Vera

“ Vera had raised her eyes, and turned them toward the windows. Beyond the soot-stained sumach tree, the fire-escapes of the department store, she saw the sun-drenched campus, the buttressed chapel, the ancient, drooping elms; and on a canvas bag, poised like a winged Mercury, a tall straight figure in gray, dusty flannels.
"He was awfully good-looking," murmured the girl, "and awfully tall. He could stop a ball as high as—that!" She raised her arm in the air; and then, suddenly conscious, flushed, and turned to the piano.
"Go on, tell us," urged Mabel. ”

“ Who was to know the bitter secret, the ceaseless dread that ached in the fair breast, that rose and fell beneath the knots of velvety pansies that were her simple and favorite adornment?
Vera has seen and learned a great deal since that night when her father's mad frenzy had been the means of saving her from the horrors of a dreadful death.
She has traveled, she has had masters and governesses; luxuries of which she never even faintly dreamed, have surrounded her and become daily necessities. Pleasure has wooed her softly to its flowery paths, love has been lavishly laid at her feet. ”

“ Oh, Lady Vera, do not grow so pale! Is it strange that I should love you? Others have been as wild and presumptuous as I have. Others have come down before the fire of those dark eyes, slain by their beauty. ”

“ But no one is more surprised at Vera's course than her lover, Colonel Lockhart.
It is when they have gone home from Lady Spencer's ball, and he detains her one moment in the drawing-room to say good-night, that he asks her anxiously:
"Vera, my darling, what story lies behind your refusal to know these people to-night?"
He feels the start and shiver that runs over the graceful form as he holds her hand in his own. She looks up at him with such a white and despairing face that he is almost frightened. ”

“ Happiness, love and hope, are potent restorers. The light returns to Lady Vera's eyes, the roundness to her face and form, the color to her cheeks, and the slight shade of thought and sadness around her lovely lips does not detract from her beauty. ”

“ Vera has never loved. No one spark of divine fire has ever touched her soul or warmed the latent energies of her being. She has lived in the thick of the world, but love has passed her scatheless. Her mind, her intellect, her brain, are all alive, and sharpened acutely; her heart slumbers still. Happier for her, perhaps, had it never awakened.
She leant upon the stone parapet, supporting her chin upon her hand, dreaming her dreams. ”

“ It seemed to Lady Vera almost as if she were dead and buried, living in this lonely house, seeing, hearing no one save stolid Betsy Robson, who glided about like another ghost in this strange world of the dead.
"If rescue does not come soon I shall either die or go mad, as that woman already believes me to be," Lady Vera tells herself in a passion of despair. ”

“ Have you so soon forgotten the fact that you are a staid married woman? What do you think of that, Venner?"
Vera laughed and blushed softly; she was not thinking so much now of her own happiness as of the expression of joy and delight on the face of her sister. Beth had hung back a little shyly from Evors as they crossed the hall, and he, in his turn, was constrained and awkward. Very cleverly Vera managed to detach her husband and her brother from the others.
"Let them go into the dining-room," she whispered. "It doesn't matter what becomes of us." ”

“ Lady Vera waking from her long and death-like swoon, wakens also to a dream of happiness. The terrible incubus that weighed upon her so heavily is lifted from her heart. The loveless fetter that bound her is snapped asunder. Leslie Noble, whose very name has been a shuddering horror to her for more than two years, is dead, and she is free—free! What exquisite possibilities of happiness thrill her heart at the very thought! ”

“ Amongst her many friends, and in the keen enjoyment of the evening, Vera forgot her fears. She was young enough to appreciate to the full the joys of life. She was strong and vigorous, and most things pleased her. Besides, there was always the reflection that the gates would be closed to her before long. Once she had taken her fate in her own hands, and had gone into the world to get her living, there would be no more of this. A little longer and she would say goodbye to Lord Ravenspur and Walter. ”

“ The girl was the same I had previously recognized as Vera; the man I had little doubt was Lord Vancome. He was speaking in a low tone, but every word was distinct.
"How cruel you are to me, Miss Soudin! The very softness of your voice but adds to the bitterness of your words!" Then coming a little nearer and speaking still lower; "Vera!--I must call you Vera, just to hear the word--if you could but know for one moment what it is to be a man and to see such loveliness, and yet not to be able to approach it; to have to stand off and to be told that it belongs to another. ”

“ Lady Vera, turning her head listlessly a moment, listens aimlessly to the wail of the autumn wind moaning like a voice in human pain around the ruined gables of the house.
"It is a wild night," she answers, drearily. "What time is it, Mrs. Robson?"
"It is nigh onto eleven o'clock," the woman answers, consulting the broad-faced silver watch stuck in her belt; then, curiously: "You've never asked me that question afore since here you've been, my dearie. Why do you do so now?"
"When the hours of life are few, one is fain to count them," Lady Vera answers, with subdued bitterness. ”

“ Always indulgent to children, Lady Vera follows the clasp of the small hand, and is led away to a small summer-house out of range of the keen eyes of Mark and Dot.
"Now you may sit down, Vera," announces eight-year-old Hal, with owlish gravity. "I have something to tell you before I give you what I said I had for you."
Countess Vera sits down obediently. It is a bird's nest, or a blue-bird's egg, or some such treasure of the summer wood, she thinks to herself, with a smile, as the little brown hand goes into his jacket pocket. ”

“ The beautiful, dark eyes of her daughter have never looked upon the face of the father who should have loved and nurtured her tender life.
But it is all over now—the pain, the sorrow, the loneliness, the deep humiliation. The small, toil-stained hands are folded gently together over some odorous white tube-roses that Vera has placed within them!
The jetty fringe of the long, black lashes rests heavily against the thin, white cheeks, the beautifully-curved lips are closed peacefully, the golden brown hair, thickly-streaked with gray, is parted sweetly on the peaceful brow. ”

“ But it is not the most delightful reading in the world, studying the dull entries of an old memorandum-book. Lady Vera's sweet patience begins to flag at last. Her red lips quiver with disappointment and suspense. She shuts the book with one taper finger between the pages and leans her golden head back against the tree, wearily.
"There is nothing here—absolutely nothing," she tells herself, sadly, all unconscious that but one thin leaf intervenes between her and success. "I shall lose all," she continues, with a choking sob; "I have lost my lover and all my happiness. ”

“ The deep stillness and loneliness of the spot are broken suddenly by the impatient neigh of a horse.
With a start, Lady Vera turns her head. In that moment, two strong arms clasp her as in a vise, her hood is drawn over her face to smother her agonized shrieks, and the old woman, grown suddenly tall and erect, and strong, bears her forcibly to a carriage that has been waiting, hidden behind a hedge.
Her abductor springs in beside her, closes the door, and they are whirled away through the falling night, while a dexterous sprinkle of chloroform reduces the miserable girl to unconsciousness. ”

“ Lady Vera wore white satin and tulle, with water-lilies here and there, a beautiful dress that was most becoming to her, and made her look regal as a young princess.
A flush of excitement glowed upon her cheeks, and her eyes were bright and restless with a strange look of expectancy and almost dread in their beautiful depths.
The constant thought in her mind was:
"I shall see my enemies to-night. What will be the result? They pretend to regard me as a perfect stranger. What shameless audacity. I cannot understand how they can carry it out so boldly. ”

“ He has gone away, Lady Vera tells herself; yet she, in some vague way, feels that he has not. She hears a step in the hall outside her door sometimes—a manly step that is not Sir Harry Clive's, but which has a firm, remembered ring in it that has power to send the warm blood flying from her heart to her face.
When she is well enough to sit up in her white dressing-gown, lying back in a great, cushioned arm-chair, the children are admitted to see her. ”

“ Vera had no yearning for the gaieties of the hotel drawing-room, or the conjuror's entertainment; but she had a feeling of hopeless loneliness, which even her favourite books could not overcome. If she had been free to roam [13] about the olive woods, to climb the hills, and get nearer the blue sky, she might have been almost happy; but Grannie was exacting, and Vera had never more than an hour's freedom at a time. The hills, and the rustic shrines that shone dazzling white against the soft blue heaven, were impossible for her. ”

“ She stares at him with whitened lips, and a shudder of horror chills her heart. Such truth is stamped upon his face that it seems impossible to doubt. Yet she asks herself, with little, awsome chills creeping over all her frame, is it possible that she, Vera, has actually lain in the gloom and darkness of the grave? Has that warm, throbbing flesh, instinct with life and vitality, been closed around with the blackness of the coffin? Has the black earth been heaped upon her living form? ”

“ There was a pause. “Will you?” he begged.
Vera raised her head slowly, holding her hand across her eyes. There was a longer silence, and then she looked up at him and smiled pathetically, gratefully, and nodded. “Good!” cried Winthrop. “No more spooks,” he laughed, “no more spirit rappings.”
Through her tears Vera smiled up at him a wan, broken smile. She gave a shudder of distaste. “Never!” she whispered. “I promise.” Their eyes met; the girl’s looking into his shyly, gratefully; the man’s searching hers eagerly. ”

“ I am a priestess! I am a medium between the souls of this world and the next. I am Vera—the Truth! And, I mean—" the girl cried suddenly, harshly, flinging out her arm, "that you shall hear the truth! To-night, I will bring your mother from the grave to speak it to you!"
With a swift, sweeping gesture, she pointed to the door. "Take those people away!" she cried.
The eyes of Winthrop were filled with pity.
"Vera!" he said, "Vera!"
For an instant, against the tenderness and reproach in his voice the girl held herself motionless ”

“ A pang goes through Lady Vera's heart as she recalls Sir Harry Clive's warning, and thinks of losing this grand, picturesque place, the only true home she has ever known. Her sweetest, tenderest memories of her father are twined around the spot.
Bereft of this, she must indeed be desolate. Not even one spot of brightness will remain in the cold and cruel darkness that has settled over her life. ”

“ It was to meet this dangerous and suspicious character that Vera stole to the rendezvous—Vera, the pearl of beauty in the whole neighbourhood, whose beauty made strong men weak; Vera, who had mastered even the tyrannical Tatiana Markovna; Vera, the pure maiden sheltered from all the winds of heaven. It would have seemed impossible for her to meet a man against whom all houses were barred. ”

“ Only the brave, soldierly smile, and the courtly words. He wears the scarlet rose proudly on his breast, though he feels it to be a token of defeat.
Lady Vera lays her hand on his and tries to say something very calm and friendly, but the words die on her white lips.
She is very pale; he cannot help from seeing that. Her voice is very gentle, but so low he fails to catch the words.
She does not look up at him; that is what pains him most. How is he to know that the lowered lids veil the terrible pain in the dark eyes she cannot lift to meet his yearning glance. ”

“ Grannie, who, having had to do without money, was a fierce stickler for race.
While Vera was thinking about him, Signor Provana was talking to his daughter, and the voice that had so impressed her at the first hearing, became infinitely beautiful as it softened with infinite love.
What must it be to a girl to be loved so fondly by that great strong man? Vera had known no such love since her poet father's death. ”

“ In the vicarage drawing-room the afternoon tea-table has just been set out, and the fire just lit, for it is chilly; but one of the long French windows leading into the garden is still open, and through it Vera steps into the room.
There is a background of brown and yellow foliage behind her, across the garden, all aglow with the crimson light of the western sky, against which the outlines of her figure, in its close-fitting dark dress, stand out clearly and distinctly. Vera has the figure, not of a sylph, but of a goddess; it is the absolute perfection of the female form. ”

“ It looks like death, indeed, that marble pallor, those wide and brilliant eyes [Pg 132] that gleam upon him so weirdly, triumphing over him, even in death. A horrible sense of loss and disappointment thrills through him. Is she dying, indeed, his beautiful Vera, his rich and honored countess, the glories of whose state he has meant to share?
"Vera, my darling, you must not die," he exclaims, going forward and holding out his arms to her entreatingly. "Live for me, my dearest wife. I love you more than life! Give yourself to me, Vera; let me win your heart, and I swear I will make you happy." ”