Love's Rainbow. A novel

Front matter

LOVE'S RAINBOW. Select Novels by Popular Authors, Crown Svo. cloth, 3s. 6__. each. BY FLORENCE MARRYAT. MV SISTER THE ACTRESS. A BROKEN BLOSSOM. PHYLLIDA. THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. HOW THEY LOVED HIM. PEERESS AND PLAYER. BY ANNIE THOMAS. ALLERTON TOWERS. FRIENDS AND LOVERS. JENIFER. BY MRS. EILOART. /THE DEAL'S WIFE. ' SBMB.OfjOUR GIRLS. BY LAOY CONSTANCE HOWARD. SWEETHEART AND WIFE. M0LL1E DARLING. BYTHEAOTHOROF " RECOMMENDED TO MERCY BARBARA'S WARNING. BY MRS. ALEXANDER FRASER. A PROFESSIONAL BEAUTY. BY HARRIETT JAY. TWO MEN AND A MAID. V a Nobel. r ny PHILIPPA PEITTIE JEPHSON, AUTHOR OF "AN APRIL DAY," &C, &C, &C. " I know, dear heart, that in our lot May mingle tears and sorrow ; But love's rich rainbow's built from tears To-day — "with smiles to-morrow." — Gerald Ma.vsty.

IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON : F. V. WHITE & CO., 31, SOUTHAMPTON ST., STBAND, 1884. PRINTED BY KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS ; AND KIN GSTON-ON- THAMES CONTENTS. rHAP. PAGE I. — Overcast ....... 1 II. — Kising Clouds ..... 26 III. — Distant Thunder ..... 59 IV.— Vapours 83 V.— Mirage 112 VI. — Golden Prime . . . . . 153

Book II. Rain

VII.— Thunder Clouds 178 VIII.— Thunder Drops TO THE VISCOUNTESS MONCK, In ©tateful tirmtmtrancr OF HER UNFAILING KINDNESS, THIS BOOK IS RESPECTFULLY AND AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BT THE AUTHOR. LOVE'S RAINBOW.

Chapter I. Overcast

" Is it joy, or is it pain ? Or is it both together ? " "l\/TY clear'" saitl Mr- Wolstenholme, JjJ. addressing his wife, " Trefusis and his friend Captain Archdale are coming to dine with us to-morrow evening. We must have some people to meet them." It was the morning following the visit to St. Fenton's Abbey, and the Wolstenholmes were seated round the breakfast table. " I was thinking," he continued with the air of studied indifference a man is wont to assume when making a proposition he is secretly aware may be unwelcome to his womankind, " I was thinking the St. VOL. II. q LOVE'S RAINBOW. Georges would be the people to ask to meet them. Miss St. George is a great friend of Trefusis, and we must " with great impartiality, " we must provide a young lady for Archdale to take down to dinner, and Miss St. George is an uncom monly clever and amusing girl."

" Oh, no," exclaimed Honor, with sudden vehemence ; and then, pausing abruptly, she reddened, and looked down, her heart throbbing with quick rebellion against her father's suggestion. " Why ? " asked Mr. Wolstenholme, with some surprise. " She is a great friend of yours, is she not ? I thought you liked her very much." " Ye — s," returned Honor dubiously, " but," in a very low, hesitating voice, and with her eyes still downcast, " I would rather ask somebody else. We have been seeing a great deal of the St. Georges lately, and I don't like," speaking with more assurance now, " Mr. St. George." OVERCAST. 3 " There's no knowing what women want or like," returned Mr. Wolstenholme in the irritable tones of a man conscious of manly superiority, and intolerant of feminine whims, " a few weeks ago you were delighted with Miss St. George and seemed to think you could never see enough of her."

"I don't know about Miss St. George," O 7 said Mrs. Wolstenholme, wdio was secretly a little displeased at her husband's warmly confessed admiration of the young lady in question, " I did think her a nice girl at first, but since — since that story she told about the muff " "Nonsense," exclaimed Mr. Wolsten holme, in accents of crushing contempt, such as he had never hitherto addressed to his wife. " Nonsense, the sooner you get rid of your old-fashioned ideas the better, my dear. We must ask somebody, and I suggested the St. Georges, because we know them so well, and need not mind asking them at 1G* such short notice, and I still maintain they are the most suitable people to ask." " Cannot we ask them some other night ? " said Honor, " braving a riotous heart," but more than ever determined to make a stand, and if possible prevent her father from inviting Miss St. George.

" Let us have somebody else to-morrow night. If you do not mind, I should so much rather " " Oh, you need not make such a fuss about it ; I don't care," retorted Mr. AVolsten holme, testily, and then took up the news paper. " We might ask the Pattens," suggested Mrs. Wolstenholme, glancing a little timidly at her husband. " A clergyman and his w7ife are always suitable people. Nobody can object to a clergyman ; and Captain Archdale can take down Miss Patten to dinner." " Oh, yes," cried Honor with reviving cheerfulness, and a bright little smile of OVERCAST. 5 thanks to her mother. " They are just the people. You were sa}Ting, papa, you would like to ask them to dinner, and Miss Patten is a dear little girl." This with the cor diality which comes so readily in the praise of a plain girl. There was silence after this.

Mr. Wol stenholme was apparently engrossed by the newspaper ; though he had heard his wife's suggestion he was determined to treat it with silent indifference. " What do you think about the Pattens, dear?" inquired Mrs. Wolstenholme timidly, when some minutes had elapsed Avithout their having received any reply. But to this query her husband only answered with an inaudible grumble. " I don't wish to ask them if you don't like," said Mrs. Wolstenholme, with depre cating and appeasing humilit}*. " Oh, it is all the same to me who you ask," he responded, with an angry rustle of the newspaper ; " but I can't say," with somewhat unkind scorn, " that I think old Patten is quite in Trefusis line." Mrs. Wolstenholme looked at her hus band in distressed perplexity, but Honor, smiling and nodding at her mother to signify that they might consider this assent, though grudgingly given, ran off with joy ful alacrity to write the invitation, her heart considerably lighter now that she had gained her point, and could look forward to her coming pleasure, unmarred by Miss St. George's unwelcome presence.

The previous dav had begun with sun shine and ended in twilight, and in like manner her enjoyment, which had been so keen at the outset had become over-clouded at the close of the day. She had been living, as it were, in a kind of happy dream, each blissful moment so all sufficing, that she had no wish to look beyond. And the sudden intelligence of Trefusis' departure had come upon her with the rude si ock of an awakening. Put stronger than the first OVERCAST. 7 feeling of blank dismay, of light suddenly quenched, had been the sense of disappoint ment, of yearning dissatisfaction, which she could scarcely define, but which had sprung from some equally indefinable change in his manner. But she was to see him once again, and a feverish, anxious longing for this moment's coming for a while possessed her soul, so that no other thoughts could find place.

To what lay after this meeting Honor shut her eyes. She would not look be)Tond ; when the drear time came it would be hard enough to meet it, but she would not go forward to meet trouble half-way. The evening came at last, and the moment when the Wolstenholmes were awaiting the arrival of their guests. Mrs. Wolstenholme, with an air of fluttered, nervous apprehension, was seated in an attitude of expectation, for she had not yet learned to play with ease the part of hostess, for which her previous humble and secluded existence had so ill-fitted her, and even a small dinner-party was to her attended with so many social difficulties, that she was unable to derive any enjoy ment from it. Close by her Honor stood, with eyes brightened by excitement, listening in rapt expectation for the'coming guests.

The Pattens with clerical punctuality were the first to arrive. Mr. Patten was a little man with a very high, small voice, a bald head, and a ver}* large beard, which in colour somehow suggested the appearance of a singed hearthbrush. His wife was tall and angular, with a very long neck and a very small head, and as she entered the room leaning on her husband's arm, she towered above him, her old fashioned ample skirts almost concealing him from view. In their wake followed Miss Barbara Patten, a rosy-cheeked young lady, attired in a s. mi-high white muslin frock and a OVERCAST. 9 blue sash, that attire dedicated to youth and innocence, and which is so virtuously unlike the vain and frivolous robes in which worldly people are wont to array them selves. At any other time, Honor would have smiled at the Pattens' entrance, but at this moment her quick ear had caught the sound of wheels on the gravel, and her eager eyes were fixed on the door.

In a moment it was thrown open, and Trefusis and Captain Archdale entered the room. The}7 were an oddly assorted little part}*, but no such thought came to Honor. All her foolish fears that some unforseen occur rence might prevent his coming, were now laid to rest, and she was happy though he was not even speaking to her, for she was within sound of his voice, that, soft, lazy, caressing voice, that possessed the power of stirring her heart so strangely, and she could see him, as he stood talking to her father. How handsome he looked, how easily graceful was every motion and attitude. Surely no girl had ever had quite such a lover before, one so perfect in every respect. But then her life was a fairy-tale existence, and he was a fairy prince — few were blest like her. At length dinner was announced, and with much inward trepidation and much outward embarrassment Mrs. Wolstenholme went through the ordeal of introducing her guests to one another, and marshalling O 7 O them in order, after which they filed in to dinner, Mr. Wolstenholme and Mrs. Patten leading the way, Miss Patten and Captain Archdale, Honor and Mr. Patten, Mrs. Wolstenholme and Trefusis bringing up the rear, and then Honor found herself seated next to Trefusis at the flower-decked table.

Dinner progressed in somewhat silent state. Trefusis, owing to Mrs. Wolsten holme's close proximity, was circumspect in OVERCAST. 11 his conversation. Mrs. Patten was dividing O her attention rather unequally between her husband and the dishes, watching the former with a stern gaze, which grew into an intimidating frown each time his glass wras filled with champagne, a gaze which he returned with a careless bravado air which only half concealed a nervous apprehension as to future consequences, when he was alone with his wife. A little lower down the table, Miss Patten, somewhat awed by the, to her, imposing appearance of her companion, was listening to his remarks with rapt attention, an attention which, it must be confessed, Honor was far from paying to Mr. Patten's conversation. And while the meal progressed through its various stages, Trefusis was taking note of his surroundings — of the dinner, the wine, his host and hostess's appearance — in a manner so carelessly negligent that an observer would scarcely have thought it was a matter of much interest to him.

At LOT ES RAINBOW. length the meal reached its final stage, dessert, and after much inward uncertainty as to whether she had yet sat long enough, or too long, Mrs. Wolstenholme made a little bow in Mrs. Patten's direction, and collecting their fans and gloves, the ladies rustled away. When they reached the drawing-room, Honor drew Miss Patten into the conservatory. It was dim and cool, the air heavy with scents, and for a while they wandered up and down between the orange trees, and stood and looked at the little fountain that was scattering its spray over the ferns and moss. And Miss Patten grew suddenly confidential, and told Honor that she thought Captain Archdale quite too nice, and Honor smiled, and pre tended she heard, listening all the while with eager ears for the sound that came at length, the sound so pleasant to femi nine ears in the after-dinner lull, the hum of men's voices, and approaching footsteps.

OVERCAST. 13 "Had we not better go back?" said Barbara Patten, with a glance through the open doorway at her mother, who was settling out her skirts, and straightening her cap, preparatory to the entrance of the gentlemen. " No, stay," Honor said, her voice a little tremulous from excitement, and then, even as she spoke, her inward wish was granted, and Trefusis' figure darkened the doorway, and then Captain Archdale followed and wTent up to Miss Patten, with the determina tion of doing his duty to his friend. Trefusis, meanwhile, was looking at Honor as she stood before him, a lithe, slender figure in pale primrose, relieved against the dim green background. He was in that pleasant mood engendered by a good dinner and irreproachable cham pagne, when the world and its inhabitants seemed pleasanter than usual, and when a strong desire possessed him for moonlight and romance, and so, after a glance up at the roof, that shone like ice in the moon's rays, he spoke.

" Can we get out ? " he said. " Will you come? Don't say you won't. It is not cold." " Yes, if you like," Honor answered, her breath coming and going quickly, and Trefusis immediately unlocked the door leading out on to the terrace. " Shall we follow these foolish young people," said Captain Archdale to Barbara Patten, " or are you afraid of catching cold ? " Miss Patten, though a little fluttered at such a proceeding, was not unwilling. A stolen moonlight stroll held forth too many attractions to be resisted, and with only another apprehensive glance in her mother's direction, she moved towards the door. " How ghostly it looks out there," she said, pausing with a loud giggle on the doorstep. "I am so afraid of ghosts." OVERCAST. 15 " If we meet any I will protect you." " Oh, thank you, I don't think I shall be very frightened if I am with you ; but don't you believe in ghosts, Captain Arch dale ?

" " I believe in spirits, certainly." " Oh, you mean spirits in tables," said Miss Patten, with much awe. " I believe in them too, I am so glad you do the same." " I think I believe more in spirits on a txble than in a table," responded Captain Archdale, with a laugh. " Oh, I assure you they are in the tables," returned Miss Patten, with much earnestness ; " I could tell you such extraordinary things they have told me, and Mr. St. George — you know Mr. St. George, do you not ? — he told me about such an awful thing which happened to him once. A table, a kitchen table I think it was, ran after him one evening and hunted him up into a corner. He said he was awfully frightened, that he wouldn't go through such a thing again for worlds. Did you ever hear such a thing ? Wasn't it dread ful ? I have been quite afraid of tables ever since."

Meanwhile, Trefusis and Honor were pacing silently along together. Above the eastern tree-tops, out of a bed of silver-fringed clouds, the moon was slowly rising, sending slant rays of silvery, misty light over the grass terraces and gravelled walks. Along the terrace under the windows of the house the elongated shadows of the stone balustrading barred the gravel with quaint-shaped, inky bars. Away a little the faint glistening light lay like a shadowy mist that rendered distant objects indistinct, and against the dark western sky the beech trees, dimly white, stood up still and tall. A strange feeling of unreality was upon Honor, born of the misty unearthly radiance and of her own excitement, and OVERCAST. 17 as if in a dream she wandered slowly along. But their moonlight stroll was not long undisturbed.

Ere many moments had elapsed a sharp voice broke in upon the divine stillness of the night, and look ing back they saw a figure standing in the doorway, beckoning with violent gestures. It was Mrs. Patten, standing, like a hen on the brink of a river calling to her duck ling who is swimming away out of her reach " Barbara, Barbara, come in at once. How could you do such a foolish thing ? You will catch your death of cold." " I must go," Barbara Patten said hastily, though she turned away with visible reluctance. Even to her this un lawful moonlit stroll was fraught with something intoxicatingly sweet. Captain Archdale turned with her, uttering some polite regrets, and Honor, with still greater reluctance, was about to follow, wdien Trefusis detained her. VOL. II. " Don't go," he said, " this is my last half hour, don't spoil it," and Honor, swayed ever bv his slightest wish, turned back at once, her heart beating more wildly atthe entreaty of his tone ; and silently thev wandered on along the terrace till they reached the further end, and here they paused.

" You know I am off to-morrow," he says, leaning on the stone balustrade, so that he may watch his companion's face, that the misty moonlight shows to him in pale indistinctness. " Shall you be long away ? " Honor asks, and though her pulses are throbbing madly, she hears with satisfaction that her voice is steady and not unnatural in tone. " I hope to be back in Spring." " That is a long time " — her voice is not so steady now. Six long months to be lived through ; with quick calculation she reckons up the time. " I shall not stay away a day longer than OVERCAST. 19 I can help," he says ; " I need scarcely tell you that, need I ? " Oh, if she could but utter some polite regret, or express some civil anticipation, but the contraction of her throat warns her not to trust her voice. " I suppose you will have forgotten me by then," he says, piqued a little by her silence.

" Oh, I will try to remember you," she answers, taking refuge in a forced gaiety of tone. They are the same words she had spoken in such careless lightheartedness to Jervoise when they parted. With swift retribution the Fates have made them as painful to her now as they then were to him. " If it is such an effort, pray don't tax your memory," Trefusis says with quick aggrieved bitterness. " You seem to think I shall forget you, but do you always remember your friends." she asks in the same strained jesting tones, and as she speaks she turns away her face, 17* for the moon has risen from her radiant bed now, leaving the clouds cold and black, and as she mounts the blue-black dome of sky is flinging her rays more broadcast over the scene, chasing back the shadows of the trees and shrubs into shorter, denser black ness.

" Do you think I am likely to forget you ! " he says ; and his voice, which is almost derisive in its tone, makes her heart beat with sudden triumph. " Do you think I shall forget one hour, one moment, we have been together? You scarcely need suggest such an absurdity as that." Honor is silent, and a moment later he speaks again. " Do you think I would go away if I could help it ? I wish I could give you even a faint idea of how7 much I dislike it, or how hard it is for me to go — now. If things had only been different, if we had only " He breaks off abruptly, and Honor makes O VERCAST. 21 no reply. She is happy, wildly happy, and yet with her happiness is mixed a va°*ue sense of dissatisfaction, and her heart cries out, Why should he leave her? Surely, surely, it is not absolutely necessary ?

There is silence for a little, the clouds are rising, as if in haste to overtake the moon, and a faint breeze comes sighinoup from the sea and creeping through the branches of the trees, sets in dancing motion the chequered light and shade that lies below. Honor shivers, half from cold, half from excitement. "You are cold," he says, "and I must go, it is getting late." They move on slowly towards the house. Only a few yards of moonlit ground stretch between them and the door. Only a few minutes lie between them and their part ing. Honor realises it with a sudden breathlessness. This meeting for which she had so fervently longed has brought with it pleasure, it is true, but pleasure so fraught with pain that she scarcely knows which preponderates. They have reached the door. It is over — the blissful, painful moments are ended, but just as they turn away out of the cold dim moonlight, he turns to her with a vehement gesture.

" Say good-bye to me here," he cries, with sudden passion, " say good-bye to me here, while we are alone," and then he takes both her hands in his, and holds them closely, tenderly, looking down into her eyes the while. " And you will not forget me ? " he says, " you will think of me sometimes, and when I come back — when I come back," he repeats, after a moment's pause. " What use is there in my speaking of that. Do you know ? I have never been afraid of any thing before — but you have made me — I am afraid of your forgetting me, of coming back and finding that — " he breaks off again, and again there is silence. OVERCAST. 23 " You, you need not be ! " she whispers at length, in a voice so low and hesitating that it is as if she would fain not hear her own words, and then, even in the moonlight, he sees the hot blood rushing up, in soft confusion, to her face.

Is she glad or sorry she has spoken. She scarcely knows in this moment of mingled pleasure and pain, and then she turns away her eyes before the gladness that she sees in his " You have made it easier for me to go," he says, and there is evident relief and satisfaction in his tone. " Good-bye, good bye," and with a brave little smile on her pretty pale face, Honor repeats the words in somewhat unsteady fashion, though to her also the parting has become suddenly easier, and then with eyes still dazed by the light of a new dazzling world, a glimpse of which has flashed before her, and with steps a little unsteady from tr;mulous excitement, she goes in out of the mystic glamour of the moonlight into the brightly lighted drawing room, and for a few minutes she speaks and answers questions, though she is unconscious almost of what is passing around her, or what words her lips are mechanically forming.

And then the guests rise and take their leave, and standing with hands tightly locked, and all her heart in her wistful eyes, she looks after him whose face and voice she will only see and hear in memory's shadowy and unsatisfying repro duction for the six long months that stretch before her in blank dreariness, ere her happy eyes shall again behold him. But at this moment Honor feels as if these long months will not be so hard to bear, for has he not told her that they will be blank to him also, and that he would fain not go ? And though with calmer reflec tion the comfort of his words may suffer diminution, and she may not accept the necessity of his going, for wliich he has given her no satisfactory reason, just now OVERCAST. 25 she feels that he has given her comfort, and robbed the parting of half its bitterness.

And so she stands with tears, half of joy, half of sorrow, in her eyes, not know ing whether to laugh or cry, only con scious that she is both happy and miser able, and that she loves him more than ever. •A. CHAPTEE II. RISING CLOUDS. " The smiles, the tears Of boyhood's years, The words of love then spoken." IT was October before Jervoise went home again. In the old days he had been wont, at short intervals, to snatch a day or two from his work, that he might catch a glimpse of Honor's face, but now he had little motive to return. The thought of home was one more of pain than pleasure, and so he had stayed away five months, seeling that the longer period of time wliich elapsed, the easier it would be for him to revisit the familiar scenes that were so bound up with the old happy dream of his life.

Jervoise had flattered himself that in these five months he had in some wise lived down his love. With him, love, unrequited, hopeless love, was sheer folly, a weakness that a man ought to feel ashamed of not fighting against, and this O O O " sense of bitter self-contempt concerning his own weakness had helped him to put it away from him, to hold it at least at arm's length ; but Jervoise was not a man to love lightly. He cared little for woman's society ; his love for Honor had been a thing of itself, a part of his life, and no other woman was likely to attract his attention, or make him forget his first love, and when he set out on his homeward way every step recalled the old happy journeys so vividly to his memory, that with recollection the old love awoke to passionate life once more.

How pleasant it had been in those old happy days, when, his work done, the moment at length had arrived when he set forth, with oh ! so light a heart, the blissful hope of a coming joy at that journey's end filling him with keen delight. Of that hope's si ill more blissful fulfilment when he saw her, and took her hand in his, and looked into her face which he had so yearned to see ; when she had smiled as if pleased to see him, and he, vain fool, had thought she loved him, when it was only that her life was so dull, her friends so few, that she had welcomed anyone that brought a little variety into her monotonous existence. How well he could recall each of these re unions ! They stood out like distinct pictures, the last glad meeting plainer than all, when he had found her standing on the little rustic bridge, in the bright clear spring sunshine, a great bunch of primroses in her hand, and ihe tender young green leaves making a background to her pretty slender figure in its shabby dress, a smile of welcome for a moment chasing awav the O w shadow that care and poverty had thrown upon her face.

She was prosperous and happy now, she no longer wore shabby dresses, and her face was doubtless bright with joy ; but Jervoise felt he would rather think of her as he had seen her in the days of her poverty, when the pathetic ex pression of the soft dark eyes, and the piteous droop of the curved red lips, had filled his heart with passionate love and longing to take her away from her life of poverty, to protect and wrork for her, to give her all and more than she lacked. But Jervoise seldom indulged himself in such reflections, and with stern self rebuke he turned his thoughts to the hour when all his hopes had died, when she had been radiant with hope and happiness, and he had been miserable. He had reached the station now, and having found a boy to carry his portman teau, he set forth on foot.

It was a clear, frosty evening. In the western sky, where the sun had set, a broad streak of orange lay, that faded away gradually up over the heavens into glittering pale gold. Above his head the thinning branches of the trees stretched darkly against the radiant sky ; beneath his feet the brown and yellow leaves rustled crisply. Away in the distance, a faint blue mist filled in the hollows. It was autumn, in her brisk, invigorating O O mood, but none of her bright cheerfulness came home to Jervoise, as with bent head, and listless steps, he made his way along the familiar road. He had reached the cross-roads now, where the great horse chestnut tree stood in orange splendour, and after a moment's irresolution, he turned down the lane leading to the little cottage where the Wolstenholmes had lived, and gaining the little rustic bridge, he paused.

The cottage was tenantless now, and the shutters closed. An air of desolation and untidiness was over all the little place, lhe grass was long and half-obscured the gravel paths, the flower-beds which Honor had once tended with such care w*ere shapeless and filled with weeds, the rotting leaves ' O lay thick beneath the trees. All was changed, only the river slipping darkly by, sang the old, familiar song. Jervoise turned impatiently awray from the contemplation of the forlorn, neglected spot, and continued his way along the road. He was in no haste to reach his journey's end, and only a sense of duty towards his mother made him overcome the reluctance he felt in revisiting his home, now that his chief inducement for doing so was gone. Mrs. Jervoise was a woman of an un happy, peevish, discontented disposition.