Viva

Front matter

VI VA. VOL. Ill VIVA BV MRS. FORRESTER AUTHOR OF " MIGNON," " DIANA CAREW," " DOLORES/' &c, &c. " And be sure your sin will find you out." Ei-anlhe.—" Pray, Captain, tell the King, They that are sad on Earth, in Heaven shall sing.' Beaumont and Fletcher. IN THREE VOLUMES. vol. m. LONDON: HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1878. All rights reserved. LONDON : PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE, BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET. CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME. CUAITER PAGE I. The old Love and toe new .... 1 II. Only a Woman's Heart .... 27 III. "A Leave-taking" 51 IV. A Syren of Society 83 V. Happy ever after ? 102 VI. Convinced against her will . . . .129 Vn. Pelion on Ossa 153 VIII. Mrs. Fairstar's Manœuvre . . . .175 IX. " Forgotten by the World " . . .199 X. Bertie 222 XL' The last " Good-bye " .... 245 XII. " The Triumph of Time " . . . .274 VIVA

Chapter I. The Old Love And The New

ATE one August afternoon, Osyth is ------- wending her way to the village, in answer to a request from the landlady of the " Bell Inn " that she will look in there. Imagining that the woman's child is ill again, she has hastened to obey the summons. Mrs. Ross is standing at the inn door— her face is flushed, and she turns the hem of her large white apron nervously in her fingers. " If you please, miss," she says, in a hurried whisper, as Osyth enters the door, " I hope you won't be angered with me — it's VOL. III. B VIVA, none o' my doin's, but there's a lady in yonder," (beckoning with her hand towards the parlour), " as 'ud be glad to have a word with you." A sudden tremour comes over Osyth — her cheek pales, her knees knock together. A presentiment who it is that awaits her, takes chill hold of her.

"You haven't no call to be afeard, miss," whispers the landlady — " and I shall be just handy. Poor soul ! it's little harm she has it in her to do anyone." "Who is it?" Osyth asks, in a faltering voice. " Well, miss," returns Mrs. Ross, looking puzzled — " I don't know rightly how to call her, but — but she's Lord Ryvendale's lady." Osyth 's courage fails her — she is literally afraid. I think, in her simple heart, she expects to see some bold, painted, shameless woman, some virago who will perhaps assail her with bitter vituperation. The landlady reads Osyth's face. "Why, miss," she urges, " you don't think I'd let you see her if she was such as one might expect. Lor ! you'd never tell her for what she is — she's softer spoken nor my lady up at the Court, and that's saying somethin'." " Why does she want to see me?" asks Osyth, still unconvinced.

" Nay, miss," returns Mrs. Ross, with a shrewd glance — " that's more nor I can tell you, but she's bent on seeing you, and a pretty job they had to get me to be in with her doin' it. If you're afeard when you see her, keep your hand on the door and call, and I'll be there in no time, I warrant you." So Osyth nerves herself and enters the parlour. But she does not keep her hand on the door, nor prepare to call for help — one glance at the face before her is sufficient to remove all apprehension. b VIVA Viva rises from her chair and advances a step — then, for a moment, the two women look at each other — the one who loves and has been loved — the one who loves and is loved. Osyth sees a beautiful but most sad face, a figure full of dignity and grace, a woman whose air and carriage stamp her unmis takeably as one intended to occupy a high place in the world.

And as she looks at her, a sense of inferiority smites her, not sharply, but with a dull sense of pain. It is as though something whispered to her — " If she could not retain his love, how can you, who are so far inferior to her in charms, hope to keep it !" And on her side, Viva thinks — " She is not beautiful, but she has a fair, good face. She is amiable and sweet tempered, not easily ruffled nor angered as I am — he would have repose with her — that is her charm for him." She is the first to speak — her voice is tremulous, there are tears in her eyes. She has so little nerve now, the least agitation brings those unbidden, unwelcome guests. " I am glad you have come — I was most anxious to see you," she begins, in that low, soft voice that men were once wont to think one of her greatest charms.

"You will guess," (faltering), "who I am — I am — " she is going to say Lady Ryven dale, the only name she has known for nearly three years, but she stops suddenly, remembering that she has no right to it — that perhaps ere long, it will belong to the girl who stands before her. " I am the Duchess de Lalliere," she says, with a slight accent of hauteur, trying by that poor means to hide the shame she feels in uttering it. Osyth inclines her head — she cannot think of any word to say, though compas sion has already found its way to her kind heart. VIVA, Viva motions her to a seat, and she takes it at once without demur. Viva sinks into a chair by the table — her clasped hands rest upon it — her face is half turned from Osyth towards the window, screened by the large geraniums that are the landlady's pride.

" You wonder, perhaps," she says, in a low, hurried voice, " why I wanted to see you — if you had known, you would not have come. I have no claim upon you ; how can I expect a sacrifice from you when he ■" Her voice fails her — the great tears roll down her pale cheeks, and fall on her slen der, clasped hands. A cold chill sweeps over Osyth's heart. Two months ago, her life was so calm and even, nothing could have seriously ruffled her if all were well with Riette and her father, but now it is different ; her heart is gone from her own keeping : it rests with another than herself to make or mar her life. She knows by intuition what the Duchess wants of her — she has come to ask her to give up Lord Ryvendale. And a throe of bitter agony shakes her to the very soul. -* Oh !" cries Viva, in a low, passionate voice — " what can he be to you in compari son with what he is to me ! you have not sinned for his sake, suffered for his sake — he is not the only one living being in the world to you !

You have relations — you have friends, and I — I have no one. He is my all — I cannot live without him. Oh ! have some pity on me ! do not take him from me !" She falls at Osyth's feet. She makes a gesture as though she would take her hand, but suddenly restrains herself. Her delicate, sensitive mind calls up the barrier that separates her from this girl — never, for one instant now, does she forget the shame that stamps her different from her unfallen sisters. VIVA Osyth sits like one stunned — her mind is a chaos in which she can distinguish nothing clearly — neither right nor wrong, nor this woman's claims nor her own upon the man whom, most unhappily, they both love. The Duchess is so entirely different from the woman she has always pictured to her self — the woman she has thought of as a guilty creature, a temptress under whose fatal thrall Alsager had fallen.

From her it would have been a right and virtuous act to separate him — to wean him by every means in her power. But this tender, delicate creature with the grievous face, the pathetic voice, who is pleading to her as for dear life to give him back to her ! Osyth feels that, instead of committing a meritorious action in tearing him from Viva's arms, she will be guilty of an act of selfish cruelty. She has been fain to think evil of her : now she is smitten with a great pity. But nothing seems clear to her. The scheme for Lord Ryvendale's salvation, his restora tion to a life of usefulness and happiness, her own share in it, and the utter joy she had looked forward to from his love — all seem swept away to an immeasurable dis tance. Two months ago, she could have taken the hand of this poor erring sister, and besought her, for Christ's sake and for her own soul's sake, to repent and turn from her sin, but now, no such words come to her lips — they would be only a bitter mockery — she would seem to be pleading selfishly for her own love's sake.

And beset and wrung by doubts, she sends up a bitter yearning cry from the depths of her soul — " 0 God ! show me what to do !" She hears, as though afar off, Viva's pathetic voice — as through a mist she sees the beautiful blue eyes dimmed by many tears, and suddenly, a chord vibrates in her heart and she too falls to bitter weeping. Strange freak of fate ! These two women VIVA who are rivals, whose hearts should, by all the laws of probability, be filled with a mutual hatred and jealousy, are, instead, smitten by a tender pity of each other. It is rare indeed that two such noble natures meet. Viva is saying to herself — " Poor girl ! — she loves him — she might lead a happy life with him, whilst, as for me ! he will never love me again ! My life is wasted and spoiled — I have no hope in the future — why should I mar hers?"

For a moment she is prompted to say — "Be happy with him. Forget what I have said. I will go away and leave you to each other and never trouble you any more." But no ! all her love for Alsager comes surging back at the thought of losing him — never, never will she speak the words that are to separate them. And how can this girl feel a pang at losing him equal to hers ! She has known him but a few short weeks — it will be easy enough for her to go back to her life without him — a life of which as yet he cannot have altered any circumstance. But for herself! Alsager is the mainspring of her life. His mere presence, changed, cold, indifferent as he has grown, is joy com pared with the thought of utter severance from him. Osyth conquers her emotion by a violent effort and rises to her feet. " I must have time to think," she says, in a low voice.

" I cannot tell now what I ought to do. But oh !" (her voice faltering), - — " it is a hard thing you ask of me." " Is it harder for you or me ?" asks Viva mournfully. " You have not changed all your life for his sake — you have not fallen from a high position to one of shame and utter isolation for his sake ! Ah !" (plead ingly) — " you look kind and good — do you think you could enjoy your happiness with him whilst you knew that my heart was VIVA, broken, that every hour in which you were rejoicing in his 'presence was an hour of agony to me !" The words penetrate Osyth's very heart — she knows that she will have to give Lord Ryvendale up — she will never be able to forget this beautiful, agonised face — the pleading eyes and words — her own heart will not let her buy happiness for herself at the cost of this other woman's misery.

"I cannot answer you now," she says again, "but to-morrow — " (hesitating), "to morrow I will write to you if you will tell me your address." Viva writes hastily on a slip of paper and gives it to Osyth. Her face is dyed with burning blushes. " I am always called Lady Ryvendale," she says, almost in an apologetic tone. Osyth turns to go. She has made a little inclination of her head, to which Viva has responded in kind, but then, some other feeling comes into her sweet, compassionate heart, and turning, she stretches out her hand. For one moment they stand hand in hand, their eyes wet with unshed tears. their lips quivering with some undefined emotion : God knows that in the heart of either there is at this moment no feeling of rivalry nor jealousy. Osyth goes out like one stunned, and makes her way homewards.

She does not stop, as is her gentle wont, to speak to the children who cross her path, nor to ask after the ailments of her old women at their cot tage doors — she does not see the ruddy gold of the sky, nor the dying sun's valedic tion to the gay-hued flowers — it might be spring or autumn, or the nipping cold of winter, for aught she knows to the contrary. Her father is in the garden, but she does not join him. Riette calls to her, but she answers not — only hurries away to her own chamber, and fast locks the door. With a VIVA rapid gesture, she throws aside her hat, and pulls down the blind and shuts the window. She will not have a stray sunbeam nor a climbing rose for witness to her mortal agony — to the death-struggle of her dear hopes. Then she throws herself on her bed and hides her face in her pillow, with sobs and stifled cries.

Even her faithful, trusting soul cannot for the moment look up through this black night of despair to the God who makes everything work together for good to those who love him. It is a crushing blow — one, she feels, that all her life through, she will never rally from. Never before has she fully realized how absorbed her heart was in the thought of bringing to a happy and useful life the man whom she so entirely loved. And now, to leave him ! to see him grow wild and reckless again, to let him return to a life worse perhaps than the old one ! Before to-day she had felt that, to wean him from his connection with the Duchess, was the first step towards his salvation, but now, since she has seen her, she can no longer think that. The judgment of this unhappy woman is in God's hands : if He will be avenged of her for her sin, judgment is for him ; but for her, no ! she dares not consti tute herself the instrument of punishing this most unhappy soul.

Nevermore will Lord Ryvendale be aught to her — nevermore may she cherish those hopes that have brought her such exceeding joy. But, after the first paroxysm of her grief is over, the old faith and trust, so deep-rooted in her soul, come stealing back, and with all her heart she tries to say to herself — " It is better if the will of God be so." Meanwhile Alsager, unprescient of the destruction of his hopes and projects, is en joying excellent sport in Scotland, and, whilst thinking of Osyth as the woman who is to crown the rest of his life with joy and VIVA pleasure, and to lead him to a sure haven of rest and peace, is winding up old accounts by a very prononce flirtation with Mrs. Fair star, who has been invited by their con siderate hostess to add to the pleasure of his visit. If Osyth, who could not in her pure heart comprehend infidelit}*, had but been witness for one hour only of his tender words and manner, the glances of his most eloquent eyes, the thousand attentions that he bestowed upon pretty and appreciative Mrs. Fairstar, she would have suffered per haps even more than she is doing now.

For she would know that he was unworthy of her utter love and trust. He had resolved to go straight from Scotland to Southshire, to see Osyth, and to write from Ryvendale to Viva, acquaint ing her as gently and feelingly as possible of their forthcoming separation and the cause of it. When it comes to that, he knows he will have to go through a vast amount of unpleasantness, so he is deter mined to make the most of any pleasure that presents itself in the interim. He has no cause to fear an indignant husband in Mr. Fairstar, who is shooting elsewhere, and the latitude for flirtation allowed by both host and hostess cause their house to be pronounced by the guests whom they invite, "the jolliest quarters in Scotland." After his sudden departure on receipt of the telegram, he had written to Osyth, telling her that circumstances had occurred which made it impossible, for the moment, that he should speak to her father, and begging her to wait and trust in him.

And Osyth had waited and trusted in full and perfect confidence, feeling in him that security which only a great and faithful love can give. Lord Ryvendale arrived at the Court on the thirtieth of August. For the first time since he had come into possession of Ryven- VOL. III. C VIVA dale, he had asked two or three men there for a week's shooting, and they were to arrive the following afternoon. He was determined to have one day to devote to his " fair saint," and was anticipating it with a very keen sense of pleasure. The morning after his arrival, he walked straight down to the Rectory in a very happy and satisfied frame of mind. No faintest doubt as to his reception crossed his brain. In the garden he met Riette, who received him with the brightest smile of welcome. " She is a sweet, pretty little girl," he thought to himself — "we will have her presented next season, and find a husband for her.

She and Fairholme would suit each other to perfection." " Osyth is in the kitchen making a pudding," said Riette — " I will go and tell her you are here, but not for a minute or two, or our pudding will be spoiled." " Won't you take me into the kitchen ?" asked Lord Ryvendale — ** there is nothing I should like more than to see the opera tion." " Oh, what fun !" cried Riette. " But I am afraid Osie might not like it." " She will not mind," said Alsager, with a pleasant feeling of authority, and quite sure, in his heart, that anyone who took him to her would meet with a ready indul gence. " Come, then !" laughed Riette, in high glee — " we will go in the back way. You must step very softly, or she will hear you." Osyth is in the kitchen, rolling out paste. Her sleeves are tucked up to the elbow, and show her round white arms to perfec tion.

She is standing with her back to the door, and the intruders pause for a moment on the threshold to watch her. Lord Ryvendale is charmed — this homely occupation is another proof of her general goodness and usefulness. He would like c2 VIVA to look longer, but a little stifled peal of laughter from Riette causes Osyth to turn her head. Then she catches sight of Lord Ryvendale's smiling, radiant face. He ex pects to see her smile in answer, perhaps to blush a little in a pretty shame at being discovered by him in so undignified a position, but instead, she turns deadly white, there is an affrighted look in her eyes, and he cannot flatter himself for one moment that his sudden and unexpected appearance gives her the ghost of a sensation of pleasure. " Did I startle you !" he says, coming hurriedly forward — " I am so sorry — I would not have played this trick upon you for the world if I had thought it would frighten you so much."

Her heart is beating wildly — her eyes, always so clear and confident, avoid his — she tries to say something, but her words are scarcely coherent. Riette looks on in dismay — she knows that the temporary confusion of being found by Lord Ryvendale at her present occupa tion, is not sufficient to account for her sis ter's strange look and manner, and a sus picion that she has been harbouring for some days, takes a clearer shape in her mind. Child as she is, she has a certain amount of tact, and hastens to the rescue. " Come away," she says to Alsager, " or you will get me into disgrace. Come into the drawing-room and wait patiently until the pudding is made — it will not be long," and Lord Ryvendale, somewhat surprised and crestfallen, obeys her behest. When, a few minutes later, Osyth joins them, still very pale, but having recovered her wonted serenity, Riette dashes out of the window, affecting to pursue her favourite cat who is stalking across the lawn, but in reality taking flight because she is convinced that there is some private explanation necessary VIVA to set matters right between the pair whom she is leaving.

Lord Ryvendale goes forward to meet his love : he makes a gesture as though he would take her in his arms, but she recoils, and only offers a cold little hand to his eager clasp. " Osyth, my darling ! what has happened !" he cries, pained and startled—" it was not like this you bade me good-bye." In his guilty conscience, he is already wondering if it is possible for her to have heard anything of his attentions to Mrs. Fairstar. Osyth is not one to shrink from her duty, however hard and bitter the doing of it may be. And now that he stands before her, with more, rather than less, of his old power over and fascination for her, she does not hesitate to say the words that give the death-warrant to her future. "When we parted," she answers, in a low voice, not looking at him, but away beyond the roses and the old cedar, " I was overcome — taken by surprise.

For the moment, I thought ■" and then she fal ters and hangs her head. "You thought what, darling ?" he cries eagerly — " that knowing all you do about my past, that feeling I was quite unworthy of you, you were yet willing to trust your dear self to my keeping, and to believe in my capacity for growing better under your sweet guidance ? Is not that so ? and why should your thoughts have changed since ? Has anything happened, have you heard anything that has shaken your confidence in me?" " No," she answers sighing, "but I have had time to think, and I know now that I can never be anything more to you than a friend." "But," he argues hotly — "have I not promised you, have you not my word that I am about to renounce for ever my — my VIVA connection with the Duchess de Lalliere ? I will write the letter this very day — you shall see it before I send it — will not that satisfy you ?"

"What will she do when you give her up ?" asks Osyth, looking for the first time into Alsager's eyes. He starts as though he had been stung. This from the girl who has so earnestly implored him to relinquish his sin — the word that has been a synonym between them for Viva. " I do not know about these matters," she continues, a faint blush illumining her fair face, " but I suppose — I should think — did not you promise her once that you would always remain faithful to her?" Lord Ryvendale colours and answers with some stiffness, " Of course it is usual for men to make protestations upon such occasions, though both parties are probably aware how little binding they are." " And you think," asks Osyth, looking once more at him, "that — that she knew when you made her those promises, that you did not mean to keep them ?"

Lord Ryvendale is silent for a moment. Her words bring back to him a keen remem brance of his passionate vows to Viva : of how he had sworn to her by all he held sacred to be faithful to her unto his life's end. His silence is sufficient answer. "Then," says Osyth, in a low voice, " you ought to keep faith with her. I do not mean that you should live with her, but you should wait, and if ever she is free, it is your bounden duty to marry her." Lord Rj-vendale feels stunned — these arguments from the lips of the girl whose heart he most truly believed he had won ! whose one anxiety had seemed formerly to wean him from Viva ! Not for one moment does it occur to him to think of the two women having met — in the first place he is VIVA convinced that had Viva suspected him of treachery, it would have been impossible for her to keep silence, and in the second, the idea of her coming into the county and seeking an interview with her rival is an action of which he would have sworn her to be utterly incapable.

Chapter II. Only

A WOMAN'S HEART. " TTPON my soul, I do not understand you !" Lord Ryvendale says, and there is an accent of anger in his voice. " Ever since I first knew you, you have been urging me to give up the Duchess, and now, suddenly, for no reason that I can imagine, you array yourself on her side against me. "And," (his voice rising to passion), "when I talked to you of my future, and how it rested in the hands of some good woman to make me different from what I was, you knew well enough that you were the woman of whom I thought VIVA and spoke. And can you say that you did not give me encouragement ? Why, if what I read in your eyes was not love, answering to mine ; if the last time we met, you did not intend me to feel sure that you consented to my prayer, why, then, instead of being the sweet, pure creature I believed you, you must be the most thorough-paced jilt in creation !

But no !" (his voice softening), " it is impossible you can be that !" And indeed, the veriest tyro in judging character, had only to look in that fair, true face, at those steadfast eyes, to be quite sure that the caprices and coquetries of her sex have no part nor lot in Osyth. But, because she is innocent, Lord Ryven dale's words do not hurt her the less — to be accused, with a semblance of justice, by the man whom she so entirely loves, and to be unable to defend herself, gives her cruel pain. But her own upright heart tells her that she must be faithful to her promise to the Duchess, not only in the letter but in the spirit, and, that by no word or hint, must she betray their interview. " I hope you will not think ill of me," she says humbly. " What you say is quite true. I did think, I did hope," (faltering), "but now, I have had time to consider, and I am sure, quite sure, that the decision I have come to is the right one.

I cannot be more than your friend, and now, I am afraid you will not let me be that." " I did not think you were a Pharisee," he answers hotly. "No doubt you have come to the conclusion that you are far too good for a sinner like me, and when, by your fickleness and self-righteousness, you have sent me quite to the devil, you will have all the more reason to congratulate yourself on your escape." He speaks sharply and angrily, hoping to rouse her to contradict him, and to show that she still has some regard for him. But VIVA she only looks sorrowfully at him and says, " I do not think you really believe what you are saying." "Tell me, once for all," he says vehe mently — " do you mean me to understand that you give me up ; that you will not marry me, either now, or at any future time ?" And though her heart faints within her, Osyth answers bravely, "Yes."

"Then I have indeed been deceived in you," says Lord Ryvendale bitterly, turning to go. He neither takes her hand nor offers her any other kind of salutation, but goes, without even a look. When he reaches the gate, he sees Riette running towards him. He would fain avoid her, but that is impos sible. At so short a notice, he cannot drive the anger from his face and replace it by a smile. Riette stops short, and then says, colouring violently, " What is the matter between you and Osyth ?" Lord Ryvendale feels rather glad to have a confidante — he is burning with indignation and wonder. He leans against the gate and regards Riette searchingly with his hand some eyes. " I cannot tell what has come to your sister," he says. " I love her devotedly. I thought she cared for me — at least I had every reason to believe so when last I saw her.