, believing it to be the only true philo- 
 sophy, since all things end in dust and nothing 
 is worth taking to heart. He had tested the 
 world and found it vanity, and henceforth 
 nothing could touch him to the quick. This 
 he believed, and for some years nothing had 
 happened to disturb the belief. 
 
 Yet there was something about that old 
 Manor House, as he lay and looked at it, that 
 roused in him a pulse of vague, romantic interest. 
 It was so old, so stately, so lovely. Travelled 
 man of the world as he was, his wanderings 
 had been only in the beaten track, and what- 
 ever he had seen had been veiled by the 
 influences of the hour. Ancient ruins, pictur- 
 esque buildings, scenes of world-wide fame are
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 197 
 
 inspiring in themselves, but seen in company 
 with the fashionable world, they lose their 
 meaning, their romantic charm, their poetic 
 inspiration. Ingram had been content to visit 
 the celebrated scenes of the world in company 
 with fashion and frivolity, because nothing 
 that his fellowmen had ever done seemed to 
 him either interesting or praiseworthy. There 
 was no shrine at which he felt compelled to 
 worship. But to-day, having gone into the 
 byways and hedges, he had come across 
 something that, with neither pretensions nor 
 renown, claimed his admiration in spite of all 
 his theories. 
 
 It was an old house, whitewashed and heavily 
 beamed, with a thatched roof, lattice windows, 
 and fantastic chimneys. It was smothered in 
 old-fashioned creepers — wistaria, japonica, roses. 
 Every window and every door stood wide 
 open with friendly invitation ; the bedroom 
 curtains fluttered in the breeze ; blue smoke 
 curled peacefully upwards from the giant 
 mouths of the chimneys ; swallows flew in 
 and out of the overhanging eaves, twittering, 
 darting, and feeding their young. 
 
 It was essentially a home — a cosy, happy 
 gathering place, full of sunshine in the summer 
 and the warmth of great fires in the winter,
 
 198 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 Yet it was more than this— there was romance 
 about it. Every nook and cranny and queer 
 dark passage spoke of bygone days — of meet- 
 ings and partings, deaths and births, sorrowings 
 and rejoicings that had gone on there for 
 hundreds of years. It had sheltered many a 
 tale of love and suffering within its walls ; 
 the dim trace and the lurking- echo of them 
 lived there still. There were lovers whispers 
 on the staircases, stolen kisses shut into the 
 cupboards, a maiden's longing and despair 
 peeping from the upper windows, where, 
 sheltered in the curtain, she could look along 
 the road to London. It spoke of all this and 
 far more. Every ceiling, every wall, every 
 window had its history written in the lives 
 of those who had long since passed away, 
 whose graves now lay beyond the seas in 
 distant lands or in the churchyard near at 
 hand, where the wind and rain of centuries 
 had swept the record of their very names 
 away. 
 
 It had seen and suffered much, the old 
 house, but there was strength left in it still, 
 and many a human heart might struggle and 
 throb and fight out its destiny beneath that 
 brown roof yet, and its rafters might live to 
 ring again with the sound of children's voices,
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 199 
 
 even unto the third and fourth generation after 
 the present Squire of Rodney had gone to his 
 rest. 
 
 The quaintness, the stillness, the old-world 
 air were soothing in the extreme, and Ingram 
 lay on the grass without moving, watching the 
 butterflies hovering round the flowers and the 
 blackbirds strutting on the lawn. 
 
 A far-away clock struck seven, and the sun 
 was going down. He got up and made his 
 way through the garden and the fields beyond, 
 out towards the flaming west. There was a 
 red glare in the sky behind the trees in the 
 wood, and under their branches a dim, mys- 
 terious twilight was gathering fast ! Anemones 
 and wild hyacinths sprang into bloom through 
 the damp, leafy mould, and moss and ivy 
 wreathed the knotted trunks of the trees. A 
 smell of fresh, damp earth filled the air, the 
 gloom of the woods was fast deepening, and 
 the birds were settling for the night. A 
 strange foreboding of great events seemed to 
 lurk in the shadows of the wild wood ; the 
 very air, with its fresh woodland smell, and 
 deep, unbroken silence, was heavy with omen 
 and mystic influences. Ingram followed the 
 narrow path without knowing why he did so. 
 Had he been an impressionable man he might
 
 200 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 have fallen a victim to the influences of the 
 hour, and vaguely expected something unusual 
 to happen. As it was he did neither. 
 
 Presently he saw a woman coming towards 
 him along the silent, gloomy path. She wore 
 a white dress, her head was bare, her hands 
 were clasped behind her. She was singing to 
 herself a low, melancholy little song. There were 
 words to it, but he could not catch them, and 
 softly and sadly they floated away through 
 the trees and were lost. He drew back a little 
 into the shadow of the underwood to watch 
 her without being seen. She came on uncon- 
 sciously, listlessly, with vague eyes. There 
 were cowslips and wild hyacinths in a little 
 bunch at her waist, and her hands were full 
 of more woodland flowers. He could hear the 
 words of her song now ; it was the wild, sad 
 refrain of the enchanted princess, in the legends 
 of Ireland. 
 
 11 Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water ; 
 Break not, ye breezes, on Erin's lo?ie isle, 
 While sadly and mournfully Lir's lonely daughter 
 Tells to the night-star her tale of woe" 
 
 She paused a moment to gather her nosegay 
 together, looking down on the little wild flowers 
 with an unconscious melancholy of expression 
 that was not unsuited to the theme of her song.
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 201 
 
 She was like some such pale unhappy spirit, 
 doomed to wander at sundown in the shadowy 
 woods to work out her melancholy spell. He 
 came out of his place of concealment and 
 waylaid her. 
 
 " So you did not go to Mrs. Harburton's 
 tea-party, after all ! " he remarked, as coolly as 
 though they had parted but half an hour before. 
 
 She stopped abruptly, dropping some of her 
 flowers ; then the vagueness went out of her 
 eyes, and they were flooded with a sudden 
 light of recognition. 
 
 11 Mr. Ingram ! " she exclaimed. And then 
 she laughed a little and held out her hand. 
 
 11 So you remember me ? " he said, looking 
 into her face with his old curiosity. " What a 
 memory you have ! Have I lasted all these 
 years — since the days when you wore a pinafore 
 and nursed a doll ? I feel greatly flattered." 
 
 " It is an eternity certainly," said Luigia, 
 " but then you happened to make an impression 
 on me, you see ; " and she drew away her hand 
 from his detaining grasp as she spoke. 
 
 " Did I ? I am more flattered than ever — 
 only that I can hardly bring myself to be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 " Oh, it is true." She stooped to pick up 
 her fallen flowers, and he stooped too. " You
 
 2 02 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 gave me a lecture on marriage — a sort of warn- 
 ing. But do you know " — looking up at him 
 as she took the anemones from his hand and 
 added them to her bunch — " that I have not 
 found it so very serious, after all." 
 
 " No ? I am much relieved to hear it." 
 
 He planted himself before her on the narrow 
 path and looked at her intently with undis- 
 guised curiosity and admiration. She had 
 changed somewhat, was an inch or two taller 
 than when he had last seen her, and her 
 wonderful eyes had learned new ways for the 
 beguiling of mankind. As he looked she lifted 
 them heavily, languidly, and in them was a 
 great softness, an impenetrable mystery, a 
 depth beyond a depth, so it seemed, that no 
 mortal man could hope to fathom. Yet, in 
 spite of their languor, they were very direct 
 and steadfast in their gaze. 
 
 "How much longer are you going to look 
 at me ? " she said calmly and deliberately. 
 " And has it never occurred to you that I 
 might possibly object ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon — I apologize profoundly. 
 But when a man meets a white spirit in the 
 twilight of the woods, he must be forgiven if 
 he forgets to treat her exactly as he would a 
 woman in a London drawing-room."
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 203 
 
 "But I am not a spirit," she said, "and I 
 prefer to be treated as an ordinary woman. 
 Suppose you move a little and let me pass." 
 
 He turned aside, but he was laughing. 
 
 "I believe you are a spirit," he said — "a 
 spirit of the woods and streams, or something 
 equally unearthly. I believe you could throw 
 spells over people and turn them into fawns 
 and nymphs, or anything else you liked. You 
 have almost bewitched me — hardened worldling 
 that lam!" 
 
 He followed her along the narrow path till 
 they came out into the clearer light at the end 
 of the wood. She was talking — asking him 
 about himself, about his journey, about Belle, 
 Lady Adelaide, Daubigny — and before two 
 minutes had passed she had discovered the 
 squire's secret. She had a sweet, pathetic 
 voice and slow, soft movements — a voice and 
 manner so gentle that it was difficult to tell 
 whether she was pleased or utterly indifferent 
 to his news. " She needs to be known," he 
 said to himself, as he followed her. " That 
 manner may mean anything or nothing." 
 
 They passed from the wood into the open 
 field, where the cowslips grew thickly and the 
 grass was wet with dew. Twilight was fast 
 falling, and he could not see much more of her
 
 204 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 than her white gown as they went along the 
 field-path together. The dim outline of cows 
 cropping grass could be seen through the dusk, 
 and their sweet breath came to them as they 
 passed. 
 
 She talked about every one and everything 
 belonging to her childhood, and it seemed that 
 she had forgotten none of her old friends and 
 pets. Her voice was very sweet, and as 
 Ingram walked through the wet fields and felt 
 the flutter of her skirts against his feet now 
 and then, he began to wonder if he were really 
 as devoid of all sensation as he had taught 
 himself to believe. 
 
 On reaching the house they found that Belle 
 and the squire had not yet returned from the 
 Harburtons', and Luigia led the way into the 
 drawing-room. It was a charming room, vague, 
 shadowy, rambling, filled with the sweet, faint 
 smell of dried rose-leaves and the fresher 
 fragrance of growing hyacinths. 
 
 " We must wait for them, I suppose," she 
 said, subsiding into a rocking-chair in the deep 
 bay of the window. " Won't you sit down ? " 
 and she turned back to him carelessly. 
 
 He chose the window-seat, and sitting with 
 his back to the light, folded his arms and 
 looked at her. She was rocking herself gently
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 205 
 
 with her hands on the arms of her chair and 
 her head resting against the cushion at the 
 back. It was a delicate little head, with silky 
 black hair wound in coils, like a snake, on the 
 crown of it. Not a hair was out of place. 
 Her white dress and her eyes gleamed through 
 the darkness, and the silence was only broken 
 by the monotonous tap of her foot on the floor 
 as she rocked. 
 
 " I had an idea," said Ingram, presently, 
 " that you would be the same sort of shy child 
 you were when I saw you last, though I had 
 been told otherwise." 
 
 " I was never shy," said Luigia, rocking 
 herself. " People always make that mistake. 
 My eyes look startled and frightened and timid, 
 so they tell me, but in reality I am frightened 
 of nothing and no one." 
 
 She spoke in a low sweet voice, and looked 
 out to the evening sky, gently rocking. 
 
 " But it is quite true," she added, after a 
 pause, "that I am not the child you re- 
 member. I have changed my skin like the 
 serpent." 
 
 "How is that ?" 
 
 She was looking upwards, away to the 
 western sky, and the last faint gleam of light 
 was reflected in her eyes. They were great,
 
 206 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 brown, velvety eyes, deep as wells of quiet 
 water — so deep that were a reckless man to 
 cast himself into their depths he might be lost 
 for ever. 
 
 " How can I say ? " she replied, with a rapid, 
 Meeting smile. " One lives — that is enough ! 
 Italy, Egypt, Persia — they are experiences in 
 themselves. We have travelled a great deal, 
 you know." 
 
 " So I heard — among other things.'' 
 
 " Other things ? What other things ? " She 
 looked at him inquiringly through the gloom. 
 
 " Oh, nothing of importance, — only that 
 Luigia Rodney's eyes had learned new ways 
 for the beguiling of mankind." 
 
 " Anything else ? " 
 
 " Yes. That she was breaking hearts wherever 
 she went, and was one of the most dangerous 
 flirts in Europe." 
 
 " Dear me ! " — looking at him with large, soft 
 eyes full of wonder. "And Europe is such a 
 large place ! " 
 
 "Very large. But probably the man who 
 told me was a victim himself, which would 
 account for a little exaggeration." 
 
 " Probably. I wonder who he was. I might 
 possibly remember his name." 
 
 " Not likely. It was a very ordinary one —
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 207 
 
 and he wasn't pretty. I dare say he passed 
 unnoticed in the herd." 
 
 " Oh, well," protested Luigia, " it is, of 
 course, a little difficult to remember all the 
 Smiths and Browns one comes across in three 
 years' travelling." 
 
 " But I suppose they do very well at the 
 time — just to keep your hand in for the bigger 
 game r 
 
 11 Oh, they are better than nothing, yes." 
 
 A short silence, broken only by the rocking 
 of Luigia's chair on the polished floor. Then 
 she said — 
 
 " What else did you hear ?" 
 
 " That a friend of yours — an Italian Count 
 — shot himself in Rome last winter," replied 
 Ingram, promptly. 
 
 "They often shoot themselves," she remarked 
 coolly. 
 
 " It was said that he shot himself for your 
 sake." 
 
 " Very probably. In Italy when a man kills 
 himself they always attribute it to a woman." 
 
 "But was it true?" 
 
 " True ? Whoever knows the truth ? I 
 have long ago given up asking for it." 
 
 In her evasion of his direct question he read 
 the answer, and the admiration with which he
 
 208 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 regarded her was beginning to mingle with 
 distrust. She was certainly fascinating in all 
 her words and ways, but so is the flame to 
 the moths that hover round it. That blundering 
 creature, man, would probably fare no better 
 than the moth if he went too near her. 
 
 She met his eyes with a slight smile. 
 
 " Italians are so passionate," she said. " They 
 develop into madmen with very little provoca- 
 tion. One cannot judge them by the ordinary 
 standard. I am half Italian myself and can 
 understand them better than you can, perhaps." 
 
 " Did you reward your victim with pity ? " 
 said Ingram. " That, at any rate, he deserved." 
 
 Leaning back in her chair she turned her 
 head sideways, so that her cheek rested on the 
 coolness of the cushion. 
 
 " Why should I care ? " she said calmly. "Is 
 life so very much better than death ? I reserve 
 my pity for the living. The dead have gone 
 to a land where the wicked cease from troubling 
 and the weary are at rest. Perhaps it is they 
 who are to be envied, after all." 
 
 " That is one way of looking at it, certainly. 
 But in any case your victim's transplantation 
 was a little hurried, wasn't it ? " 
 
 "A little, perhaps. But the exchange was 
 for the better."
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 209 
 
 " Poor wretch ! " ejaculated Ingram. " Even 
 his tragic end failed to make an impression, 
 it seems." 
 
 " You think me heartless ? " she said in a 
 tone of soft inquiry, looking at him reflectively, 
 with her cheek pillowed on the cushion ; " but 
 I am not sure that you are right. I can 
 pity a starving dog or a beaten horse very 
 thoroughly indeed. A man" — she shrugged 
 her shoulders — "that is different! I confess 
 that he does not touch me much in any of his 
 vagaries." 
 
 Was it bravado that made her talk like that, 
 or was she really heartless ? Ingram's mind 
 went back to the day of her marriage, and he 
 wondered if it were possible that the sweet- 
 faced, tender-hearted girl should have turned 
 into a woman colder than stone. No, he did 
 not believe it. 
 
 She laughed a little and left her rocking- 
 chair. 
 
 14 We have talked enough personalities," she 
 said, "and I am going to make things more 
 cheerful." 
 
 She took a taper, lighted it, and touched up 
 the candles in the sconces on the wall. A fairy 
 flame sprang up wherever her wand lighted. 
 
 " Don't you know," she said, "that the most 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 melancholy subject one could possibly find to 
 discuss is one's self? It leads to suicide more 
 surely than anything else." 
 
 She laughed again, and went about the room 
 among the quaint, spindle-legged chairs and 
 china-laden cabinets, driving out the lurking 
 shadows from the corners with the magic of 
 her gleaming wand. Ingram's eyes followed 
 her wherever she went. The dark, delicate 
 head, the slender arms uplifted, the soft sweep 
 of her white dress, were all things from which 
 a man would find it difficult to turn away his 
 eyes. Yet he did it — because he did not 
 choose to feel his senses sway him. He rose 
 and turned his back on her, and looked out 
 into the calmness of the evening sky. 
 
 The next moment there was the sound of 
 wheels outside, and voices and laughter and 
 inquiries in the hall. The squire and Belle 
 had returned, bringing Major Harburton with 
 them to dinner. Luigia went out to meet them. 
 
 Belle felt herself drawn into the house by 
 soft, warm hands and kissed on either cheek, 
 and there was Luigia standing in the lamplight 
 with her eyes brimful of pleasure. She took 
 her upstairs and into one of the large, empty 
 euest-chambers and lighted candles. 
 
 " How glad I am to see you ! " she exclaimed.
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 211 
 
 " There is no room prepared for you, of course, 
 but that won t take a moment. Take off your 
 hat and let me look at you." 
 
 Belle removed her hat, more than willing to 
 be inspected ; and holding each other at arm's 
 length, the two girls looked one another over 
 from top to toe. 
 
 " Well ? n said Luigia, smiling. 
 
 " You — you have grown so dreadfully/^/" 
 stammered Belle. But these were not the 
 words that had first risen to her lips. She 
 dropped Luigia's hand and turned back to the 
 glass and the reflection of her own brilliant face. 
 
 Luigia sat down on the bed with a girlish 
 disregard for freshly ironed quilts, and clasped 
 her hands round her knees. 
 
 " Pale, am I ? " she said ; " but I am very 
 stronor. Sometimes I think I shall never die." 
 
 Belle looked at her again almost by stealth. 
 She had had it on the tip of her tongue to 
 exclaim, not " How pale you are !" but " How 
 beautiful you are ! " yet it was not a strict and 
 tangible beauty. She saw before her a pale, 
 graceful girl, a girl with black hair and eyelashes 
 in striking contrast to the pallor of her skin, a 
 girl with a soft plaintive voice, and a flashing, 
 vivid smile, all the sweeter for its rarity. She 
 saw also that her dress, though the simplest
 
 212 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 that could be made, fell with a grace that no 
 art could imitate, and that though not, strictly 
 speaking, handsome, there was a romantic, 
 haunting, unearthly sort of beauty about her 
 that was infinitely more attractive than fine 
 features. But she did not choose to acknow- 
 ledge this in so many words. 
 
 She dressed herself with more than usual 
 care that evening, and went down to dinner 
 with the determination to outshine with her 
 brilliance that subtle, haunting charm of 
 Luigia's. She stood before the mirror and 
 looked at herself critically. She was decidedly 
 very handsome — of the Marie Antoinette style 
 of beauty, with a quantity of fair hair and the 
 bluest of blue eyes. Her neck and arms too 
 were fit subjects for a painter's brush or a 
 sculptor's tool, and she thought of their fairness 
 with complacency as she went downstairs to 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 She found that she had not overrated her 
 power to please. At dinner she had it all her 
 own way. The gentlemen vied with each 
 other in paying her attention, and she usurped 
 the chief of the conversation. The major was 
 gallant and complimentary, the squire devoted, 
 and Ingram more brilliant and animated than 
 she had seen him for years. The evening
 
 The Spirit of the Woods. 213 
 
 passed off well, and Belle was the acknow- 
 ledged queen of a little court of devoted 
 admirers. 
 
 Luigia made no attempt to rival her. She 
 leaned back in her chair, putting in a word 
 now and then, but exerting herself very little 
 for the general entertainment. She wore 
 nothing more elaborate than another white 
 gown, very simply made, and her sole orna- 
 ment was the bunch of white hyacinths and 
 cowslips that drooped from the band at her 
 slender waist.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 INGRAM S IMPRESSIONS. 
 
 EAN INGRAM awoke next morning in 
 surroundings that were altogether new 
 to him. There were bars of golden light 
 travelling slowly across the white wilderness 
 of the ceiling ; there was a bumble-bee buzzing 
 in the curtain at the window ; there was the 
 sound of the mower's scythe from the lawn 
 below, and the fragrance of new-mown grass 
 in the room. All the birds of the air were 
 lifting their voices in a rapture of song, and 
 the bees and the flowers and the butterflies 
 rejoiced in the glory of a fresh summer's 
 morning. Even that discontented creature, 
 man, was unable to resist the influences of the 
 hour, and Jean Ingram rose, dressed himself 
 leisurely, and wandered round the room on a 
 tour of inspection. 
 
 Oh, the delights of a country bedroom !
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 215 
 
 the delicious fragrance and purity ; the inde- 
 scribable scent of apples and hay and the 
 smoke of wood fires ; the muslin toilette and 
 cushion covers, with their delicate frills and 
 spotless crispness ; the white wooden wains- 
 cotting and wide window-seat, the deep cup- 
 boards and crooked alcoves, the sloping ceiling 
 and uneven floor, the hand-sewn bed quilt, with 
 its straggling pattern of roses and blue ribbon ; 
 the carved chair, the straddle-legged toilet- 
 table, with bulging front and lavender-scented 
 drawers ; the oval mirror, slung at an impossible 
 angle ; the frowning press, heavy with carved 
 tulips and cupids' heads ; the highly coloured 
 picture on the wall, representing " Youth re- 
 fusing to listen to good advice ! " 
 
 Then the window ! — with its wide, hot seat, 
 its faded cushions, its pile of books, its jar of 
 wallflower. To push the casement wider, to 
 lean out into the sunshine, to breathe the scent 
 of roses growing on the wall beneath, to listen 
 to the birds — to do all this and call the world 
 a hollow mockery is a sheer impossibility. 
 The man must be a brute indeed who could 
 dress among the roses and go downstairs 
 scoffing at the God who made them. 
 
 Jean Ingram leaned out bareheaded into the 
 sunshine. There was a straggling lawn below,
 
 216 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 ending in a wilderness of trees. The dew lay 
 thick and sparkling on every blade of grass, 
 and the blackbird and the thrush were busy 
 with the worms ; there was a gardener in his 
 shirt sleeves to the left slaying rank, wet grass 
 with his sweeping scythe ; there was the bleat- 
 ing of sheep, the lowing of cattle, the gobbling 
 of turkeys, the clacking of hens to be heard 
 afar. The world looked pure, fresh, natural 
 from that window at that hour, and refused to 
 be reasoned with, coldly judged, and con- 
 demned. Ingram gave up the attempt, and 
 abandoned himself for the time being to a 
 refined form of sensuality. 
 
 The whole house was charming. On the 
 way down to breakfast there was nothing about 
 it to destroy illusions. Peeps into a delicious 
 old flower-garden from all the landing windows, 
 where the blooming hyacinths stood stiffly in 
 a double row ; an old-world scent of faded rose- 
 leaves on the staircase, a whiff of apples at the 
 corners, a rush of sunshine in the wide, cool 
 hall where the sheepdog lay dreaming on the 
 mat, and the white and yellow butterflies flitted 
 gaily past the open garden door in the dazzling 
 heat outside. 
 
 To cross the hall and enter the breakfast- 
 room was a fresh delight, — the shaded room,
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 217 
 
 with half-drawn blinds and open windows, the 
 dancing light and shadow, the snowy cloth, the 
 golden honey, the home-baked bread, the wide- 
 mouthed cups of ancient china, the hearty- 
 squire in knickerbockers, gaiters, and vel- 
 veteen-jacket, and, lastly, Luigia in a sprigged 
 muslin gown, with every dark hair in its place 
 on her small, sleek head, and a soft hand held 
 out to welcome. 
 
 Ingram subsided into the chair reserved for 
 him, and applied himself to ham and eggs. 
 He discussed agriculture with the squire 
 during the whole of breakfast, astonishing that 
 worthy man with his professional accuracy 
 concerning pigs, potatoes, foot-and-mouth 
 disease, etc. He was even able to give the 
 exact dimensions of the prize turnip, exhibited 
 at the Edinburgh Show, and to tender infor- 
 mation as to the manner in which it had been 
 grown. The squire was delighted with him, 
 and heavily deplored the sacrifice of his 
 agricultural talents in a medical career. He 
 also promised him a long morning among 
 the ploughshares, pigstyes and mangel-wurzel. 
 Ingram bowed before the inevitable, and pro- 
 fessed himself enraptured at the prospect. 
 
 Just before Belle made her appearance, with 
 profuse apologies for being late, a wasp
 
 218 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 attacked Luigia's honey, and Ingram, capturing 
 the creature in his bare hand, took it to the 
 window. 
 
 " Don't hurt it," said Luigia, with a world of 
 entreaty in her eyes. 
 
 " I never inflict suffering if it can be 
 avoided," he replied coolly. "It is not my 
 form of entertainment. And of the two, I 
 would trust myself rather than you to show 
 consideration." 
 
 -Why?" 
 
 " Because," and he sent the insect buzzing 
 into the garden, and returned to her side, " I 
 imagine that inflicting pain is a species of sport 
 entirely to your taste. I may be wrong. If 
 so, I apologize." 
 
 " One knows one's self less perhaps than 
 anybody else," she replied, rising from the 
 table and turning away, u but, as far as I have 
 an opinion, I should say that you misjudge 
 me." 
 
 The squire, who had left the room with an 
 order for his groom, now returned, and carried 
 Ingram off on the promised tour of inspection. 
 Once, in passing an open window on the 
 ground floor, he caught a vision of Luigia in a 
 white apron, washing the ancient family china 
 in a wooden bowl. He glanced around the
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 219 
 
 spotless little pantry, with its white wooden 
 shelves, its hooks, and cloths, and cupboards, 
 and brightly polished silver, and then he looked 
 into her face again — and went away wondering 
 what manner of woman she really was. 
 
 Some time later Belle and Luigia were stand- 
 ing together in the sunny window of the 
 former's bedroom. Belle had been displaying 
 the wonderful toilettes that were to work such 
 mischief among Luigia's neighbours, and the 
 bed was strewn with ballroom finery. 
 
 " Are you not horribly dull, buried down 
 here in the depths of the country ? " she 
 said. 
 
 From the window, as she looked across the 
 valley to the distant hills, there was not a 
 single house to be seen — only silent woods 
 and sunny meadows as far as the eye could 
 range. 
 
 " Dull ? " repeated Luigia, with a little in- 
 scrutable smile. " Oh no, I am not in the 
 least dull." 
 
 " Does anything ever go on here — balls or 
 dinner-parties ? Is there any sort of society 
 within reach ? " 
 
 She turned aside, and, going over to the bed, 
 began to pull out and arrange the flounces of a 
 lace balldress with a reflective air.
 
 220 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " We have balls now and then, and dinner- 
 parties often ; but, for my part, I find them 
 rather tiresome than otherwise." 
 
 " You have become very fastidious, my dear. 
 One would imagine a child like you, who never 
 had much gaiety, would enjoy it of all things. 
 I'm sure I should, if I had been brought up as 
 you were." 
 
 " It is all a matter of taste," said Luigia, 
 looking away to the hayfields. 
 
 " And yours is to wait hand and foot on the 
 squire, and visit the potato-fields, and listen 
 to old women's complaints about their ailments 
 and their smoky chimneys ? Well, I confess 
 I should go melancholy mad if that were my 
 only distraction." 
 
 " People do not go mad so easily," she re- 
 plied, smiling. 
 
 "Well, I don't understand you! To me it 
 would be simply unbearable, settling down in a 
 humdrum way, after travelling about as you 
 have done." 
 
 " It is a change. I feel as if I had seen 
 everything and been everywhere, and I got 
 tired of it at last. After all, I find I am more 
 in sympathy with a hayfield than I am with a 
 Parisian boulevard." 
 
 She unlatched the iron hasp of the casement,
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 221 
 
 and threw it wide open, standing in the stream- 
 ing sunshine, with her hands behind her and a 
 smile on her lips, for which she gave no ex- 
 planation. 
 
 " Did you have any fun abroad ? Did you 
 get to know people, and mix in society at all ? " 
 
 11 Oh yes. Rollo makes friends very easily, 
 and we got to know people everywhere. But 
 I don't care much for Continental society ; it is 
 generally very fast, and one does not improve 
 in it." 
 
 Belle laughed. 
 
 " Did they try to make a fast woman of you, 
 you little nun ? And did you frighten them 
 all with your great, grave eyes, and drive them 
 away ? My dear, it does not do to be too 
 straitlaced in this world, I assure you." 
 
 " No," said Luigia assentingly, leaning in 
 the window. 
 
 "What did they make you do?" went on 
 Belle, highly amused. " Drink strong drinks, 
 and smoke cigarettes, and paint your lips, and 
 rouge your cheeks ? How very shocking ! I 
 shall have to cut your acquaintance, my child." 
 
 " My temptations did not lie in that direc- 
 tion," said Luigia, shaking her head. " No ! 
 But I drank strong wine of another sort, and I 
 played with fire, and now wine and fire are
 
 222 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 a necessity to me. They keep one alive, you 
 know." 
 
 Belle looked at her with the smile arrested 
 on her lips. What did she mean ? There 
 was something mysterious in those words ; but, 
 before she had time to unravel their meaning, 
 Luigia had turned from the window with her 
 prettiest and most innocent smile. 
 
 " What a lovely dress ! Pink silk and 
 Brussels lace, isn't it ? I have a pink silk too, 
 but I never wear it, because Rollo has a fancy 
 to see me always in white. So I wear nothing 
 else in the summer." 
 
 " How devoted you are ! " said Belle, scru- 
 tinizing her covertly. 
 
 " Yes," said Luigia, " I am." 
 
 Their eyes met, and Belle read in Luigia' s 
 that the answer was a sincere one. She loved 
 her husband — yes, but was it with the love of 
 a wife or a daughter ? 
 
 Belle dropped her eyes, a little confused 
 at having been caught in her scrutiny, and 
 hastened to change the subject. 
 
 " Now, tell me," she exclaimed, turning her 
 back on her balldresses, " what society there 
 is here. Is there any one worth speaking to 
 — worth looking at — worth dressing for ? I 
 suppose not."
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 223 
 
 " Thank you," said Luigia, with a sweep- 
 ing curtsey. " You London ladies make the 
 prettiest little speeches sometimes — without 
 knowing it, perhaps. We rustics have not the 
 knack." 
 
 Belle looked at her in surprise. Was she 
 beinor called to account for her manners ? 
 Luigia was evidently no longer a child to be 
 patronized. 
 
 u I beg your pardon. I only meant that 
 people get rather prosy after a time, if they 
 don't mix with the world. But, now, tell me, 
 who is there to know here ? " 
 
 Luigia went back to the window, and, folding 
 her arms on the sill, leaned out into the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Let me see. There are the Harburtons, 
 whom you know already, and who always 
 have a swarm of visitors. You will find it 
 worth while to dress for them, I think. Then 
 there is Sir Ralph Bowden, of Field Hall, and 
 the Maxwells of Burnt Ash Farm — a lot of 
 boys and girls — and Lady Margaret Hanope, 
 a horsey young lady, who lives with her grand- 
 mother, and Colonel King, of the Abbey 
 Farm, and, let me see — oh, the parson, and the 
 doctor, and the curate, and one or two stray 
 spinsters, who wouldn't interest you much."
 
 22\ The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " A fairly long list ! And what are they 
 like, these people ? Mama knew something 
 of Sir Ralph Bowden once, I believe." 
 
 " Sir Ralph Bowden is very big, very coarse, 
 very dashing. He wears his hat at the side of 
 his head, and smokes big cigars all day long. 
 His occupation in life is winning money at 
 races and cards. He is at present devoted to 
 Lady Margaret Hanope, our heiress." 
 
 " Are they engaged ? " 
 
 " Oh dear, no. There is not a man on the 
 face of the earth who weighs so much with her 
 as the hoof on her horse's foot." 
 
 This was satisfactory. Belle continued her 
 cross-examination with increasing interest. 
 
 11 And Colonel King, what is he like ? Any 
 sport ? " 
 
 " Scarcely. He is an antediluvian bachelor, 
 and Rollo's bosom friend. They went to Eton 
 together before the flood." 
 
 " And the parson and the doctor ? " 
 
 " Both hopelessly married, and involved in a 
 tribe of pinafores and sailor hats. The curate 
 is eligible, but his neck is painfully thin, and he 
 has an impediment in his speech." 
 
 " Aren't you just a little unkind ? " said Belle, 
 reprovingly. " I always make it a point to say 
 nothing disagreeable of any one."
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 225 
 
 " Oh, you are quite right," assented Luigia ; 
 " only in the country, if one is denied the 
 privilege of speech, I don't know of any form 
 of entertainment there is left." 
 
 Belle looked at her again scrutinizingly. 
 She did not quite know what to make of these 
 contradictions. Every now and then she talked 
 like a hardened woman of the world, yet her 
 appearance and manner were simplicity and 
 innocence itself. 
 
 " Is that all ? " she inquired presently, having 
 meditated over the dearth of interesting 
 eligibles in the Rodney society. " I mean, all 
 the people I am likely to meet ? " 
 
 " Oh, there are the Tadcaster set, five miles 
 away. The 173rd is quartered there just now, 
 and you are sure to come across stray officers 
 at every house you go to ; and there is Lord 
 Egan of the Abbey — the really great catch of 
 the place " — her lip curled contemptuously — 
 " but, alas ! you will not see him, I'm afraid. 
 He is always abroad." 
 
 She leaned far out of the window to pick 
 a big pink rose growing on the wall almost out 
 of reach, and when she got it, she tore its 
 petals from it one by one, and making them 
 into hard pellets, dropped them on to the 
 mignonette bed below. 
 
 vol. 1. 15
 
 226 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " That is all, I think," she added, after a 
 moment's silence. " The old maids are very 
 
 commonplace, and Oh, there is the 
 
 Count de Marnay. I forget him ! How un- 
 kind of me ! He is a very intimate friend. 
 We picked him up in Paris." 
 
 " How comes he to be here, then, if he is a 
 Frenchman ? " 
 
 " Pray don't ask me " — with a careless little 
 shrug of the shoulders. "He is supposed 
 to be studying English, I think, but at any rate 
 his studies are not severe. He comes in to 
 dinner with us nearly every night. He is 
 staying at the inn, and finds it rather dull in 
 the evenings, so we take pity on him, and 
 Rollo gives him the run of the house. He 
 has very good manners, and does not get in 
 the way." 
 
 " Is he nice ? " 
 
 " Fairly. He is a trifle high-flown, and has 
 the most elaborate manners, but I rather like 
 them. They are picturesque, even if they are 
 a little artificial." 
 
 She got up and wandered round the room, 
 jangling the bunch of keys in her little apron- 
 pocket. 
 
 " Didn't they have funny quaint things years 
 ago ? " she observed inconsequently, touching
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 227 
 
 the chintz bed-hangings, on which a thousand 
 peacocks were pursuing as many lizards among 
 a trellis-work of roses and blue ribbon. " I 
 never alter anything in the house if I can 
 possibly help it. It is full of old memories 
 for Rollo, who says he should have been 
 miserable if I had chosen to sweep and garnish 
 it with modern upholstery. But I like it best 
 as it is, too." 
 
 " It is fortunate that you and the squire 
 have so many tastes in common." 
 -Very." 
 
 She was jingling the bright bunch of keys 
 and smiling to herself. At the door she 
 paused. 
 
 " You will excuse me, won't you ? " she said, 
 "but I must go and make apple-dumplings for 
 Rollo's lunch. It is a fad of his, and as much as 
 my place is worth to let the cook meddle with 
 them ;" and humming a gay little operatic air, 
 she went off to the kitchen. 
 
 An hour later Ingram came upon her in the 
 garden, hoeing and weeding indefatigably, with 
 a pair of loose leather gloves slipped over her 
 hands and a broad-brimmed flapping straw 
 hat low on her brows. She smiled up at him 
 from under its shade, and paused to survey 
 her work.
 
 228 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " I have broken away from the pig-styes," 
 he observed, " and am quite at your disposal. 
 Let me help you. Where have you been ? " 
 
 " In the kitchen, making apple-dumplings 
 for Rollo." 
 
 " Nonsense ! You can't make apple-dump- 
 lings, surely ? " 
 
 " After a fashion. But whatever they are 
 like, Rollo eats them and makes me a compli- 
 ment." 
 
 " What an audacious man he must be ! I 
 would as soon request a wood-nymph to darn 
 my socks ! It could not be more unnatural." 
 
 " Rollo does not look on me in the light 
 of a wood-nymph, you see," she replied, turning 
 back to her work. 
 
 " He is a most astonishing man!" he 
 ejaculated, standing idly on the path beside 
 her, and watching her pretty, graceful move- 
 ments with an expression that was critical 
 as well as admiring. " He possesses a wood- 
 nymph, and he tames her apparently, and 
 chains her to the leg of his respectable 
 mahogany dining-table, and expects her to 
 behave altogether like other people. And 
 the most astonishing part of it all is — that 
 she does." 
 
 " Our dining-table is oak," protested Luigia.
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 229 
 
 " Well, it comes to precisely the same thing 
 in the end. The wood-nymph is chained to 
 the dining-table whatever its grain may be. 
 There lies the marvel of it." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by 
 the appearance of a lanky young lady of about 
 fifteen making for them down one of the paths, 
 with the long, foolish stride peculiar to the 
 ostrich. A smile broke over Luigia's face. 
 
 u Leila Harburton ! " she exclaimed, throwing 
 down her rake. The next instant a pair of 
 boney, angular arms were clasped around her 
 neck, and her hat was knocked into the 
 carnations. 
 
 " Oh, you darling!" cried Miss Harburton, 
 breathlessly, " it's three whole days since I've 
 seen you because that stupid old Fraulein 
 would always go the other way. I do hate 
 her ! But will you come to tea to-day ? Do, 
 do. Father says you'll hate it, but we all 
 want you dreadfully." 
 
 She was nearly strangling Luigia with her 
 embraces, and Ingram felt inclined to pick 
 her off by the scruff of the neck, and plant 
 her at a safe distance. But Luigia, who had 
 evidently been through many a similar scene, 
 and learned by experience that it was less 
 dangerous than it looked, replied calmly —
 
 230 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " I shall be delighted, my dear Leila." 
 
 "There! I knew you would. Father is 
 a horrid teaze. We're going to have tea 
 in the schoolroom and make toffee afterwards, 
 and Johnnie and Baby Maxwell are coming, 
 and we'll have splendid fun ! " 
 
 " Delightful ! " said Luigia, kindly. " I shall 
 enjoy it immensely." 
 
 " Oh, you dear ! " cried the girl, putting 
 Luigia through another embrace and trampling 
 more carnations into the earth in her excite- 
 ment. " And now I must go, because Fraulein 
 is waiting in a beastly temper ; and mind you 
 arn't late, and come in a dress that doesn't 
 matter." And with another frantic embrace 
 she was off in the ostrich-like stride. 
 
 Luigia turned without a shadow of annoy- 
 ance to pin up the gathers that had been 
 trampled out of her skirt by a dusty heel. 
 Ingram handed her her hat. 
 
 " Rather an overwhelming young lady ! " he 
 remarked dryly. 
 
 " She is a little upsetting in one's garden, 
 certainly," returned Luigia, regarding her 
 broken carnations with a pitying glance. 
 
 " You won't go to this ghastly entertain- 
 ment ?" 
 
 " Why not ? "
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 231 
 
 "Can you ask?" — with a French gesture 
 expressive of unutterable things. " Is not the 
 youth of our species a mistake, an infliction, 
 a distressing calamity ? " 
 
 " I never had any play when I was a child," 
 she said rather sadly, " and sometimes I feel 
 I must make up for it now." 
 
 " Very pretty ! So is your indulgent kind- 
 ness to that dreadful, half-fled^ed o-oose of a 
 girl ! " he remarked, turning to pace the path 
 behind her. "It quite looks like heart, and 
 feeling, and all the rest of it." 
 
 " Why have you such a bad opinion of me ? " 
 — stopping, rake in hand, to read his face. 
 
 " Did I say it was bad ? On the contrary, I 
 am prostrate before your many virtues. You 
 make your house charming and your husband 
 happy — a rare accomplishment. If you are a 
 little heartless, what of that ? " 
 
 "It is foolish to care about anything," she 
 said, stooping to pull a weed. 
 
 " Most foolish ! I quite agree with you 
 there — it is a remnant of savagery, an ante- 
 diluvian instinct. Really civilized and en- 
 lightened people care about nothing in these 
 days — except themselves." 
 
 " Do you know," she said, still stooping 
 over the weeds, " that I always rather distrust
 
 232 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 those people who pretend to care so little. I 
 believe it is only that they are afraid to let 
 themselves go." 
 
 "Go? How?" 
 
 She pulled up several dandelion-roots and 
 dropped them into the wooden basket standing 
 at her side. 
 
 " It is like a river," she said, after a pause — 
 "a very strong river — that would spread over 
 all the land and lay it waste if it were not 
 kept in its place by steep banks. If it once 
 begins to spread there is no controlling it — 
 none at all." 
 
 " I don't think many people need steep 
 banks to keep their feelings in check. Their 
 river is such a tiny trickle that it can scarcely 
 be called water at all." 
 
 " Happy people ! How safe they must feel ! " 
 
 " Safe from what ? " 
 
 " Oh, all the wicked things people with feel- 
 ings long to do." 
 
 " How do you know about people with feel- 
 ings longing to do wicked things ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I am one of them." 
 
 He laughed derisively, and shook his head. 
 
 " Scarcely, I think," he said. 
 
 " No ? " She stood up, drew off her loose 
 leather gloves, and pushed back her hat ; her
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 233 
 
 face was much flushed with stooping and with 
 her exertion in the hot sun. " Oh, but I can 
 care about some things a good deal — quite 
 uncomfortably and to the destruction of my 
 peace of mind." 
 
 " What things, for instance ?" — with a sudden 
 access of interest in his tone. 
 
 She turned away, and picking a large maple 
 leaf from the tree overhead, sat down on a 
 garden-seat near by and fanned her hot cheeks, 
 with her head turned away from him. 
 
 " What things ? " he inquired again. 
 
 " Oh, all sorts — music and flowers and 
 poetry and animals and babies. And," she 
 added emphatically, her pretty lips breaking 
 into a smile, " especially the babies ! " 
 
 11 Anything else ? " 
 
 " Yes. All things that are ill or in trouble." 
 
 " But never a man, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Oh, never a man, of course;" and she 
 laughed outright. 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Oh, because " — she turned her lovely 
 eyes upon him, and there was a mocking 
 little smile in their depths— " because he is 
 so dull, so ugly, so uninteresting ! Besides, it 
 is not natural for women to like men. It is 
 against nature, you know. There is a sort of
 
 234 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 antipathy between them that effectually pre- 
 vents " 
 
 She broke off, laughing, but he caught her 
 by the wrist and made her face him. 
 
 " It is an outrageous lie ! " he asserted. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 11 Then if it is a lie I have already suffered 
 for it, for you have hurt my hand horribly." 
 
 At that instant Belle came out from the 
 drawing-room where she had been practising, 
 and the topic and tone of the conversation was 
 changed. 
 
 " And so you have developed into a placid, 
 easy-going farmer's wife ? " said Ingram to 
 Luigia that afternoon. " I am a little sur- 
 prised, I confess." 
 
 They were strolling through the fields in the 
 full heat of the afternoon sunshine, and had 
 paused at the stile leading on to the hillside, 
 and were leaning against it to rest. Before 
 them, out to the west, lay the hills, warm and 
 still, with the sheep like white specks on their 
 green slopes, and a stream winding here and 
 there like a silver thread into the valley below. 
 
 Luigia was silent. She had picked a large, 
 yellow-hearted daisy from the field-hedge, and 
 was looking down on it as she leaned against 
 the stile. Presently she lifted her eyes.
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 235 
 
 " Why should you be surprised ? " she said. 
 
 " Because it seems to me you might possibly 
 require something more stimulating than hills 
 and valleys in your existence." 
 
 " Such as balls, operas, drives in the park ? 
 But I have never found life in any big city — 
 and I have been to a great many — more in- 
 teresting than I find it in Rodney." 
 
 " My dear Luigia, I do not believe you. 
 You are not the sort of woman who can be 
 satisfied with — just hearing the grass grow." 
 
 She looked up, laughing. 
 
 " Surely the beauties of nature " she 
 
 began, but he stopped her peremptorily. 
 
 " Don't evade — yes or no ? Are you satis- 
 fied ? Are you happy ? " 
 
 "What is that to you? Why should I be 
 allowed no hiding-place ? But I know — it is 
 your insatiable curiosity ! You would like to 
 put your dissecting knife right into my soul 
 and bring its secrets under your microscope. 
 Suppose I object to having them stared at ? " 
 
 " A man of science," he returned with a 
 wave of the hand, " is interested in the whole 
 of creation. He naturally includes the human 
 heart." 
 
 " That is going out of your line. You make 
 a speciality of skulls and bones and broken
 
 236 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 limbs. Then keep to them, and let the human 
 heart alone." 
 
 " But I am even more interested in the ways 
 of men and women ! " 
 
 She threw away the daisy with a careless 
 gesture. 
 
 "Well, suppose I said, 'No, I am wretched 
 — miserable — in despair ! These smiling hills 
 make my heart ache ; I feel more desolate and 
 lonely among them and in the midst of their 
 beauty than would be possible in an empty, 
 barren land. They rouse in me longings that 
 never can be satisfied, and make me dream of 
 what life might have been and never can be 
 now ! ' Suppose I said that to you, what good 
 would it do ? " 
 
 " But do you say that ? " 
 
 " Oh no," and she shook her head with a 
 smile. " I do not say that at all. It was a 
 case of supposition only. If I make my 
 answer truly it is, ' Yes, I like Rodney better 
 than any other place in the world/ ' 
 
 " I don't believe you." 
 
 "What a flat contradiction ! As it happens, 
 I am speaking the literal truth. Rodney is a 
 paradise to me, a heaven on earth, and if at 
 times I sit down and weep, is not that the way 
 with all of us ? "
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 237 
 
 She had a strange, fantastic way of express- 
 ing herself sometimes that was entirely natural 
 to her. With Ingram she found herself always 
 more or less in the fantastic mood. An in- 
 stinctive friendship had sprung up between 
 them, little as they had seen of each other. 
 He had a way of understanding her through 
 all she said and left unsaid, that induced her 
 to mystify him, and yet in a measure confide 
 in him, leaving him to unravel the puzzle as 
 best he could. It was a relief to her to leave 
 the commonplaces of life and express some- 
 thing of her inner self — a new experience that 
 had a charm about it just because it was so 
 new ! She liked his point-blank questions, his 
 determined curiosity, his reluctant admiration, 
 and the warfare of words that went on between 
 them, in which she skilfully parried the means 
 he used to fathom her. 
 
 And he, why did he find an interest in study- 
 ing Luigia ? 
 
 Partly because she piqued his curiosity, 
 partly because he admired her, and partly 
 because he liked her — better than he had liked 
 any woman for years. The friendship between 
 them would have been dangerous had not the 
 love and passion of Jean Ingram's nature 
 been played out long ago ; and now only the
 
 238 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 smouldering embers of an extinct volcano were 
 left to burn themselves away where a furnace 
 heat had once glowed. Luigia knew nothing 
 of his story, but she felt instinctively, as all 
 women feel about some men who come within 
 their radius, that she was powerless to move 
 him. Nothing this world held would ever 
 again affect him radically ; his eyes, his voice, 
 his mode of life testified to this, even if his 
 lips never put it into words. 
 
 " And why," he inquired, after a pause in 
 which they had both been looking across the 
 valley in the silence of reflection — "why do 
 you worship Rodney ? Women always have 
 some romantic, high-flown notion at the back 
 of their fancies." 
 
 " Oh yes," she returned, drawing down 
 the corners of her mouth a little scornfully, 
 " I have a sentimental reason, of course. 
 It is trodden by sacred feet — that is why I 
 like it." 
 
 " Yes ? I thought so ! Whose feet ? " 
 
 " Can you ask ? It is — it must be the feet 
 of — all the sheep, and cows, and pigs, and 
 geese that are passing daily through the village 
 street. There, you have it ! " 
 
 She laughed in his face, but he did not 
 appear disconcerted.
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 239 
 
 11 You are a wise woman," he returned, " for 
 sheep and oxen are quite as satisfactory as 
 anything else to worship, if human nature would 
 only believe it." 
 
 11 But it won't," she cried, shaking her head. 
 11 It wants something more — something bigger 
 and deeper. It wants life and death, and 
 heaven and hell, and love and suffering — and 
 anything in the world but peaceful monotony ! " 
 
 She drew her black brows together in a 
 stormy frown, and pushed back her hat with 
 an impetuous movement. 
 
 " Oh yes," she went on rapidly, " do not 
 imagine that I never rebel against monotony. 
 There are times when I can scarcely endure it. 
 I sit in the house and listen to the ticking of 
 the clock telling away the minutes of my life — 
 the only life one has ! — and everything is still 
 around me. Then comes the clatter of dishes 
 and pans through the silent house, far away, 
 and then all is still again, and the clock goes 
 on ticking as before, and nothing comes to 
 break the monotony. And I feel that my life 
 is slipping away — away — and that nothing more 
 than the clatter of dishes and pans can ever 
 come to me ! And then I say to myself that 
 I will not bear it, that life is meant to be 
 enjoyed, and that we are free if we only have
 
 240 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 the courage to take our fate in our own hands, 
 and I get up and rush out of the house into 
 the sunshine, where the air thrills with life 
 and hope and expectancy, and all the world 
 is beautiful. And it maddens me, and I 
 declare to myself that I will not bear it any 
 longer, but — but I do ! " 
 
 Her face was turned towards him — eager, 
 quivering, the eyes dilated. 
 
 " You are too young for monotony," he said, 
 noting every detail of her excitement. 
 
 " Oh, I know I am young," she said bitterly 
 — " young and strong and eager. I am so 
 eager sometimes that I feel all the world and 
 its knowledge and gifts would not satisfy me. 
 I want more — more — always more ! I am 
 greedy — horribly greedy ; and there are certain 
 things I want to eat. But, no doubt " — and 
 her eager manner dropped from her, and the 
 old contemptuous smile took its place — " if 
 what I long for were given me, I should find 
 some flaw in it." 
 
 " No doubt whatever of that ! The whole 
 flavour of life lies in forbidden fruit, but only 
 as long as it is forbidden." 
 
 " Still," she said, looking away and swinging 
 her gloves idly in one hand, " I should decidedly 
 like to taste my forbidden fruit."
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 241 
 
 " What is its name ? Where does it grow ? " 
 
 " Its name — is a secret. And it grows out 
 of reach." 
 
 " As hieh as heaven ? " 
 
 " No " — she turned and looked him straight 
 in the eyes — " I am not spiritual or exalted. 
 I am a great believer in a thoroughgoing, 
 human, earthly joy. It would outrival all the 
 heavens in the universe to me — that human 
 joy, I confess ! " 
 
 Presently they walked home together, and 
 Ingram speculated silently on what the fore- 
 going conversation might mean. He drew one 
 conclusion from it, namely, that there was a 
 man, a forbidden man, somewhere in Luigia's 
 life. His interest and curiosity were not to be 
 baffled, and he defied her to keep her secret, 
 now that he had got the clue. 
 
 Belle came gaily over the grass to meet 
 them as they reached the house. 
 
 11 Oh yes, my headache is quite cured," she 
 cried, in answer to Luigia's inquiries. "And 
 why did you stroll away like that, you two 
 stupid people ? We have had quite a crowd 
 of visitors, the squire and I, and among them 
 the Count de Marnay. What a charming man 
 he is ! And, oh, what do you think ? There 
 is going to be a dance at the Harburtons' next 
 vol. 1. 16
 
 242 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 week. Mrs. Harburton told the squire. What 
 shall I wear ? " 
 
 " We must give the subject serious con- 
 sideration," said Luigia, seating herself in a 
 chair by the little tea-table on the lawn. 
 
 " I am quite looking forward to it, I declare ! 
 This country air has invigorated me already. 
 And as for the Count — how very good-looking 
 he is, and what charming manners ! I am quite 
 smitten ! " And she turned to Ingram with her 
 most coquettish air. 
 
 "Indeed?" ejaculated Ingram, coolly, sink- 
 ing into a chair at Luigia's side. 
 
 " You have no objection if I get up a little 
 flirtation with him, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Not the faintest. I should enjoy it of all 
 things." 
 
 " Really ? Why, pray ? " — lifting her eye- 
 brows. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. For the sake of com- 
 panionship, perhaps. When one has been on 
 the rack one's self it is amusing to see some 
 one else put through the thumbscrew. That 
 is only natural." 
 
 " Do you mean that /torture you ? " — coming 
 nearer to him, with the light of flattered vanity 
 in her eyes. " I don't understand." 
 
 " I mean nothing — absolutely nothing ! " he
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 243 
 
 replied, putting out his hand quickly to arrest 
 her approach — "or, at any rate, nothing that 
 could be worked out by the problems of Euclid. 
 Let us change the subject. The weather is 
 too hot for mathematical accuracy." 
 
 At dinner that evening the Count de Marnay 
 turned up, and took his accustomed place at 
 the table as a matter of course. Ingram looked 
 him over from head to foot with a critical eye, 
 and was forced to confess that he found him 
 gentlemanly, irreproachable, and pleasing in 
 manner. Neither could he detect any undue 
 interest in Luigia to account for his desertion 
 of his country, and Luigia herself was as calmly 
 indifferent as usual. Ingram studied the 
 pattern of his plate closely, and wondered 
 what lay beneath the surface of this friend- 
 ship. 
 
 After dinner the three gentlemen betook 
 themselves and their cigarettes to the lawn, 
 where chairs and rugs were placed beneath the 
 trees. It was a splendid evening ; the moon 
 had just risen, the air was heavy with the scent 
 of closing syringa, and all around was still. 
 An animated discussion on French politics 
 alone disturbed the atmosphere. 
 
 On the night air came the sound of a guitar 
 struck softly, and over the grass towards them
 
 244 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 a woman's figure in white. She paused a few 
 feet away, and stood in the moonlight, slinging 
 the ribbons of the guitar round her neck. 
 Silence fell on the party, waiting to see what 
 she would do. Presently she broke into a 
 song, which she accompanied by a little sway- 
 ing movement as she struck the strings of her 
 instrument. Her voice, which she scarcely 
 raised above the pitch of speaking, floated on 
 the night air with an exquisite softness and 
 beauty. It was a troubadour's song — all about 
 a lady, a jailer, a tower, and a lover. The 
 words were impassioned, and so was the music, 
 and Luioda's voice — was inherited from that 
 grandfather who, some forty or fifty years back, 
 had held the Italian opera house breathless 
 and spellbound as by a touch of magic. 
 
 " Bravo ! " cried the squire, as the last notes 
 died away. " Sing us another." 
 
 " While you lie in the dew preparing for an 
 immediate grave ! No, indeed ! I came to 
 fetch you in, you horribly imprudent people ! " 
 
 "Sing us one more, and you shall do what 
 you like with us," pleaded the squire. 
 
 " My dear," she returned in her most prac- 
 tical tone, " there is no love-song in the world 
 that is worth a single twinge of rheumatism. 
 Be wise and shun the dew."
 
 Ingram's Impressions. 245 
 
 She lifted her white skirts as she spoke, and 
 retreated towards the house, where Belle was 
 beckoning from the drawing-room window. 
 
 " The idea of you preaching commonsense — 
 a siren like you ! " laughed the squire, dragging 
 himself up in obedience to her commands. 
 " To listen to your singing one would imagine 
 you were all poetry and romance, and hadn't 
 a practical idea about you." 
 
 " It is merely a trick of the throat," she 
 answered him, " one can sing anything, you 
 know. But, in reality, I have very little 
 sympathy with frantic love-scenes in damp 
 gardens. It is so foolish to lay the seeds of 
 rheumatism and consumption when one can 
 avoid them by staying in the house. Still, 
 every one to his taste ! — mine, I confess, is 
 creature-comfort." 
 
 She laughed a pretty, airy little laugh as 
 she said this, and Ingram, following, muttered 
 to himself — 
 
 " It is a lie, my pretty lady ! it is a lie ! "
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TRESPASSING. 
 
 F I were a poet," said Luigia, " I should 
 sit in that wood and meditate." 
 
 She waved her hand towards a tangled 
 coppice, bounded by a low stone wall to the 
 left. Ingram glanced in the direction indicated. 
 
 " Is it an inspiring wood ? " he inquired. 
 
 "Very. A man was found in it once with 
 his throat cut, and the spirit of murder still 
 hangs in the air. Would you like to go 
 through it ? " 
 
 " Very much. I am not given to poems, 
 but I can sit and meditate on murder as long 
 as you like." 
 
 It was early morning. Ten o'clock had just 
 struck from the church spire, and been answered 
 by the silver chimes from Major Harburtons 
 stables a mile off. The squire and Belle had
 
 Trespassing. 247 
 
 set off immediately after breakfast for Wood- 
 leigh, and Luigia and Ingram had strolled 
 down to the village on one or two small 
 errands. They were now returning along the 
 dusty country road, the dogs routing in the 
 dewy, shady hedges, and chasing one another, 
 in the maddest of frolics, through sunshine 
 and shade. 
 
 They had been through the village, a 
 rambling, sleepy place, with very little sign 
 of life about. The children were all in school, 
 the men at work in the fields, the women busy 
 in their homes. There was only the miller's 
 man leaning on the bridge while the horses 
 rested from their long tug up the hill, and, 
 further along, round the bend in the village 
 street, an old man on a ladder thatching a roof 
 with handfuls of gleaming straw. That was 
 all. There were waggons resting on their 
 empty shafts, cocks and hens scratching in the 
 road by dozens, a child on a doorstep eating 
 bread and jam, and a woman's voice singing 
 softly behind the raspberry bushes in one of 
 the blooming strips of garden. 
 
 That was all — no stir, no bustle, no traffic. 
 Life was very slow, very peaceful in this sunny 
 village among the woods and hills. Ingram 
 looked around him amused.
 
 248 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " It is comforting to find that all the world 
 is not living at fever-heat," he observed. 
 
 " Yes," said Luigia, " it is pleasant to sit and 
 bask in ' the land where it is always afternoon.' ,; 
 
 " Do you find it so ? I suppose so. Panthers 
 are languid animals, fond of basking." 
 
 " Panthers ? " 
 
 "Yes. But their languor is deceptive. They 
 are capable of all that is most sudden, fierce, 
 and passionate." 
 
 " Are you speaking of me as a panther ? " 
 
 " Could I be so rude ? I was merely referring 
 to the species." 
 
 " Oh, well," she added, after a pause, " even 
 if I were a panther I have no chance in this 
 ' quiet, sequestered vale ' of sudden, fierce, and 
 passionate action, as you express it." 
 
 "That depends. In prowling through the 
 woods and fields, peaceful and sequestered as 
 they appear, you might by chance light upon 
 another panther, also on the prowl. Then 
 would come the sudden, fierce, and passionate 
 action." 
 
 "In what way ? " 
 
 " Oh, how do I know ! Probably in a fight, 
 or it might be in a sort of claiming kinship. 
 Panthers are likely to become close friends 
 when they meet in an alien land."
 
 Trespassing. 249 
 
 He whistled to one of the dogs, who was 
 chasing a young bird through the dust, and 
 Luigia broke the silence that ensued by sug- 
 gesting a raid into the coppice at the roadside. 
 There was a notice-board nailed on to a 
 tree-trunk above their heads, proclaiming that 
 trespassers would be prosecuted. He called 
 her attention to it. 
 
 " I never take any notice of that," she said. 
 " The man who owns the property is always 
 abroad, and his keepers and people allow 
 anything. Half the village lives on his game." 
 
 " Who is the reckless man ? " 
 
 11 He is a Lord Egan. It is such a lovely 
 place — the Abbey. I used to prowl about it 
 when we first came home last autumn. It 
 fascinated me. It seemed such a shame! — 
 the rose-leaves fluttering down on to the 
 terraces, the fruit rotting on the walls, and 
 the fountains going on dripping, dripping all 
 day long, with no one to look or care." 
 
 " Is the man a young prodigal or an old 
 rouS?" 
 
 " I don't know whether he is a prodigal, but 
 he is young. He spends his existence hunting 
 lions and tigers and buffaloes and bears. He 
 goes all over the world — India, Asia Minor, 
 America, sleeping in tents and under trees,
 
 250 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 like a savage. I don't know where he is now 
 — anywhere that isn't civilized, I suppose." 
 
 They had climbed the low stone wall, and 
 were making their way through a copse, black 
 with shadows, where masses of ivy hung 
 heavily in the trees, and the smell of leaf- 
 mould rose as it was stirred by their feet. 
 Here and there they came upon a deep hollow 
 or a silent pool lying among and half over- 
 grown by underwood. Now and then the 
 stillness was broken by the scamper of a rabbit 
 through the brambles, or a bird's fluttering 
 wings as it flew from one bough to another. 
 The light even at noonday was faint. 
 
 " The murdered man was found under this 
 beech," said Luigia, pointing to a gnarled tree- 
 root near where she was standing. " If I 
 wallowed in ink and had dishevelled hair " 
 
 " Don't do it," interrupted Ingram, hastily. 
 " The poem would not be half so pretty as the 
 present neatness of your head." 
 
 " That is putting my poetic talent on a very 
 low level." 
 
 " Not at all. It is placing your coiffure 
 among the works of art that are not to be 
 rivalled." 
 
 "How clever you are, Jean!" she said 
 admiringly.
 
 Trespassing. 251 
 
 They emerged at last into a sunny park, 
 full of oaks and bracken and deer. The air 
 was quivering with summer heat, myriads of 
 gnats were dancing madly in the golden sun- 
 shine, the hills looked blue in the distance. 
 
 " It is here," said Luigia, waving her hand 
 theatrically, " that — if I were that poet of the 
 wild hair — I should bring my young lovers. I 
 should call the poem * Love's Golden Dream/ 
 and I should sit them down — hand in hand, 
 of course — under that oak over there, and 
 make them look round them with a blissful 
 sort of feeling that life was going to be all 
 like this — glorious and golden and full of 
 peace. Don't be alarmed ; I was not* going 
 to break into verse, though I own you had 
 cause for alarm." 
 
 " Don't refrain on my account," returned 
 Ingram, politely. "There are few things I 
 cannot take with a smile." 
 
 " In this instance your smiles would be out 
 of place," she rejoined. 
 
 They were crossing a wide, open sweep of 
 undulating parkland, trampling the bracken 
 remorselessly under foot. The smell of sweet, 
 hot, dry grass filled the air. Here and there 
 an open glade swept away through the trees, 
 with the deer browsing in graceful herds in
 
 252 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 its hollows. As far as the eye could see it 
 was all hot, beautiful, still. 
 
 "After all," she ejaculated suddenly, " per- 
 haps things are meant to go right. Even / 
 sometimes think so in the midst of a scene 
 like this." 
 
 " Do not expect a golden dream," returned 
 Ingram ; "for the world is not built on those 
 lines." 
 
 " Why does it seem to promise what it will 
 never fulfil ? " 
 
 " To chasten and subdue the spirit of 
 man into meekness, and — make him say 
 damn ! " 
 
 " Mr. Ingram ! " 
 
 " Oh, I know I'm a criminal ; but when one 
 talks of promise and fulfilment, surely there are 
 excuses for strong language." 
 
 " Has life been so very hard on you ? " she 
 said gently. 
 
 " It has not been exactly a golden dream, 
 and I have been chastened and subdued to 
 such a fine pitch of perfection that I shouldn't 
 know what to do with one if it came." 
 
 "How sad !" she said, more gently still. 
 
 " Yes, quite heartrending," he rejoined, and 
 he laughed. 
 
 Presently they came in sight of the Abbey
 
 Trespassing. 253 
 
 — a pile of grey-stone building, with number- 
 less roofs and turrets and chimneys. The 
 windows and doors in front of the house were 
 shut and shrouded, and there was no sign of 
 life about. The terraces and gardens stretch- 
 ing around it were scorching in a blaze of 
 heat, but the urns were empty of flowers and 
 the statues smothered in a rank growth of 
 creeper. The place was evidently neglected 
 to a great extent by the servants left in charge. 
 
 " It is a thousand pities to desert it," said 
 Luigia, looking round her wistfully. 
 
 " Not if he likes lions and bears better. 
 The man is no fool if he can get enjoyment 
 out of life. He is a lucky beggar — even if 
 the halls of his ancestors mingle with the dust 
 in consequence." 
 
 He followed her up the terrace steps, over 
 which a neglected vine had laid a thick carpet 
 of trailing sprays and leaves. They walked 
 along the facade of the house, peeping in at 
 the darkened windows, trying the handles of 
 barred doors. Here the sense of desertion 
 was greater than ever. As she had said, the 
 rose-leaves were fluttering from the walls of 
 the house, vines had grown rampantly over 
 stonework and statues and steps, trailing 
 creepers hung forlorn and disregarded.
 
 254 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " I don't know why it is," she said, as they 
 passed slowly along the front of the house, 
 " but things that are deserted and sad and 
 going to ruin always appeal to me more 
 strongly than things that are happy and 
 fortunate and prosperous. I wonder why ? " 
 
 " It is fashionable to be morbid," said 
 Ingram, coolly, " and distinctly plebeian to be 
 happy." 
 
 Luigia laughed. "You and I," she said, 
 " must be very blue-blooded. We ought to 
 be able to roll billiard-balls under our insteps, 
 an d " 
 
 She broke off suddenly in what she was 
 saying, and her words ended in an exclamation 
 of startled surprise. They were turning a 
 corner of the house, and had come upon a 
 broad gravel path lying before the western 
 windows. Ingram's eyes took in at a glance 
 the reason of her sudden ejaculation and 
 subsequent silence. 
 
 It was only this : A long, open window, a 
 striped linen awning, a cane lounge, with a 
 man at full length upon it — a man with a pipe 
 in his mouth, a newspaper hanging idly in 
 his hand, a couple of spaniels and a collie at 
 his feet. The master of the house, apparently, 
 returned from his travels, and enjoying a
 
 Trespassing. 255 
 
 morning siesta under pretence of reading the 
 daily news. Nothing so very alarming in any 
 of this, surely, yet Luigia had turned distinctly 
 and unquestionably pale. She stood where she 
 was, hesitating. 
 
 The man rose and came forward. He had 
 taken the pipe from his mouth and thrown it 
 and the paper carelessly behind him on to the 
 lounge ; the dogs were slinking forward, un- 
 certain whether to be friendly or antagonistic. 
 Their master held out his hand to Luigia. 
 
 " This is an unexpected pleasure, Mrs. 
 Rodney," he said. 
 
 Ingram would have been surprised, if he 
 had been capable of being surprised at any- 
 thing, at the fact that Luigia and this strange 
 man met as acquaintances. In the chance 
 remarks she had let fall about the master of 
 the Abbey she had said nothing that led him 
 to suppose she knew him personally. How- 
 ever, it was now evident that she did. She 
 gave him her hand, and, pale as she still was, 
 she had perfectly recovered her composure. 
 
 " Quite unexpected," she was saying in her 
 lightest manner. " I imagined — or should 
 have imagined, if I had thought about it at all 
 — that you were in Kamschatka or Timbuctoo." 
 
 " No, I am down here for a week or two."
 
 256 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Is Rodney aware of the honour ? I fancy 
 not." 
 
 " I only arrived last night." 
 
 " Unexpectedly, then ? " 
 
 "Yes. I wired to the servants an hour 
 before I left Paris." 
 
 She looked at him beneath her lowered 
 lashes with a smile so cool as to be almost 
 contemptuous, and it was evident that, lord of 
 the soil and heir to many illustrious ancestors 
 as he was, she held him in small esteem. 
 
 " Really," she observed, " you should prepare 
 us a little for these sudden visitations. Sup- 
 pose we took them badly — shrieked, or fainted, 
 or otherwise exposed ourselves — how un- 
 pleasant! Allow me to present my friend. 
 Mr. Ingram — Lord Egan." 
 
 The two men shook hands, and Ingram 
 looked his new acquaintance over from head 
 to foot without appearing to do so. 
 
 He was standing before them bareheaded on 
 the sunny path, a quiet, well-dressed young 
 man of about six or seven and twenty. At 
 first it seemed that his eyes were black, but 
 after a time Ingram remarked that this effect 
 was due to a curious dilation of the pupils, and 
 that when they contracted again, as they did 
 to a certain extent at the end of a minute or
 
 Trespassing. 257 
 
 two, they were in reality of a deep dark blue. 
 His hair was straight and black, his teeth very 
 white, his complexion sallow ; there was a 
 newly healed scar on his left cheek. He had 
 a subdued, unassuming manner, and his move- 
 ments were inclined to be indolent, but there 
 was the grace of good proportion and latent 
 strength about him, and it was easy to believe 
 that, if called upon for action, he would be 
 found capable of swiftness, activity and en- 
 durance. As a rule, perhaps, he was not 
 inclined to exert himself. 
 
 " Come and sit down," he said, turning 
 back to the lounge-chair under the awning. 
 " I will have some more of these things 
 brought out." 
 
 "Not for worlds ! " exclaimed Luigia. " De- 
 lightful as it would be to idle away an hour in 
 your society, I am afraid we cannot stay a 
 moment, can we, Mr. Ingram ?" 
 
 " The voice of duty," observed Ingram, 
 morally, "is not to be disregarded under any 
 circumstances." 
 
 Lord Egan smiled a quiet, subdued smile. 
 
 " In this instance," he remarked, " I do not 
 think it is exactly the voice of duty that 
 calls." 
 
 "No?" raising her brows with a pretty air 
 
 vol. 1. 17
 
 258 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 of inquiry. " But I assure you, I have number- 
 less paupers at this moment awaiting food and 
 clothing at my hands. I am due in all sorts of 
 places " 
 
 " Anywhere but here, in fact ? " 
 
 She turned to Ingram with an aggrieved air. 
 
 " Listen to that ! Lord Egan doubts my 
 word ! Please clear my character. Have you 
 not frequently seen the poor of the parish 
 bathing my hands with grateful tears ? Are 
 they not at this moment clustering round the 
 Manor gates for alms ? " 
 
 " If my testimony is of any value," said 
 Ingram, " I have much pleasure in assuring 
 Lord Egan that I have repeatedly been a 
 witness to these touching scenes." 
 
 " There ! " she exclaimed, with a wave of 
 her hand. " I told you so ! Mr. Ingram's 
 word is, of course, conclusive." 
 
 " Entirely. I withdraw my observation," 
 said Lord Egan. 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 " Then good-bye. You see, I really must 
 be off. I am so sorry we disturbed your siesta. 
 By the way, we have not yet explained our 
 sudden appearance. I suppose we are tres- 
 passing, are we not ? Shall you have us up ? 
 I hope so."
 
 Trespassing. 259 
 
 " I shall be happy to do anything you 
 wish." 
 
 u I do wish it — at least as far as Mr. Ingram 
 is concerned. I should like to see him hand- 
 cuffed. You would, of course," turning to 
 Ingram, "be too philosophic to struggle ? " 
 
 " I should endeavour to comport myself with 
 dignity," returned Ingram, " however trying it 
 might be." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure of that. You would never 
 give way to loud words or unseemly scuffling. 
 I will visit you in prison and read you tracts. 
 Possibly it might be the making of you in the 
 end, who knows ? " 
 
 It seemed to Ingram that she was talking 
 somewhat at high pressure, though her words 
 were light enough, and her manner absolutely 
 under control. But she was still pale, and 
 when she was not speaking her lips trembled. 
 She stooped over one of the dogs, and began 
 caressine it. He noticed as she did so that 
 her hand was trembling also. 
 
 For the moment Lord Egan had forgotten 
 Ingram's presence, and was looking at her as 
 she bent over his dog. There was an intensity 
 in his eyes that was not lost upon Ingram. 
 The collie was licking her hand. He stooped 
 down, and, taking the dog by his collar, thrust
 
 260 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 him behind him with a command to lie down. 
 The action was very quiet, but very decided, 
 and Luigia said nothing. 
 
 He walked with them bareheaded through 
 an old fruit garden to a door in the wall 
 leading into the park. He did not appear to 
 be brilliant in conversation, and it was Luigia 
 who did all the talking, uttering any airy non- 
 sense that first came to her lips, not a word of 
 which any man could have taken seriously. 
 Ingram backed her up by a casual remark now 
 and then. At the wall-door she held out her 
 hand for the second time. 
 
 " You need not pilot us any farther. I will 
 lead Mr. Ingram home. He has implicit faith 
 in my guidance," she said. 
 
 Lord Egan shot a swift glance from her to 
 Ingram, and a slight momentary shadow, which 
 Ingram interpreted as jealousy, passed over 
 his face, but he said nothing. He leaned 
 against the door-post, with his hands in his 
 pockets. 
 
 " You have not told me yet," he said, more 
 by way of prolonging the conversation than 
 irom any hope of a definite answer from 
 Luigia, "what reason you had for coming. 
 If " 
 
 " Ah ! " she said, looking round her, and up
 
 Trespassing. 261 
 
 into the sky, with a provoking air of irresponsi- 
 bility, " why was it ? I really forget." 
 
 " If a lie would be of any assistance " 
 
 began Ingram, but she waived him aside. 
 
 " No. Let us be truthful at all costs. It is 
 more noble, and quite as satisfactory. We 
 came simply and solely because the spirit led 
 us this way, and because the notice-board said 
 that trespassers would be prosecuted if we did. 
 If you do not prosecute us " 
 
 " I shall be wrong, as usual, I suppose ? " he 
 interposed. 
 
 " You will be wrong, as usual," she echoed, 
 with a slight laugh as she turned away. 
 
 She and Ingram crossed the park almost in 
 silence. The heat was excessive, the birds too 
 drowsy to sing, the deer sleeping in the fern 
 under the shade of the oaks, and only the 
 voice of the grasshopper to be heard in all 
 the miles around. 
 
 " Speaking of panthers," said Ingram at last, 
 with the disinterested air of one who discusses 
 natural history, " I should imagine that our 
 friend Lord Egan has something of that animal 
 about him." 
 
 " Should you ? How ? " she inquired care- 
 lessly. 
 
 " His quietness and languor are treacherous."
 
 262 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 She looked away towards the deer without 
 replying. 
 
 " In your prowls," he continued, " have you 
 met him often ? " 
 
 " Not often. He is generally away. He 
 came down last autumn to get well after an 
 accident, and stayed over Christmas. I met 
 him then." 
 
 " Often ? " 
 
 " Oh no. At first he was too ill to go out 
 much. He had a friend staying with him, a 
 Captain Dowie : a very nice man." 
 
 " Nicer than Lord E^an ? " 
 
 " / got on with him better. I shall never 
 forget how kind he was to me in Rome once 
 when I spoilt my dress at a picnic. He pre- 
 tended he did it, and every one forgot to look 
 at me. I was very grateful." 
 
 " Oh, so you knew him in Rome ? " 
 
 " Yes — years ago — just for a week." 
 
 "And Lord Egan too?" 
 
 " Oh, they were together, you know, in our 
 hotel. We came across them by chance. It 
 was ever so long ago — just after I was married." 
 
 " Ah ! " ejaculated Ingram. 
 
 Another long silence ensued, and they 
 emerged from the park into the road near the 
 Manor grounds.
 
 Trespassing. 263 
 
 4i There is just one little point that I should 
 be obliged if you would explain," said Ingram, 
 opening the gate into the meadows for her to 
 pass through. "Why, in the first instance, did 
 you so carefully conceal the fact that you knew 
 Lord Egan ? " 
 
 " I did not conceal it," she answered proudly ; 
 " it seemed to me a matter of no importance 
 one way or the other." 
 
 " I see," rejoined Ingram with a qujet, un- 
 explained smile. 
 
 11 Now, to me," he was saying to himself as 
 he carefully closed the gate again, " it seems to 
 be the one fact upon which everything else 
 turns. And if I am wrong, my name is not 
 Jean Ingram, nor is yours Luigia Rodney, and 
 we shall have to begin all over again on new 
 premises."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MRS. HARBURTON'S DANCE. 
 
 HE next day Ingram returned to town, in 
 spite of all persuasions to the contrary, 
 and Belle felt a certain degree of relief when 
 he was gone. She begged the squire and 
 Luigia to keep her engagement secret for the 
 present, and in the mean time she felt free to 
 amuse herself as far as she chose. 
 
 She was taken to call in every direction, and 
 accepted everywhere as an immense acquisition 
 to Rodney society. She was invited to all the 
 tennis and tea-parties for miles round ; pressed 
 into the service of the Vicarage bazaar in aid of 
 foreign missions ; admitted to the choir ; stared 
 at in church ; dangled after by the curate, 
 Captain Douglas, and the other stray men of 
 the parish ; and generally acknowledged as 
 the belle and the leader of fashion, amongst 
 the country bumpkins.
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 265 
 
 At the beginning of the second week of her 
 visit, Mrs. Harburton's dance was to be given 
 chiefly in her honour. 
 
 " I got it up specially for you, my dear — you 
 and the Watson girls who are staying with me, 
 you know," said kind-hearted Mrs. Harburton, 
 bustling in on the morning of the dance, to 
 find Belle and the Count playing tennis on the 
 shady Manor lawn ; " so mind you keep your- 
 self fresh for the evening — and Luigia, don't 
 you let her play any more, or she'll be quite 
 knocked up, and then how shall I face all the 
 disappointed young men who are looking for- 
 ward to dancing with her ? " 
 
 " Oh, I shan't be tired," cried Belle, coming 
 up, racquet in hand, with her sweetest smile. 
 " Thank you so much, dear Mrs. Harburton. 
 You don't know how much I am looking for- 
 ward to it." 
 
 11 Such a pity Mr. Ingram couldn't have 
 stayed for it ! A day or two more couldn't 
 have mattered. However, what do you think ? 
 — such a fortunate thing " — turning to Luigia. 
 11 Lord Egan is down for a few days, quite 
 unexpectedly, and dropped in yesterday. Of 
 course I made him promise to come ; and you 
 know how nicely he dances. No, I can't stay, 
 thank you. I've a thousand and one things to
 
 266 The Desire of the Moth 
 
 do, as you may imagine. Good-bye till to- 
 night. Mind you come early, and keep your- 
 selves fresh. No, don't trouble. Oh, very 
 well, then, if you insist ; " and with her arm in 
 Luigia's, she made her way back to the little 
 pony-carriage standing before the Manor door. 
 
 " Is Lord Egan nice ? " inquired Belle, when, 
 tennis over, and the Count dismissed, she 
 found Luigia in the store-room turning honey 
 into a glass dish. 
 
 " That depends upon the taste and fancy of 
 the individual," returned Luigia, intent on 
 business. 
 
 " Do you like him ?" 
 
 " I ? Oh, I have never considered the sub- 
 ject. I think I like him well enough — as well 
 as most people." 
 
 She stood the empty jar on the window- 
 ledge, her forehead drawn into a little frown of 
 preoccupation. 
 
 Belle wished she would forget the honey for 
 a moment, and give her attention to more 
 
 interesting matters. 
 
 " What is he like ? " she persisted, leaning 
 against the cupboard door and fingering her 
 racquet with an assumption of indifference. 
 
 " What is he like ? " repeated Luigia, stoop- 
 ing to a row of jam-pots on the lower shelf;
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 267 
 
 "well, he is not nearly so good-looking as 
 Captain Douglas, or so musical as the Count, 
 or so lively as Sir Ralph, but he dances well, 
 and dresses nicely, and passes in a crowd 
 without notice. Voila tout! He is exactly 
 like every one else." 
 
 She was off and away with a pot of jam to 
 the kitchen. Belle was still leaning against 
 the cupboard door and examining her racquet 
 when she returned with a jangling of keys, to 
 lock up the stores again. The frown of pre- 
 occupation had vanished now, and her brow 
 was as clear as the summer skies. 
 
 M What are you going to wear to-night ? " 
 she asked. " Something extra pretty, I hope. 
 You will make your formal entrde into our 
 Rodney society, you know, and I want you 
 to take it by storm." 
 
 " I cant decide ; I wish I could," cried Belle, 
 eager and animated in a moment. " Some 
 people think I never look so well as in pale 
 blue, but I rather fancy pink myself; and then 
 there's that sweet French muslin with the pansies 
 and the Mechlin lace. What Ao you advise ? " 
 
 " Let us look them all over again," said 
 Luigia, kindly; and with Belle's arm round her 
 waist, they went upstairs to re-inspect the ball- 
 dresses.
 
 268 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 It was certainly a rather important occasion, 
 this entrfa into Rodney society at Mrs. Har- 
 burton's dance. There were, besides the men 
 from the barracks (any one of whom might 
 chance to be a wealthy elder son), Lord Egan 
 and Sir Ralph Bowden to be fascinated — both 
 men of good family and large property. Belle's 
 spirits rose as she prepared herself for the fray 
 by lying down in the afternoon with drawn 
 blinds and her hair in crimping-pins. When 
 she began to dress, Luigia gave up her own 
 maid to aid the already distracted Louise in 
 her numerous duties. 
 
 " You can choose from these," said Luigia, 
 coming into her room that evening with her 
 hands full of flowers. " I don't know which 
 you will like. Count de Marnay and I have 
 been picking them for you." 
 
 Belle, sitting before her glass, sipping tea, 
 and surrounded by eye-washes, curling-tongs, 
 and ball-room finery, turned to make her 
 selection. 
 
 " How good of you ! But aren't you going 
 to dress yourself ? It is nearly eight." 
 
 " Oh, there is no hurry. Count de Marnay 
 and I are going to practise a sonata first. He 
 has brought his violin on purpose. And Rollo 
 has not come in yet."
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 269 
 
 " Ah, perhaps when I am married I shall 
 take everything with sangfroid too ! " remarked 
 Belle. " But I must say I should be sorry at 
 present to feel as little interest as you do in a 
 ball." 
 
 " I am an old married woman, you see, and 
 that makes all the difference," she replied, 
 tucking some roses carelessly into her waist- 
 band. " I have no conquests to look for- 
 ward to." 
 
 She lifted the deep fringe of her lashes for 
 an instant, and in the brown depths of her 
 eyes lay the sparkle of mischief. 
 
 " Adieu," she cried gaily as she left the 
 room. " I must not wait, or I shall be scolded, 
 for I can hear by the scrape of the Count's 
 violin that he is getting impatient ; " and away 
 she went to the sonata and her musical friend. 
 
 Belle looked after her reflectively. 
 
 11 I wonder if that man is in love with her ? " 
 she mused. " It is strange his following them 
 from France and hanging about in this way. 
 If so, she manages very cleverly not to let 
 it be more apparent. Sometimes I think she 
 is deeper than she looks. There was mischief 
 in her eyes just now. I dare say she is not 
 altogether the innocent little thing she seems. 
 And the poor old squire adores her and thinks
 
 270 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 her faultless — but, then, it would be easy enough 
 to hoodwink him ! " 
 
 An hour later Luigia came in again, having 
 dismissed the sonata and the Frenchman, and 
 was so sweet in her anxiety that Belle should 
 look her best, and so unselfish in yielding her 
 Matilda's services, that she repented her recent 
 uncharitable suspicions, and told herself that 
 Luigia was a dear little affectionate thing, and 
 quite incapable of carrying on intrigues under 
 the honest noses of her husband and friends. 
 
 A little later again and she was summoned 
 from her room. On the great oak-panelled 
 gallery she found Luigia ready dressed, with 
 the squire, resplendent in a white waistcoat, 
 as a porter of wraps in the background. 
 
 Luigia looked lovely with a loveliness that 
 was haunting and dangerous. She came up 
 to Belle with soft, slow movements, the white 
 silk and lace of her skirts drifting behind her 
 like the foam of the sea. She held her head 
 with the grace of a flower, and in the black, 
 silky coils of her hair gleamed a diamond 
 star. Her slender arms were bare, and she 
 carried a bouquet of white lilac and heliotrope 
 that perfumed the air as she moved. 
 
 "Come along," cried the squire, "we are 
 late ; " and he took hold of Belle's arm with a
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 271 
 
 playful squeeze. " What do you think of 
 Luigia ? " — in a mysterious whisper as they 
 descended the stairs behind her. 
 
 " She is beautiful!" returned Belle, determined 
 for once to utter her admiration generously. 
 
 " Isn't she ? There's no one to touch 
 her ! " he cried, looking down on the white 
 sea-foam with the pride and delight of proprie- 
 torship. 
 
 " Hush ! " she said, pausing at the foot of 
 the staircase to smile up at them. " I can 
 hear all you say, and you are making me dread- 
 fully vain." 
 
 " Be vain if you like, my darling," he said, 
 coming up to her, " for you'll always be perfect 
 anyway ; " and he put his arm round her waist 
 and kissed her tenderly. 
 
 " How disgraceful of you, Rollo!" she ex- 
 claimed, as she moved away. And meeting 
 the eyes of her footman upon her, she bent 
 her head to hide the smile that was hovering 
 on her lips. 
 
 Nearly all the guests had assembled, and 
 dancinor was in full swin^ when the Manor 
 party arrived. Mrs. Harburton immediately 
 brought up a train of men to present to Belle, 
 amongst whom was Sir Ralph Bowden, a large, 
 florid man of about forty, in a white waistcoat
 
 272 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 with a showy buttonhole and diamond studs. 
 He was not handsome, his face was red and 
 coarse, and his eyes dissipated-looking ; but 
 every man may be looked upon as prey by 
 a beautiful woman, and becomes interesting as 
 he withstands or falls beneath the influence 
 of her charm. She proceeded to ensnare him 
 by coquetting over her programme. He proved 
 himself fully equal to the occasion, and succeeded 
 in obtaining more than a fair share of it for him- 
 self, and in carrying her off for the first dance. 
 
 Luigia, meanwhile, was surrounded by a 
 group of gentlemen, mostly old friends, to 
 whom she was dealing out dances with great 
 fairness, while the Count de Marnay stood 
 aloof, and scowled as darkly as good breeding 
 admitted. When the music struck up afresh, 
 he elbowed his way through the crowd, and, 
 putting his arm round the sea-foam, whirled 
 it off into the giddy throng — for there was an 
 understanding between them that they were 
 to dance certain numbers of the programme 
 together wherever they met at a ball. 
 
 Belle had her triumphs too, and made several 
 decided conquests. Sir Ralph was the chief 
 of them, the most devoted and the most 
 promising. Still, there were others that served 
 to amuse her in odd moments, and though the
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 273 
 
 " Maxwell boy " was hopelessly young, it was 
 gratifying to observe him gnashing his teeth 
 as she passed him in the arms of that unpopular 
 person " another," and though the curate was 
 lean-necked and lantern-jawed, it pleased her 
 to gather that he laboured under no rooted 
 objection to blue eyes, and that hair of a 
 worldly golden hue was not exactly his bete 
 noire. 
 
 " I'm having a splendid time ! " she whispered 
 to Luigia, meeting her in the middle of the 
 evening near the door for a moment. " Every- 
 thing is perfect — floor, partners, music " 
 
 " And I," rejoined Luigia, " have danced 
 my shoes into holes, literally and truly into 
 holes ! " 
 
 Belle was borne off again before she had 
 time for another remark, and Luigia stood 
 back against the wall while her partner, 
 Captain Fletcher from the barracks, mopped 
 his forehead surreptitiously. She lifted the 
 big fragrant bouquet to her lips and looked 
 over it with searching eyes. The room was 
 empty, blank, dreary ! So was the staircase 
 and the hall and the conservatory and every 
 hole and corner of the place. There was no 
 one there, no one, that is to say, whom she 
 cared to speak to or dance with. It was 
 
 vol. l 18
 
 274 The Desire of the Moth, 
 
 nearly twelve. The evening was passing — 
 another wasted evening — slowly and drearily 
 away. She was tired of dances, tired of 
 making small talk, tired of her partners, tired 
 of everything, in fact — though she would not 
 acknowledge to herself that by any possibility 
 the aspect of things could have been changed. 
 
 "Shall we have another spin?" suggested 
 Captain Fletcher, restoring his handkerchief to 
 its accustomed place. 
 
 " If you like," replied a very languid voice, 
 and the eyes and the nosegay were lowered, 
 and she set out again on the dreary round 
 of meaningless movement. Can anything be 
 more foolish, more miserable than to dance 
 and laugh and flirt with an aching heart ? 
 
 Shortly after midnight that vague something 
 for which she had been waiting came. All 
 at once the blank places were filled, the lights 
 orew brilliant, the music exciting her heart 
 beat fast, and the ache in it died away. On 
 lifting her eyes once as she and her partner 
 were waltzing round the room, she caught 
 sight of Lord Egan leaning in the doorway 
 watching the whirl. It was his first appearance 
 that night. She dropped her eyes and floated 
 past him, but there was extra colour in her 
 cheek, and she answered her partner's next
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 275 
 
 speech wide of the mark. When she passed 
 him again she was talking gaily, and did not 
 lift her eyes. But she knew that her skirt 
 touched him as she whirled by, and that his 
 eyes were on her and following her as she 
 drifted away again. When next she saw 
 him he was waltzing with Lady Margaret 
 Hanope, and it was they who were doing the 
 lauehine and talking, and she who now was 
 silent. The words dropped from her lips as 
 she saw them go by, the bright colour that 
 had sprung into her cheek drained away, she 
 lifted her head with a proud little gesture 
 that had no reference to anything her partner 
 was saying, and deliberately turned her back 
 on them. 
 
 " Let us dance again," she said to him, 
 though they had only that moment paused 
 after a long spell. And, much flattered, he led 
 her forth once more. 
 
 It was near the end of the evening when, as 
 Belle was chatting with the new arrival to 
 whom she had just been introduced, Luigia 
 swept up to them in her trailing silk and laces 
 with the perfume of heliotrope about her. She 
 was unattended. 
 
 11 Belle, my friend, you are monopolizing the 
 lion of the hour and making enemies all round.
 
 276 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Lord Egan, if you do not wish to create 
 jealousy you should deal out your favours more 
 fairly." 
 
 She held her head erect, and met his eyes 
 fully. There was a curious challenge and 
 defiance in them and in her manner as she 
 addressed him, and in spite of her flattering 
 words, it was easy for all the world to see that 
 he was not in her favour. 
 
 Lord Egan, who was leaning against the 
 wall, turned slowly as she spoke to him. 
 
 " You flatter me," he said coldly. 
 
 "Is that possible ? " — laughing airily. " There 
 are some people one can never flatter. I am 
 conscious of the poverty of the English language 
 on the present occasion." 
 
 He made no answer, but looked past her at 
 the couples strolling by. 
 
 " Are you such a hero ? " exclaimed Belle, 
 turning to him with a laugh. " I had no idea 
 of this. For what is he famous, Luigia ? " 
 
 Luigia opened her fan and waved it slowly 
 to and fro. Over the top of the soft white 
 feathers she looked at him, and there was the 
 spirit of mockery lurking in her eyes. 
 
 " Oh yes, he is a tremendous hero ! When 
 he came down to Rodney in the winter, he was 
 such an interesting invalid — we all competed
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 277 
 
 for the honour of nursing him. He had been 
 half eaten by a tiger, you know, and we found 
 that an irresistible attraction. We waited on 
 him hand and foot, and now " 
 
 She paused, regarding him through her 
 lashes with smiling insolence. 
 
 " And now," she continued at the end of the 
 slight pause, "we are naturally jealous if our 
 invalid allows himself to be monopolized by 
 any one but his lady nurses. Hence my 
 attack ! " 
 
 Belle was laughing. " Is it true ?" she said, 
 turning to him. "Were you really nearly 
 demolished by a tiger, and did Mrs. Rodney 
 and all the other ladies nurse you back to life ? 
 How interesting ! " 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Rodney sent to inquire for 
 me twice," he replied, still looking over her 
 head at the passing people. " I do not re- 
 member the nursing she speaks of." 
 
 "What!" exclaimed Luigia, " when you 
 spent the whole of one Sunday afternoon on 
 the couch in my morning-room, and I did 
 nothing but devote myself to arranging cushions 
 and altering the blinds ?" 
 
 " I remember the occasion," he replied, "but 
 I do not remember the cushion and blind part 
 of it."
 
 2 yH The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly. 
 
 " Give me a man for ingratitude ! Well, 
 there is nothing more to be said if you persist 
 in denying my devotion. Belle, I see Rollo 
 coming to claim you for the Irish jig. I hope 
 you feel equal to severe exertion ? His mother 
 was an Irishwoman, which perhaps accounts for 
 the vigour with which he dances it." 
 
 As the squire came up, radiant and eager, 
 she laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 " Have mercy on poor Belle, Rollo dear. 
 Remember how you tore my dress last time ! " 
 
 " All right, my pet. Who's your partner ? 
 Not got one ? How comes that about ? But 
 you'll look after her, won't you, Egan ? — there's 
 a good fellow. Come along, Belle, and let's 
 show them how to do it ; " and without waiting 
 for further discussion, he jigged her off in a 
 rapid race to the further end of the room. 
 
 Luigia and Lord Egan were left standing 
 together against the wall. She turned to him 
 with the same odd mixture of smiling defiance 
 and contempt. 
 
 " So we are thrown on one another's hands 
 without choice ! What shall we do ? Stand 
 here and quarrel, or dance and be silent ? " 
 
 " If the choice is left to me I should 
 prefer "
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 279 
 
 " Oh, but it is not left to you. On second 
 thoughts I don't think I want to dance, and I 
 love quarrelling above everything on earth. 
 Suppose we go and do it outside. It would, at 
 any rate, be cooler, and the darkness will hide 
 our expressions if we want to give way to 
 emotion." 
 
 She pointed with her fan to the open window, 
 and he offered her his arm in silence. They 
 threaded their way through the room and out 
 through the long French window on to the 
 terrace, where the light from the stars shone in 
 strange contrast to the glare of gas from the 
 dancing-room. They walked to the further 
 end in silence, she leaning on his arm with 
 negligent grace, her trailing skirts sweeping the 
 stones behind her with a soft sound like the 
 swirl of the sea on the shore. 
 
 " And how are the deserts ? " she said 
 abruptly, as they paused to turn; " as fascinating 
 as ever ? " 
 
 " I have not been near ' the deserts,' as you 
 express it, since before Christmas." 
 
 " Not since the tiger-accident ? Dear me, 
 what an age ! And you find you can exist 
 without them ? " 
 
 11 I can just exist, yes." 
 
 " I did not know that was possible. I
 
 280 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 thought lions and tigers and elephants and 
 deserts were absolutely necessary to your exist- 
 ence. It must be charming to care for any- 
 thing like that — even if it is only miles upon 
 miles of sand ! " 
 
 " It is better to be as you are, and care for 
 nothing and no one in heaven or earth." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Well, I am not sure. 
 It must lend a zest to life to be enslaved, even 
 if, as I said just now, it is only by sand. How 
 are your arms and legs and ribs and all the 
 other things that were nibbled by that tiger ? 
 Better ? " 
 
 " Much better. Quite well, in fact." 
 
 " What a pity ! You looked so interesting, 
 limping about and with your arm in that sling. 
 Why not have a relapse and put on a bandage 
 or two again ? It would be quite worth while." 
 
 " Are bandages becoming ? " 
 
 "Very. You have no idea how the white 
 suited your complexion. I could hardly forbear 
 expressing my admiration. However, I re- 
 membered les convenances and was silent. 
 Women are trained to conceal their feelings, 
 you know." 
 
 " Whether they have any or not ? " 
 
 " Oh, they always have them. They are 
 such emotional, highly strung creatures ! For
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 281 
 
 my own part, I am for ever concealing and 
 smiling sweetly as though there was no aching 
 wound behind. It is heroic, but I do it. How 
 is the place on your cheek where the tiger 
 scratched it ? Healed ? " 
 
 " Quite healed." 
 
 " You don't feel it at all ? " 
 
 " Only when I look in my shaving-glass and 
 realize that my beauty is marred for ever." 
 
 She glanced at him in the white starlight. 
 The scar was very apparent, even in that half 
 light. 
 
 " Yes, your beauty is marred for ever," she 
 echoed, and her voice, in spite of her, had in 
 it a sort of exultant joy. " It is an ugly place, 
 very ugly. What does Lady Margaret say 
 to it?" 
 
 11 Lady Margaret ? What is it to her ? " 
 
 "A good deal, I imagine. Perhaps, though, 
 it adds to your charm in her eyes ! Women 
 sometimes admire these things. They think 
 it interesting and touching and romantic. 
 They feel sure you couldn't get scratched by 
 a tiger without being brave, and they fall down 
 and worship you and your tiger-scar like 
 heathens before their idols in the dust." 
 
 She laughed scornfully. In her beautiful 
 eyes there was an evil spirit urging her to
 
 282 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 torment and ridicule him beyond endurance. 
 But she did not succeed. It was difficult, 
 apparently, to strike a spark from the flint. 
 
 They were strolling backwards and forwards 
 along the gravelled terrace. At the further 
 end they paused beside a seat, and she with- 
 drew her hand from his arm to sit down. 
 
 " It is dusty," said Lord Egan, putting out 
 his hand to stop her. 
 
 " And is dust poisonous ? " 
 
 " No. But it will spoil your dress." He 
 took out his handkerchief and swept it from 
 end to end. 
 
 She stood aside with the gleaming folds of 
 silk gathered in her hand, and waited till he 
 had finished. Then she seated herself, open- 
 ing her fan languidly, and leaning back among 
 the dark leaves of the passionflower that 
 clambered up the wall. 
 
 "What a pretty thing in nature this mascu- 
 line reverence for gowns is ! We would do 
 anything — sit anywhere — but for the man at 
 our side who reminds us in awestruck tones 
 that we are going to be rash. Why does he 
 care, when it is not he who provides us with 
 new ones ? " 
 
 " It is an instinct, I suppose." 
 
 " A very generous one ! Do you know, I
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 283 
 
 am quite beginning to admire the masculine 
 nature — simple and primitive though it is." 
 
 He seated himself at the other end of the 
 bench, and picking a blossom from the wall 
 behind, twirled it round and round in his 
 fingers, looking down on it. She was watch- 
 ing him with a faint, half-contemptuous smile. 
 
 "You are such savages, you men!" she 
 went on. " You are made on broad, straight, 
 primitive lines. You hunt and fish and shoot 
 and love and hate with all the strength of 
 your nature, and you write your feelings in 
 capital letters all over your faces for every one 
 to read. You haven't developed subtlety, or 
 any of the finer arts. I wonder if you ever 
 will — whether you are incapable of them, or 
 only backward." 
 
 She spoke reflectively, softly fanning herself. 
 He went on pulling the passionflower to pieces, 
 petal by petal. 
 
 "I admire the savage," she went on; "but 
 he has his drawbacks. It is, of course, difficult 
 for the modern woman — who is a civilized 
 being — to get on with him. We women have 
 shot ahead of you men in subtle development, 
 for some reason or other, and we mystify and 
 baffle and bewilder you in all our dealings 
 together. If men and women were meant to
 
 284 The Desire of the Moth 
 
 be companions, and to understand one another, 
 then men should have been started a few 
 thousand years earlier. As it is, you, poor 
 creatures, are only half civilized." 
 
 "What have I done that is savage and 
 half civilized ? " he said, throwing away the 
 mangled passionflower into the darkness. 
 
 " My dear Lord Egan, what an idea ! As 
 though I could possibly refer to you, even in 
 the most remote manner, as a savage and 
 uncivilized person ! I was speaking of your sex, 
 of course, not of you. You ought to know me 
 better." 
 
 " I don't know you in the least. I only know 
 you hate me." He had taken her fan, which 
 she had discarded, and was opening and 
 shutting it mechanically, stroking its soft, white 
 feathers, and curling their tips round his fingers. 
 
 " Hate you ? What an accusation ! Now, 
 that is savage, if you like — horribly blunt and 
 savage ! Oh no, I don't hate you in the least, 
 I assure you." 
 
 " Nothing you can do or say would make 
 me believe otherwise." He snapped her fan in 
 two in playing with it, and one of the soft 
 white feathers fluttered to the ground in the 
 darkness. 
 
 "Nothing?" She turned on him slowly,
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 285 
 
 and, leaning forward, looked into his eyes. In 
 the dark pupil of each of hers he could see the 
 tiny reflection of a star shining. 
 
 " Nothing ! " he repeated with impassioned 
 emphasis. 
 
 " I wonder," she said softly to herself, and as 
 she looked at him, her lips parted with a little 
 smile, and her beautiful eyes grew soft. 
 
 As he looked at that sweet face so near him, 
 his own changed indescribably, darkened and 
 grew pale. 
 
 " You would flirt a man's soul out of him, 
 and fling it back in his face," he said through 
 his set teeth, and, rising abruptly, he turned 
 his back on her. 
 
 She rose too. 
 
 " Must we go back ? " she said, lifting the 
 flowers to her face. Then she looked up at 
 him over them. " So you have found out that 
 I hate you, have you ? I must be scarcely as 
 civilized as I supposed if I cannot conceal my 
 feelings better than that. It is a distressing 
 revelation ! I thought the capital-letter busi- 
 ness I spoke of just now belonged entirely to 
 the masculine sex. What else may I not have 
 revealed ? Horrible idea ! " 
 
 He turned back instinctively, and offered her 
 his arm. She did not take it immediately.
 
 286 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 She was brushing the flowers backwards and 
 forwards against her lips. 
 
 " What is to be done to mend matters ? " 
 she said after a moment. " I will try to improve 
 — I will honestly try to improve, but I am 
 afraid my trying will not make much difference. 
 There are some people, you know," and she 
 looked straight into his face with her most 
 inscrutable smile, " to whom one is naturally 
 antagonistic without rhyme or reason. And 
 there is no getting over that sort of thing." 
 
 She laid her hand on his arm, and turned 
 towards the light streaming from the open 
 windows at the other end of the terrace. 
 
 " I dare say my prejudice is unreasonable," she 
 pursued, smiling sweetly, " and I promise I will 
 try to overcome it. I can do no more, can I ? " 
 
 '•' I have broken your fan," he said, holding 
 it out to her with no attempt at an apology. 
 
 " Indeed ? Oh, it does not matter in the 
 
 least, not the least in the world. Fans can be 
 
 mended more easily than some other broken 
 
 things one knows of. A little glue — et cest un 
 
 fait accompli ! " 
 
 She walked back beside him along the 
 terrace, with her head bent and the flowers 
 still to her face. At the entrance to the 
 dancing-room she paused and turned to him.
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 287 
 
 " Lord Egan, you do not understand women 
 and their ways — what man does for the matter 
 of that ? Don't take us too seriously and — 
 go back to your deserts." 
 
 " I am £oinof." 
 
 11 But I mean soon" 
 
 " I am eoinof soon." 
 
 She looked over her shoulder quickly. Her 
 next partner was coming to claim her. 
 
 " And stay there ? " she added emphatically. 
 
 "When I go I shall go for ever," he 
 answered. 
 
 She made no reply, and Captain Douglas 
 came up to her. " Our dance, I believe, Mrs. 
 Rodney," he said with a little formal bow. As 
 she went off she turned to look back at him 
 over her shoulder, with that rapid, fleeting smile 
 that might mean so much or so very little. 
 " I am glad you are not going to abandon 
 your tigers ! " she said. " It is so evidently 
 your metier — slaughtering animals ! " 
 
 Her laughing, taunting face floated away 
 from him even as she spoke. He turned, and 
 going into the smoking-room, poured out 
 brandy and water with a reckless hand. He 
 was very pale. 
 
 She was dancing with her husband when 
 he saw her aeain at the end of the evening,
 
 288 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 the maddest of Post Horn galops. The train 
 of her dress was flung over her arm, her white 
 shoes, with their diamond buckles, gleamed 
 beneath the rich lace of her petticoats, her 
 bouquet and fan were discarded on a rout- 
 seat at the side of the room, and she had given 
 herself with abandon to the dance. The old 
 squire held and guided her with a pride that 
 could be read in every feature of his face. 
 As the last shrill, wild notes of the music 
 ceased they came to a standstill near him. 
 
 " Warm work, Randal, my boy ! " he ex- 
 claimed breathlessly. " Better suited to you 
 young fellows than to me. But Luigia declares 
 I have some spirit left in me still, and don't 
 make a bad sort of partner on the whole." 
 
 " You are delightful ! " she said with her 
 soft smile. " I like a really reckless galop 
 — anything else is tame work. I suppose we 
 shall come to grief one of these days, but no 
 matter ! " 
 
 She reached for her bouquet and fan, which 
 Lord Egan handed her silently. 
 
 " Thank you." She held out her hand to 
 him. " Come and say good-bye to me before 
 you go. It will not be for a week or two, 
 I dare say ? " 
 
 " It may be to-morrow."
 
 Mrs. Harburton's Dance. 289 
 
 " So soon ! That is distressing ! Rollo, 
 where is Belle ?" 
 
 " What's all this ? " cried the squire with an 
 expression of consternation. " You're not going 
 off again yet, surely ? Nonsense ! Stay at 
 home, like a sensible man, and look after the 
 land." 
 
 " My dear Rollo," said Luigia, laying her 
 hand on his arm with a graceful air of 
 persuasion, " you don't understand these things. 
 What are you or I compared to a wild beast 
 for excitement ? And as for the dear savage, 
 why, I love him myself with or without his 
 war-paint and feathers. Lord Egan and I are 
 perfectly agreed on that one point, however 
 else we may differ." She laughed and passed 
 on. 
 
 vol. 1. 19
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AFTERNOON CALLS. 
 
 T was a nice little dance last night," said 
 Belle, the next day, laying down her 
 book and yawning. " I really enjoyed it very 
 much." 
 
 " Did you?" said Luigia, stitching indus- 
 triously without looking up. 
 
 "Well, didn't you ? You danced everything, 
 except when you disappeared and sat out with 
 somebody." 
 
 " Which happened once, I think." 
 
 " Oh, well I didn't keep a strict account. 
 I only know you were missing when we tried 
 to get up that new Polish dance, and the Count 
 said you were out on the terrace with Lord 
 Egan, and offered to fetch you." 
 
 " He is always so kind ! " 
 
 " But the squire wouldn't let him. He said 
 you got tired if you danced everything, and he
 
 Afternoon Calls. 291 
 
 liked you to sit out now and then, so we did 
 without you. What a devoted lover that 
 dear husband of yours is ! He's as bad as 
 ever." 
 
 " Or, rather, as goody 
 
 It was afternoon — a long, hot, sleepy after- 
 noon — and since lunch not a word had passed 
 between the two inmates of the quiet and 
 shaded drawing-room. Belle had been en- 
 grossed in a novel, Luigia sewing indefatigably 
 at village flannel petticoats in her low deep 
 chair. 
 
 It was very delightful staying with Luigia, 
 but there were also moments of ennui, when, 
 deserted by the male sex, Belle found time 
 drag on her hands. To-day the squire was 
 out, no one had called, the Count had ridden 
 over to Tadcaster, and Luigia was aggravat- 
 ingly content to sit sewing without exhibiting 
 the slightest interest in the coming or going of 
 admirers. To Belle this was inexplicable. 
 But, as admirers themselves were absent, per- 
 haps the next best thing was to discuss them. 
 
 " Lord Egan is rather interesting-looking,*' 
 she said, laying her book face downwards on 
 her knee, with her eyes on the hands of the 
 clock, and thoughts of tea floating in her mind. 
 " Does he come here often ? "
 
 2()2 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " He is nearly always out of England." 
 " Then you don't know him as well as you do 
 the Count ? " 
 
 " Oh, not nearly. The Count is one of 
 ourselves — quite a tame cat about the 
 house." 
 
 "You danced with him a great number of 
 times last night." 
 
 " Not so often as I did with Rollo." 
 Belle smiled. " Oh, I did not mean to in- 
 sinuate anything ; but, really, I do think you 
 seem to have a pretty good time at a dance, 
 and the squire is awfully good-natured not to 
 mind." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by ' a good 
 time/ I was tired to death the whole of 
 yesterday evening, and absolutely uninterested 
 in my partners. I should be more than 
 willing never to go to another dance as long as 
 I live." 
 
 " My dear girl, what nonsense at your age ! " 
 " My age is any age that is no longer 
 young." 
 
 " You were twenty-one last birthday." 
 11 That is counting by years. I am counting 
 by feelings." 
 
 "Just because you are married! How 
 absurd ! As though people are to settle down
 
 Afternoon Calls. 293 
 
 into a humdrum, housekeeping sort of exis- 
 tence just because they have a husband. / shall 
 not give up society when / am married, I assure 
 you. 
 
 " Housekeeping is a fine art, and I enjoy it ; 
 but talking to vapid young men in society has 
 no compensation, and never soars into the realm 
 of poetry." 
 
 " What an extraordinary person you are, 
 Luigia ! " 
 
 " All human beings are extraordinary," she 
 returned, unimpressed by the assertion. 
 
 The next minute the squire came in, and 
 with him tea and cheerfulness. He was in 
 riding breeches, and threw his hat, gloves, and 
 whip on to a chair as he entered the room, then 
 as hastily collected them again, and deposited 
 them in the hall. 
 
 " A remnant of my bachelor ways," he said, 
 apologetically to Belle. " I used to strew my 
 things all over the place, but since this little 
 woman came to take care of me, I am learning 
 manners, am I not, Luigia ? " 
 
 11 I don't mind your bachelor ways," she said, 
 looking up with a smile," and you may put your 
 hat and whip where you like. You know that." 
 
 " Because you are such a lenient little sweet- 
 heart. But that's no reason why I should take
 
 294 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 advantage of you, is it ? What's that ? A skirt 
 for some old village goody ? " 
 
 He dragged forward the music-stool, and 
 seating himself on it at her side, leaned towards 
 her, fingering the flannel in the foolish, aimless 
 way men have when they are in love with the 
 woman who is putting in the stitches. She 
 allowed it to be dragged out of her hands, and 
 turned to the tea-table at her other side. 
 
 " She's a regular Lady Bountiful to all my 
 poor people," he cried, turning to Belle with 
 admiring pride. " But she overdoes it. Why 
 don't you get a woman to sew all this, 
 pussy ? " 
 
 " I'm a woman myself," said Luigia, pouring 
 out the tea. 
 
 "Ha, ha!" laughed the squire; "well, I 
 suppose you are ; I don't doubt it. But I won't 
 have that first finger of yours made havoc of. 
 The last time I looked at it it was a disgrace 
 to my name. Have you worn the gold thimble 
 I got for it ? " 
 
 " A gold thimble for my first finger ! " ex- 
 claimed Luigia, glancing at Belle with an 
 expression that seemed to say, " Did you ever 
 hear of anything so absurd ! " " Yes, I have 
 worn it, and preserved the precious finger, and 
 laughed at you every time I put it on."
 
 Afternoon Calls. 295 
 
 " I don't mind your laughing at me if you 
 obey me. Let me see for myself, madam." 
 
 She held out a dusky forefinger for inspection. 
 He took it, examined it, kissed it, and returned 
 it to her. Having done so much, he felt a 
 desire for more. 
 
 " I say, you haven't kissed me all day," 
 he said. 
 
 -Haven't I?" 
 
 11 No. You might give me one now. I'm 
 sure Belle would excuse it." 
 
 " Rollo, please behave properly and take 
 this tea over to Belle." 
 
 He rose obediently, advanced towards the 
 cup she held out to him, kissed her while it 
 was extended in mid air, so that she dared 
 not move for fear of spilling it, and then 
 chuckling heartily at the success of his ruse, 
 carried it to Belle, who was regarding the little 
 domestic scene with a lenient smile. 
 
 11 You will excuse it, I know, Belle, my 
 dear," he said. " For I haven't seen her since 
 breakfast, you must remember, and, after all, 
 she's my own wife, and there's no reason why 
 I shouldn't." 
 
 " Except that I particularly object," said 
 Luigia, with a touch of real indignation in 
 her voice. "And if you please, Rollo, you
 
 296 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 will pick up my cotton which you have knocked 
 down, and find my needle which you have 
 unthreaded." 
 
 The squire, all meekness at once, went down 
 on all fours after his wife's belongings, and 
 while he was thus ignominiously engaged, his 
 niece, Mrs. Harburton, came in. She sank 
 into a corner of the sofa, while Luigia poured 
 her out some tea, and he, from force of habit, 
 retired to the hearthrug, where he drew his 
 coat-tails through his arms and warmed his 
 back at the empty grate, now filled with 
 summer plants and ferns. 
 
 " Well, and how do you think it went off 
 last night?" began Mrs. Harburton, in her 
 loud, cheerful voice. " Very hot for dancing, 
 / thought, but you young people didn't seem 
 to find it so. Jinny and Flora didn't get up 
 till nearly twelve this morning — dreadful, wasn't 
 it ? And now they're hard at tennis, though 
 I tell them they will knock themselves up 
 completely, and I shall send them home look- 
 ing wrecks." 
 
 The squire came forward with the tea, and 
 Belle waited on her with muffins. 
 
 " You must all come back with me to tennis, 
 and stay the evening," continued Mrs. Har- 
 burton, who, like the squire, was the soul
 
 Afternoon Calls. 297 
 
 of hospitality. " That good-looking Captain 
 Douglas is coming, and Sir Ralph said he 
 might drop in, so the girls want to get up a 
 good set. How did you get on with Captain 
 Douglas, Belle ? He danced with you an 
 unconscionable number of times." 
 
 11 Oh, I always think in the country one is 
 allowed a certain amount of licence in these 
 things," returned Miss Carmichael, looking a 
 little self-conscious ; " and really he danced 
 better than anybody in the room, so I was 
 sadly tempted." 
 
 " Not better than Lord Egan. Did you 
 dance with him ? But he wasn't in good form 
 last night. He was detained, and came late, 
 you see, and he said he didn't particularly care 
 about dancing, so I didn't trouble. He was 
 telling me that his sister, Lady O'Hagan, is 
 coming to the Abbey next week. Did you 
 hear that, Luigia ? She's home from India, 
 you know, and living with her aunt, Lady 
 Meldrum. Poor little thing ! I always thought 
 that marriage of hers a perfect sin ! " 
 
 "Why? How?" inquired Belle, who felt 
 an interest in the near relations of any eligible 
 man. 
 
 " Oh, she was so young, only seventeen, and 
 he over fifty, with bandy-legs and a bald head.
 
 298 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 As though any girl could possibly care for a 
 man like that! No wonder it turned out as 
 it did." 
 
 " Is she not fond of her husband ? " asked 
 Luigia. 
 
 " Well, there were stories, but one never 
 knows how far they are true. There was a 
 Captain Wilde, I believe, a handsome, good- 
 for-nothing fellow, who flirted with her a good 
 deal. There was no harm in it, of course, but 
 Sir Thomas packed her home to her aunt, and 
 I suppose she will remain with her till he 
 comes himself in the spring. Lord Egan said 
 they were both coming down to the Abbey 
 next week. That will mean a series of 
 dinner-parties for the whole neighbourhood, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " I am afraid so," said Luigia, " since the 
 barbarous custom of eating in public has not 
 yet become obsolete. What is this Lady 
 O'Haganlike?" 
 
 11 She was a nice, bright little girl when she 
 married. I haven't seen her since, and don't 
 know how she has developed. Now she has 
 a little girl of her own, which must be a great 
 consolation to her." 
 
 44 Oh, she has a child, has she ? " 
 
 Luigia rose as she spoke to greet a new
 
 Afternoon Calls. 299 
 
 arrival, who was being announced at the door, 
 and, interested as she felt in this girl-wife, who 
 had been sent home because of a handsome 
 Captain Wilde, she was obliged to forego 
 further conversation on the subject and devote 
 herself to her new visitor. 
 
 The lady who entered was a Mrs. Frayling, 
 wife of the colonel of the regiment then 
 stationed at Tadcaster. She was an elegant, 
 faded woman, with a small drab face and 
 dust-coloured hair. She was richly dressed, 
 and had a sentimental, empress^ manner. 
 
 " Such news, dear Mrs. Rodney !" she began 
 at once, holding Luigia's hand while she turned 
 to the others. " I'm so happy. Do congratulate 
 me. What do you think ? My darling Eda 
 is going to be married to Captain Dowie — 
 Ronald, of course / call him, and we're so 
 pleased about it. It was only yesterday, you 
 know, and — oh, thank you, a cup of tea is so 
 refreshing ! " 
 
 Every one offered their congratulations. 
 She sank into a chair, still holding Luigia's 
 hand. 
 
 " You can imagine my feelings, I was so 
 anxious. You know how much attention he 
 paid her at Christmas, and how constantly he 
 has been down to see us since, and my poor
 
 3<oo The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 Eda ! But yesterday she came to me and 
 
 told me all about it, and Ronald spoke to the 
 colonel so frankly and honourably, and, of 
 course, we had no objections ; so it is all happily 
 settled, and I really am more pleased and 
 thankful than I can ever say." 
 
 More* congratulations were poured forth, and 
 Mrs. Harburton and Belle entered into the 
 subject of the trousseau with great animation. 
 The happy couple were to be married at the 
 end of the summer, she said, and the one-day- 
 old engagement was discussed eagerly from 
 every point of view. 
 
 " Yes, I'm so thankful ! " sighed the happy 
 mother, as she gave the squire her empty tea- 
 cup. " Young men are so unprincipled in these 
 days — are they not ? — that really sometimes I 
 almost feared that my darling child would be 
 sacrificed to a heartless flirtation. Lord Egan 
 now — just think what attention he paid Lady 
 Margaret Hanope last winter, and nothing came 
 of it, you see. Why, he might well have 
 broken the poor girl's heart ! And as for the 
 stories one hears about the way he has been 
 going on in Paris ! " She finished her sen- 
 tence by a gesture of the hands more expressive 
 than any words. 
 
 " I don't know anything about Paris," broke
 
 Afternoon Calls. 301 
 
 in the squire, " but as for Lady Margaret, she 
 hasn't a heart to break. If she's got any 
 feeling at all, it's more for her horse than 
 anything else." 
 
 " Do tell me the stories about him," said 
 Luigia, lying back indolently in her deep chair. 
 " I am just in the mood for scandal." 
 
 " I don't know, I'm sure," replied Mrs. Fray- 
 ling, with a glance at Belle, " and there is 
 nothing I object to like spreading gossip, but 
 really I have heard it on good authority — not 
 dear Ronald, of course, he wouldn't betray a 
 friend, one knows — but from quite as trust- 
 worthy a source, and he says he saw him at 
 Monte Carlo gambling like a madman, losing 
 everything one day, and winning thousands 
 and thoitsands the next, and doing it all 
 as coolly as if he was just sitting down to 
 dinner." 
 
 " Pooh ! " ejaculated the squire, bluntly, " I 
 don't believe it. It isn't like him." 
 
 " I do assure you it is quite true." Mrs. 
 Frayling's voice took an injured tone. " My 
 husband was over there at Easter, and — oh 
 well, I didn't mean to say who my informant 
 was, but, of course, you see I really have a means 
 of knowing — well, my husband told me in con- 
 fidence when he came back, that he was doing
 
 302 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 his best to knock himself to pieces with gamb- 
 ling and horse-racing and late hours, and after- 
 wards he went to Paris, you know, and fell 
 madly in love with an actress. They were seen 
 about everywhere together, quite openly, 
 driving in the Champs Elysees, and at the 
 opera, and sitting in the cafes. I was dread- 
 fully shocked, as you may imagine, but John 
 says " 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! " cried the squire, in- 
 dignantly ; " as though a man couldn't drive 
 down a street with a pretty woman without 
 losing his character ! I beg your pardon, 
 madam, but if there is one thing I detest more 
 than another on the face of this earth, it is 
 gossip." 
 
 " Oh, so do I," simpered Mrs. Frayling, 
 " but of course I am bound to believe what my 
 husband says, dreadful as I think it." 
 
 The squire, oblivious of good manners, broke 
 into a short whistle, and strolled to the window. 
 
 " Hot day, isn't it?" he exclaimed, thus 
 artfully endeavouring to change the subject. 
 Then catching sight of his cowherd standing 
 stick in hand on the lawn, he stepped outside. 
 " You will excuse me one moment — most 
 important — back directly ; " and he made his 
 escape.
 
 Afternoon Calls. 303 
 
 Mrs. Frayling shook her head mournfully ; 
 Luigia was regarding her with a curious, 
 languid scrutiny. A few minutes ago her face 
 had flushed hotly, but the colour had died down 
 again now. She was as composed and indif- 
 ferent as usual. 
 
 " Rollo is too good-natured to relish scandal," 
 she said, " but I am quite spiteful enough to 
 enjoy it. Do tell me some more. Who is this 
 actress ? " 
 
 " I am afraid I don't remember her name, 
 but she is quite new, and all Paris is raving 
 about her, John says. She is very beautiful, of 
 course, and always dresses in green, and won't 
 wear anything but emeralds — such an expensive 
 taste ! These actresses are always eccentric in 
 one way or another. It is part of their busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " A strange idea, that dressing in green ! " 
 said Luigia, slipping her wedding-ring back- 
 wards and forwards on her finger, " but I dare 
 say it looks pretty. And he fell madly in love 
 with her, did he ? " 
 
 " So I hear." She rose to go, but lingered a 
 moment to impart a still more spicy detail. 
 " And they said in Paris that he, Lord Egan, 
 gave her a set of emeralds that cost — oh, some- 
 thing like half a million of money, and that
 
 304 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 he has had to let Nether Castle in conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " What a romantic young man ! " said 
 Luigia. " I call it quite mediaeval devotion, 
 don't you ? " 
 
 After she had gone, Mrs. Harburton, who 
 had been talking confidentially to Belle in the 
 corner of the sofa, bustled her and Luigia 
 off to get their hats and racquets. She and 
 the squire would walk on, she said. 
 
 Luieia went to her room. It was a lar^e, 
 long room, with several windows, all of which 
 were open. The little frilled white muslin 
 curtains were fluttering in the soft summer air ; 
 it all looked cool, and fresh, and pleasant. She 
 went over to the wardrobe and began pulling 
 out the drawers one after another in a preoccu- 
 pied manner. 
 
 " Dear me, what have I come for ? " she 
 asked herself after a moment with an impatient 
 frown. 
 
 It was her hat she was looking for, which 
 was lying on the bed, but she stood still before 
 the open drawer, looking down on its contents 
 with eyes that were fast losing their preoccupa- 
 tion and filling with a concentration of feeling. 
 She had forgotten the hat and the tennis and 
 Belle waiting below.
 
 Afternoon Calls. 305 
 
 It was her wedding-gown that lay there 
 wrapped in fair white linen, like a dead 
 thing. There were sprays of withered 
 orange-blossom lying in its folds. She took 
 them up one by one to look at them, and the 
 hot colour rushed back into her face. Yet 
 they were not the sprays she had worn at her 
 wedding, nor were her thoughts gathering 
 round her husband. They were gathering 
 thick and fast round some one else, and round 
 the night when she had last worn that gown 
 nearly three years ago at a ball in Rome. 
 
 She stood at the corner of the wardrobe, 
 with her head leaning against its dark oak 
 panel and her eyes on the withered flower in 
 her hand. Her present surroundings faded 
 from her sight, and she was again in Rome, 
 a two-months' bride. It all came back to 
 her — the strangeness and the wonder of the 
 new life and the new cities and the new 
 emotions that came crowding upon her from 
 every side. She was a child again, a restless, 
 eager, romantic child. The pictures and the 
 music and the moonlight, the great love lav- 
 ished upon her, all combined to stir depths 
 hitherto untouched, and she was filled with a 
 longing after something she could not define. 
 She had been vaguely dissatisfied, though 
 
 vol. 1. 20
 
 306 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 her every whim was gratified and her sur- 
 roundings left her nothing to desire. Then 
 came a man into her life for seven short days 
 and everything was changed. By his side she 
 had looked at the pictures again, and listened 
 to the music and sat in the moonlight, and, lo 
 and behold ! a meaning had come into it all, 
 and her soul no longer reached out after some- 
 thing it could not find. It stood still, listening 
 and waiting, but content. 
 
 Who can explain that instinctive, unreason- 
 ing attraction that some people possess for us ? 
 The door opens, a voice is heard, an eye meets 
 ours, and the whole world is revolutionized in 
 an instant. Our fancy is caught, and caught 
 for ever. Cool judgment and worldly wisdom 
 are powerless against it, it dominates us 
 without reason, without apology. Who can 
 explain it ? Is it only chance — a blowing of 
 the wind where it listeth — or is it a spell of the 
 serpent who tempteth the heart of man away 
 from his God ? For certain it is that this 
 instinctive, instantaneous, ungovernable attrac- 
 tion of one human being towards another is a 
 power for evil rather than for good, and holds 
 in its keeping a torment of passion and pain 
 for its victims that leaves them scarred and 
 maimed for the rest of their days.
 
 Afternoon Calls. 307 
 
 Luigia had not reasoned about it at first; she 
 had only lived and felt. But then came the 
 night of the ball, when she had worn her 
 wedding-gown with the sprays of living orange- 
 blossom in her hair. He had danced with her 
 oftener than was wise, and everything combined 
 to make him lose his head. The rooms were 
 crowded ; there were people from all nations 
 waltzing, flirting, laughing round them ; there 
 was heavenly, melting music, an intoxication of 
 light and noise and whirling figures. She had 
 known nothing like it before or since. Before 
 it was over he had taken her away to the 
 coolness and solitude of the terraces, where 
 they were alone beneath the dark Italian skies. 
 She remembered the look of the gardens 
 below, the white flowers lifting their faces in 
 the moonlight, the heavy scents of evening, the 
 gleaming stars, the man leaning near her on 
 the balustrade in silence. She had talked a 
 little, because she was shy and afraid to be 
 silent ; she had pointed to the fountain dropping 
 its silver spray into the darkness, and then — 
 how had he answered her ? He had stooped 
 suddenly before she knew what he was going 
 to do, and taken her in his arms and kissed her 
 passionately, and then was gone — hidden in 
 the darkness. She had not seen him again.
 
 308 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 The next day he left Rome suddenly, recalled 
 by a telegram, so he told the squire, but she 
 herself had never quite believed in the telegram. 
 He only wanted to escape from his evil deed, 
 she thought. Anyway, he was gone and Rome 
 was empty, and so were all the other crowded 
 cities they visited, and there was a sense of irre- 
 parable loss upon her. Under it she changed 
 from a child into a woman, and with it came the 
 desire to fill the void. So she danced and flirted 
 and mocked at herself and others in every gay 
 capital in Europe, and came home at the end 
 of the three years with the well-earned repu- 
 tation of a heartless coquette. But little she 
 cared ! Why should she not flirt and dance 
 and sing away her days if it helped to fill their 
 emptiness ? Then, when she had steeled her- 
 self into the belief that she had killed outright 
 all the heart she ever had, she met him again. 
 
 He had come down to Rodney in the autumn 
 in the convalescent stage after a long illness, 
 and she had met him everywhere. Their 
 intercourse had been all of one sort — a deadly 
 warfare. He had asked her once to dance 
 with him, and she had told him coldly and 
 deliberately that she would never dance with 
 him again. In return, he had told her equally 
 haughtily that he would never repeat the
 
 Afternoon Calls. 309 
 
 request as long as he lived. Since then they 
 had met continually; she had waltzed and flirted 
 with every other man in the room ; he had 
 devoted himself exclusively to Lady Margaret, 
 the handsome, fast, heartless heiress. When 
 forced to speak to him, she had mocked, 
 taunted, ridiculed him, shown him how little 
 she remembered, how little she cared. She 
 had succeeded beyond her utmost expectations. 
 Revenge is sweet, and if he had once flirted 
 with her, she had since taught him what flirting 
 meant. The harm done by that kiss in the 
 darkness given the child, had been repaid 
 threefold by the hand of the woman — a hand 
 as cruel and relentless as it was soft. 
 
 " Poor, senseless little fool that I was ! " she 
 exclaimed to herself as she stood looking down 
 on the withered sprays — " fool to go mad as 
 I did ! But I am not the child he took in his 
 arms and kissed that night ! " She flung the 
 flowers on the floor and trampled them under 
 foot with passionate scorn. " I am a different 
 being altogether, and I will make him suffer for 
 what he did." 
 
 She picked up the withered, trampled sprays, 
 and flung them out of the window. 
 
 " He flirts with every woman he comes 
 across!" she said in her heart, fiercely. "It
 
 310 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 was me once, then it was Lady Margaret, now 
 it is this mad actress in Paris. Let them put 
 their faith in him, if they choose, it is less than 
 nothing to me ! " 
 
 " Luigia, Luigia, when are you coming ? " 
 came Belle's voice along the landing ; and,hastily 
 pinning on her hat, without looking in the glass, 
 she ran down. 
 
 " What an age you have been ! " ejaculated 
 Belle, meeting her at the foot of the stairs. 
 
 " I am sorry to have kept you waiting," she 
 said quietly. " I was — busy." 
 
 At the beginning of the following week, 
 Rodney society flocked to call on Lady Mel- 
 drum and her niece, who had arrived at the 
 Abbey with their servants and baggage. 
 Luigia and Belle were among the number. 
 They tried to press the squire into service 
 and induce him to accompany them, but he 
 refused firmly, and suggested the Count in 
 his place. 
 
 " An elegant Moosoo is much more at home 
 in a drawing-room full of fine ladies than I 
 am," he asserted, " but I'll drive over with you, 
 if you like, and go on to Bevington afterwards 
 about that cow." 
 
 So it was arranged, and the ladies with white 
 parasols, and the Count in an irreproachably
 
 Afternoon Calls. 311 
 
 fitting frock-coat and lavender kid gloves, were 
 packed in the carriage shortly after three 
 o'clock one afternoon. It was dull and cloudy 
 looking, and raincloaks and umbrellas were 
 stowed away by thoughtful servants at the back 
 of the carriage. The squire, with his hands on 
 his knees and his weather-eye cocked, admitted 
 that the country needed a washing, but feared 
 that Luigia would have to say good-bye to her 
 bonnet in a good cause. 
 
 11 1 am sorry to say it, my dear," he said, " as 
 it is a particularly pretty one." 
 
 " I can make another if this is spoilt," she 
 replied. " It is only a handful of net and a 
 rose." 
 
 "To me," murmured the Count, regarding 
 the bonnet with emotion, " it has not the 
 appearance of this earth. Cest un rfoe de 
 Paradis ! " 
 
 " What a wonderful imagination you have, 
 Count ! " observed Belle, a little piqued at this 
 direct compliment to Luigia. M I could never 
 by any possibility connect a shilling's worth of 
 tulle with heaven." 
 
 " Nevertheless, it is quite true," exclaimed 
 the squire, " that everything a pretty woman 
 wears or has about her becomes wonderful and 
 unearthly in the eyes of her mankind. I used
 
 312 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 to be terribly afraid of all Luigia's belongings, 
 and even now sometimes I scarcely dare to 
 touch her parasol or her dear little gloves 
 when I come across them lying about in the 
 hall. I perfectly understand Count de Marnay's 
 view of the bonnet." 
 
 " How too foolish ! " said Luigia, smiling, as 
 she laid her hand on the squire's knee for a 
 moment with a caressing little gesture. " And 
 yet I understand it, too. Nothing has intrinsic 
 value — it is only the way we look at it. What 
 is the army flag, for instance ? Only a rag, too 
 thin and old and torn to be of use to any 
 living soul, yet every man in the regiment 
 would eive his life to save it. The sentiment 
 is real, not the flag." 
 
 " Who are these people ? " interrupted Belle, 
 who was uninterested in the prevailing topic of 
 conversation. " Are they going to call at the 
 Abbey, do you think ? " An open carriage 
 passed them in a whirl of dust. 
 
 And for the rest of the way the squire 
 devoted himself exclusively to her, pointing 
 out the various objects of interest as they 
 passed, and enlightening her as to the name, 
 antecedents, and character of all those people 
 who bowed to them on the road. 
 
 On nearing the Abbey she became interested
 
 Afternoon Calls. 313 
 
 in the scenery, and drew forth as much infor- 
 mation as she could concerning it. Oh yes, 
 it was all Lord Egan's land, most of the hills 
 within sight belonged to him too. It had been 
 in his family for generations, and the timber 
 was particularly fine. They were driving 
 rapidly through an open park shut off at 
 intervals by gates and wire fencing to separate 
 the cattle ; to the right lay a wood behind a 
 paling ; to the left an extensive sweep of 
 undulating park and meadow land dipping 
 down to the valley a mile away. The walls 
 of the Abbey could be seen now and then 
 through the trees. 
 
 Presently it came fully into sight. It was 
 a stately pile of grey buildings, worn and 
 mellowed by time ; the windows were heavily 
 mullioned, the casements latticed. Before it 
 stretched sunny lawns and gaily filled flower- 
 beds, with here and there a fountain playing 
 and a peacock strutting proudly over the grass. 
 The entrance-hall filled her with admiration ; 
 it dated back to feudal times, and was hung 
 with spears and shields and coats of mail that 
 had done service in many a crusade ; but there 
 was no time to look at these things, for the 
 velvet-footed servant was preceding them up 
 a shallow, comparatively modern staircase to
 
 314 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 the drawing-room, in which Lady Meldrum was 
 receiving. The room was filled with people 
 talking together in subdued voices, and there 
 was the pleasant clatter of tea-cups. 
 
 Luigia made her entree very gracefully, and 
 Lady Meldrum received her and her party 
 with a proud courtesy. She was a stately, 
 white-haired old lady, arrayed in flowing 
 garments of rustling silk ; her niece was smaller 
 and less imposing. Lord Egan was not there. 
 Belle, on ascertaining this fact, devoted herself 
 to Lady O'Hagan : if one cannot have the sun, 
 it is policy to make the most of the moon. 
 
 Luigia talked to her hostess, and to the 
 stout vicar, and to Mrs. Maxwell in turn. 
 Every now and then she stole a covert 
 glance at Lady O'Hagan — the girl who had 
 married an old man and loved a young one. 
 There was nothing romantic-looking about 
 Lady O'Hagan, but then, as Luigia well 
 knew, appearances are often deceptive. She 
 was a be-frizzed, be-ribboned woman of society, 
 with very high heels, a very small waist, and 
 a rather loud voice. Luigia turned aside and 
 gave her entire attention to Mrs. Maxwell, 
 who was giving her details of the last cook's 
 insolence — she had lost faith in the tragic 
 love-story.
 
 Afternoon Calls. 315 
 
 Just before she rose to go, Lord Egan 
 entered the room, and, since she was then 
 talking to Lady Meldrum, he merely shook 
 hands with her and sat down by Belle, remain- 
 ing at her side during the minute and a half 
 that ensued before they rose to leave. Belle 
 was quite in her element, gushing about music 
 and painting and scenery. She did so long to 
 see the pictures at the Abbey, she said ; some 
 of them were so famous, she had heard. Oh, 
 might she really go through the gallery one day ? 
 That was too kind ! She should live in expec- 
 tation of doing so. What would Lady Meldrum 
 say ? Was he quite sure it would be convenient ? 
 
 The question was referred to her ladyship, 
 who was gracious enough to say she should be 
 charmed. She would send a note one day 
 soon, she said. Belle thanked her effusively 
 and took her departure, feeling that she had 
 made a good impression all round. 
 
 Lord Egan saw them to their carriage, and 
 moved forward with Luigia. The count and 
 Belle fell behind. 
 
 It was quite a long journey from the 
 reception-room to the entrance-door — down a 
 great spiral staircase and through the ancient 
 hall. It was impossible to avoid getting up 
 some show of conversation on the way.
 
 316 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " Miss Carmichael is coming over one day 
 to see the family pictures," said Lord Egan, 
 as they began to go slowly down the great 
 staircase. 
 
 " May I come too ? " said Luigia. " I 
 should like to see them before you part with 
 them for ever." 
 
 " I am not going to part with them," he said 
 in some surprise. 
 
 "Not?" — raising her eyebrows. "I have 
 been led to understand that from Christmas to 
 Easter you spent your entire time in trying 
 to lose everything you possess." 
 
 " Oh," he said calmly, " and who told you 
 that, I wonder ? " 
 
 "An amiable, mutual friend. Isn't it true, 
 then ? There are impressive rumours going 
 about of your sitting night and day, winning 
 and losing thousands with immovable, marble 
 features. Have we been misinformed ?" 
 
 " Not altogether. I did my best to go to 
 the dogs, but they wouldn't have me. I won 
 more than I lost." He was jingling the loose 
 money in his pocket with a reckless sort of 
 swagger. 
 
 " You speak sadly. Are the dogs such 
 pleasant company ? " 
 
 " As good as any other."
 
 Afternoon Calls. 317 
 
 " The style of your conversation betokens 
 recklessness, I fear," she said, turning her 
 lovely eyes on him, full of the old malicious 
 smile he knew so well. " You make me 
 anxious. How painful if these noble halls" 
 — waving her hand theatrically — "were brought 
 to the hammer, and long-nosed Jews hacked 
 down the trees in the park ! " 
 
 He laughed a short involuntary laugh, and 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " I don't know that it would make much 
 difference in the long run," he said. 
 
 They were going slowly down the staircase 
 into the great entrance-hall, hung with armour 
 and littered with bear and tiger skins, which 
 he had shot himself. She glanced around her, 
 then at him. There was a moody, dejected 
 expression on his face, and he was looking 
 down, not at her. There was a ray of light 
 slanting down on to him from a narrow slit 
 of a window somewhere above them ; it seemed 
 to her that he was pale. 
 
 She lifted her head, and looked straight in 
 front of her with a cruel little smile of triumph. 
 When cats play with mice their worst qualities 
 come to the fore. She told herself that she 
 enjoyed the game. 
 
 11 You distress me beyond words ! " she
 
 3 18 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 exclaimed at the end of that silent survey. 
 " I can scarcely believe it — you would part with 
 these helmets, these tiger skins, these romantic 
 heirlooms without a tear ? How unnatural ! " 
 
 " I don't find that they add materially to my 
 happiness," he replied. 
 
 " Poor thing ! you are miserable ! " she said, 
 changing her tone to one of ironical sympathy. 
 " And wasn't she touched when you even 
 professed yourself willing to part with your 
 ancestors' helmets for her sake ? She must be 
 of stone ! " 
 
 " She ? Who do you mean ? " he asked 
 quickly. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know her name — a syren in 
 green. The rumour I spoke of just now 
 travelled from Monte Carlo to Paris, and 
 placed you at the feet of a fascinating actress 
 with a bias for emeralds." 
 
 " So the amiable mutual friend gave you 
 that story too ? " he exclaimed bitterly. 
 
 " Yes, and I found it even more interesting 
 than the one with the marble features." 
 
 He made no reply. They had reached the 
 bottom of the staircase, and were crossing the 
 polished flooring of the hall between the tiger 
 skins. The folding leaves of the entrance-door 
 were flung wide, and two menservants were
 
 Afternoon Calls. 319 
 
 standing on either side of it. But servants, as 
 all the fashionable world knows, have neither 
 ears nor eyes, and, quite regardless of them, 
 Luigia continued her species of delicate cross- 
 examination, and Belle, on the staircase behind, 
 flirted openly with the Count. 
 
 " Do tell me about her," continued Luigia ; 
 " you will find me all sympathy and romance. 
 I am so interested in love affairs. Is she 
 beautiful ? Is she fascinating ?" 
 
 " People say so," he answered, without a 
 shadow of interest in his manner. " I tried 
 to find her lovely, and I tried to be fascinated, 
 but I failed." 
 
 -Failed?" 
 
 " Yes. She bored me at the end of two 
 days, and her feet were large." 
 
 She laughed as they went out on to the 
 doorstep. 
 
 " Dear me ! Yet, in spite of her large feet, 
 you followed her about for weeks, and half 
 ruined yourself buying her emeralds." 
 
 " Yes, I did. What then ? " 
 
 He confronted her with a dogged, moody 
 air, and in his eyes there was a mingling of 
 resentment and despair. 
 
 " Oh, nothing," she returned with an airy 
 laugh; "only I don't quite understand."
 
 320 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 " It isn't likely that you would. You don't 
 understand anything that has to do with me, 
 and you don't care ! It was a choice between 
 her and blowing out my brains, and I chose 
 her. She kept me from that — at any rate, for 
 a time." 
 
 The vehemence of this speech, though sup- 
 pressed, made itself heard in every word, and 
 as she listened to it her eyes dilated and her 
 lips turned pale. 
 
 " You have never thought of doing such a 
 thing ! " she exclaimed, and there was a thrill 
 of horror in her voice. 
 
 " I have thought of it often," he returned, 
 "and if I did it I believe you would be 
 glad I n 
 
 She turned away. The carriage had returned 
 and was waiting for them on the gravel sweep 
 before the door. She went down the shallow 
 step and patted one of the horses on its glossy 
 neck, stroking it and calling it endearing names. 
 
 She kept her back turned to Lord Egan, who 
 stood on the step behind her. Presently she 
 turned; the voices of Belle and the Count could 
 be heard coming through the hall. 
 
 " You are wrong," she said. " I am not in 
 the least fond of bloodshed — unnatural as it 
 may seem. Besides, it would interfere with
 
 Afternoon Calls. 321 
 
 our summer gaieties, and — who knows ? — we 
 might even have to go into half mourning." 
 
 She came up the step towards him, and for 
 an instant she laid her hand on his arm. 
 
 " Don't do it," she said in a sweet, appealing 
 manner. " Spare us the agony — of going into 
 half mourning ; " and she laughed mockingly as 
 she turned away from him towards the others. 
 
 The promise of rain did not fulfil itself in a 
 downpour till the Manor party were safely in 
 the house and dawdling over a second tea in 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 " What a charming woman Lady Meldrum 
 is ! " remarked Belle, who was a little elated 
 at the success of her visit and the promised 
 invitation to view the Abbey pictures under 
 Lord Egan's escort ; " so much better bred than 
 Lady O'Hagan. I wonder if she really fell in 
 love with that man, as they say ? " 
 
 " No," said Luigia, "she was only flirting." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " Oh, there is a sort of freemasonry that 
 tells me she hasn't a heart to lose." 
 
 Luioqa was standing in the window watching 
 the large drops of rain splashing on to the 
 wallflowers outside. She looked pale and 
 languid, all her vivacity had died down. She 
 was tired, she said, and had a headache. She 
 vol. 1. 21
 
 322 The Desire of the Moth. 
 
 had taken off her little bonnet and thrown it 
 aside on to a chair, as though its weight 
 oppressed her. Her husband came behind her 
 and smoothed back her hair fondly. 
 
 " So we saved the little bonnet, after all, 
 didn't we ? Headache bad, eh ? Let me kiss 
 it away, like they do to the children," and he 
 turned her face to his and kissed her pale 
 cheek gently. " There, does that feel better ?" 
 
 She smiled faintly, and let him put his arm 
 round her waist. They stood together looking 
 out into the rain. 
 
 "What big drops ! Do you remember that 
 wet day in Rome, when you got left behind 
 in the church, and Egan brought you home 
 under a market-woman's umbrella the size of 
 a small tent ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "What ! did you know Lord Egan in Italy ? " 
 cried Belle, in astonishment. " I never heard 
 that before." 
 
 " Oh yes," said Luigia, " we met him in 
 Rome just after we were married. He was 
 there a week." 
 
 "And this pussy," cried the squire, pulling 
 her ear, "got left behind, adoring the Virgin 
 or some such thing, and Egan went back for 
 her, and half an hour afterwards they came
 
 Afternoon Calls. 323 
 
 walking in together, under an old fruit woman's 
 umbrella that he'd bought at the corner of the 
 street for ten francs when it wasn't worth as 
 many sous. Rascals, those Italian thieves, 
 every man Jack of 'em !" 
 
 " Dear me, I had no idea you were such old 
 friends ! " observed Belle. 
 
 " We are not friends at all, for the matter 
 of that," said Luigia, indifferently. " We have 
 nothing in common and, if we talk at all, we 
 quarrel." 
 
 " I can't think why you don't like him," 
 ejaculated Belle. " He has such particularly 
 nice manners." 
 
 " He is a very good fellow," put in the squire, 
 warmly, "and a gentleman to the backbone." 
 
 She shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " Gentlemen to the backbone are all very 
 well in their way," she observed, " but they 
 are apt to be a trifle dull. With some people, 
 you know, the only thing left one to do is to 
 quarrel ; " and she sauntered from the room, 
 swinging the heavenly bonnet carelessly by its 
 strings. 
 
 Upstairs, in her own room, she sat down in 
 a rocking-chair and buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 u How he must hate me ! " she said to herself.
 
 324 The Desire of the Moth 
 
 " How vile and detestable he must think me ! 
 He looked pale and wretched, and I rubbed 
 it in— I rubbed it in ! It was like kicking a 
 
 wounded animal " 
 
 She shivered, dropping her face still lower 
 in her hands. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 w 
 
 INTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLES. G., C. & Co.
 
 HȤKpi

 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI9-URBANA 
 
 3 
 
 12 056518480