Hazel Fane. A novel

Chapter I

In spite of the snow and drifts, blocked roads and blocked highway, in the afternoon a mes senger brought Hazel a letter from Lady St. Ermine. " I scarcely know Avhat to say," her lady ship wrote. "Can I offer my congratulations ? Oh, Hazel, you cannot realize how unhappy the news of your engagement to Mr. Brent has made us. Robert says nothing, but I know he is disappointed ; while as to Noel, well he is simply broken hearted. Why I tell you this I VOL. III. b do not know, as now it is too late to change anything — only our boy has left us — gone to London to enter himself at the Temple, determined to study for the bar. Robert does not object to his choosing and following a career, although he does not need to do so, yet Ave cannot but grieve to think that he has gone from home and friends for ever.

You must let me speak my mind to you, for although we have been known to each other but a short time you are very dear to us, and I do not deny that we had hoped to see you one day united by a still dearer tie. Noav this letter must neither fret nor A\*orry you. You have accepted your future, and probably had your own best reasons for so doing, reasons which none dare question. Our neighbour is and has been a true friend ; his honour, uprightness, and integrity are qualities rare enough in these degenerate days. I can well understand that you are noble enough to appreciate what all the county has so long appreciated, and I only hope that time, which will make you the happy bride of the man you have chosen, will reconcile our dear Noel to your happiness, and bring him back to the house his absence desolates.

" Now, my dear, I want you to be with us and of us as of old. We have lost him, avo cannot lose you. You must come to us as you Avill and how you will ; and I shall not wait for ceremony, but ran over — don't you see me running Avith this terrible blockade of snow ? — as soon as I can ; and, as I hear you are, like myself, lonely, perhaps we can cheer each other up. Robert went to town last night, not to hunt up Noel — at least, so he pretended — and is to be away two days or lono-er. We might dine together— must dine together. Will you come here, or shall I come to you ? Good-bye, or rather au revoir, until later. " Lovingly, " Elfrida St. Ermine." b As Hazel read, an intense bitterness came over her. "I go to the home I haA*e deso lated?" she murmured, "no, no; not yet. This is my home iioav and in the future ; let me keep it and hide my sorrrow here, far from the gaping world."

Then she sighed deeply, and with brimming eA*es wrote — " Come to me. God love you for your goodness. "Hazel." "Hazel.' Hazel spent her day alternately at the side of Mary Edson and Roma. Mary was still in the throes of fever, and poor Roma lay quiet, almost motionless. All attempts to make her quit the sofa had been in vain, but she had life enough left in her to guard her position with such threatening growls as would have sufficed to warn off the staunchest intruder, even had one had the heart to force her to abandon the citadel. She refused food and drink, and her large patient eyes wore an expression which went to Hazel's heart. What with Mary's illness, Roma's illness, and the looking after cottagers snowed in by the storm, Hazel had little time to bestow upon herself. The only panacea to a troubled mind is work : blind unreasoning dogged Avork for others, if possible, for oneself if not possible ; a sense of honour, of obligation, will help one to serve even the hardest master, but feAv in trouble have the courage to obey the task master self ; for the heart undermined by sorrow returns as endlessly into self as a circular chain in its endless coming from and going towards the goal.

Hazel was promised to the master of Brent w*ood. She was the keeper of his house and the custodian of his honour, and she knew what was due both to him and herself. There was no more wavering, no more faltering, and when the hour approached which was to bring with it the Lady St. Ermine she had com manded such an outward appearance of calm as only the sense of having performed a dis agreeable duty well can command. The day fairly flew, teatime came and with it my lady. She found Hazel in the boudoir, and taking both of the latter's hands looked into her face without speaking. Hazel blushed beneath this silent scrutiny, and when her ladyship saw the girl's cheeks so suddenly aflame, the tears rushed to her eyes, and words to her lips. " Oh, Hazel ! " she cried, " Iioav could you ? How could you ?

I know I have no right to say this, but I cannot help it." Then Lady St. Ermine dropped into a chair, and taking a morsel of lace from her muff, wiped her eyes like a schoolgirl. Seeing which Hazel flung herself into her friend's arms, and then the two had a good cry together, like two schoolgirls. Elfrida Avas the first to recover herself. She took off her wraps, begged for some tea and said, " Now we must talk it over. I cannot get at the bottom of any thing ; Noel as good as told me he was engaged to you. I thought it was well understood between y*ou, and now all is changed, all is over. What does it mean ? He thought you loved him — and, my dear, I am sure we all thought you — he — was not indifferent to you." The last words dried Hazel's eyes, but as yet she could scarcely command herself to speak.

Elfrida made her tea and would have forced a cup upon Hazel but the latter only smiled sadly and shook her head. "I told them at home— in fact eveiybody, that I did not think you a girl to accept any man — merely for — his money." Hazel flushed, then paled. "My dear, you must not mind my plain speaking." Then Hazel gave way and hid herself again in the arms of her friend. " You may say anything," she murmured, "but pray — say nothing. Thank you for thinking — well of me — you know — I have no right now to speak — I mean about — about — your nepheAV— but this much I must tell you. You thought right — he was not indifferent to me — more than that — perhaps, but my father — Jacob Brent " Elfrida folded her arms still closer. " Go on," she said. " Go on." " No father could ever do more for an own child than he has done for me; were 1 his very own I could refuse to do what he wishes, but the very fact of my being bound to him, in every thing but the tie of blood, shows that I owe him but the more.

Ingratitude is the basest of all crimes — and — I cannot be ungrateful." " You, poor child Hazel raised her head quickly. All traces of tears had now vanished. " Don't pity me," she cried. " Don't pity me, only help me to do my duty by — by never speaking to me of him." Then Hazel raised herself and went swiftly to the windoAV. She dreAV aside the curtain and, gazing out upon the field of snow, continued solemnly, "When I met him my heart was as clear as that snow drift — now it is doubly dyed in perjury. I have promised to marry Mr. Brent — I shall promise to love, honour, and obey my future husband — I shall do this loving another — but tell that other that I am umvorthy — he w'ould do Avell to forget me — he must forget me." " He probably will forget you," said Lady St. Ermine, half laughing and half crying.

" He probably' will forget you ; with time. Most men do forget even without time — women ; but time, what is it ? " " What is it not ? I only hope in that." " My dear Hazel, take some tea, and — and don't be tragic. I declare I shall write a poem, to be called 'Separation, Time,' to-morrow. But in the meantime I confess I am utterly undone to-dayr. Forget you — and shall you forget him ?" " I shall try." " Try ! ah, the wonderful word." My lady stirred her tea, then seized a morsel of muffin, and began desperately to eat it. Hazel left the window and came towards her. "I shall try," she said firmly, "and God will help me. When we meet " " Yes, that's just it, when you meet ; but you never will meet. Noel has gone away ; he declares he will go away, perhaps to India. He will be sure to get jungle fever ; you arc not human."

Hazel smiled, looked wistfully at her guest, at the tea pot, and a vacant chair faeing Elfrida * then, still smiling, sat down, and took some tea. " Well, thank Heaven you are at least human enough to take your tea. But what is to be done. He says — he swears that he will not meet you — and as you must pass your life at Brentwood, that means that he will never come to Valmont " " Did — did he SAvear that ? Then he — he loves me still." " Still, you goosey. Is there any still, when a love affair isn't forty-eight hours old ? Of course he hrves you still, and — and will not coma home for Christmas." " He need not be afraid to meet me. I shall not be afraid to meet him." " No, I supjwse not." "Elfrida." "Oh, don't Elfrida me; lam almost angry Avith y*ou — I don't believe you CArer cared for him — not one miserable bit."

Hazel put doAvn her cup, empty. " Listen, dear. I love him so well, and you so well, and nyself so well, that I shall never bring any trouble upon you. I will leave Brentwood." " Leave Brentwood ? Are you crazy ? " "I — I will ask my father to take me to London — to take me away — anywhere." " You shall do nothing of the sort. Can you realise " Hazel broke doAvn again. " Oh ! " she sobbed, " I can realise nothing, except that I love him, I hate myself, and I am utterly wretched. Tell him to come — -I will be ill — or go to Mr. Farrand's — or do anything you sa}*. Only don't let me turn him out of his own home — don't let me have that sorrow to bear; we must meet some time. He realised that as well as I — you must despise me — I AA*onder you don't all hate me." " Perhaps we do." " Well, that would be easier to bear."

"Now, Hazel, don't be silly — hate you? My sw'eet friend, could anyone hate you ? You know I Avas only joking. We none of us hate you. I only Avish Noel did — and even then I would never forgive him for it. But the chief thing to consider is how we are to get him back for the holidays. I don't mind his not coming so very much, but Robert is terribly cut up about the whole thing — and although he has never said one Avord — I feel all he felt, and now, when I go home " " Oh, you must not go to-night " " No ; I have not the slightest intention of going to-night ; I have invited myself to keep you company, but when I do go what shall I say to Robert ? " Hazel kissed her. "Say nothing," she murmured humbly. " Something will happen, he will come back. Rather than that he should not come, I —I would ask him myself " " Oh, you dear darling.

Hazel, could you, would you do so, unknown to anyone but us two ? " " If you say he cares for me — surely he will not refuse me the first, the only favour I shall have ever asked him." Then Lady St. Ermine wept for very joy, and so it a*, as settled that, at the proper time — in case he refused to come — Hazel w*as to beg him to come as a special request from her. " But we are borrowing trouble," said Hazel smiling, " a long way ahead ; this is only the 30th of November ; we have weeks yet before us." " You are a dear," cried her Ladyship kiss ing her. " Noav that is over. Let us sing and be merry, and chat, and think no more about it. We are alone — no men in sight — which reminds me — where is Roma, and how is she, poor thing ? Bangs told me about her coining back." Then Hazel related all she knew about the dog's return, and her touching illness.

Mary Edson and her fever were discussed, likewise the head bailiff, who had been for some special orders about a tenement unroofed by the snow, one of the hacks who had broken his knee-pan, and the usual chapter of minor accidents fol lowing upon the heels of an unusual and unusually Aiolent storm. After dinner the evening passed like magic. Lady Elfrida found that the only way to avoid talking of people in general was to talk of people in particular, one — herself. The memory of Noel, and the idea of Hazel's marriage, were spectres which constantly threatened tostart up in life-like presence, destroy immediate peace and undermine future tranquility ; hence it required no small amount of tact to ward off dangerous subjects and to keep off dangerous grounds. Hazel w*as too grateful, however, at the delicate thoughtfulness of her guest not to appreciate and respond with an equal delicacy of attention.

She tried her best to be cheerful, even gay. She could not trust herself to sing, but she did to play, and after Lady St. Ermine had read some of her own exquisite lyrics, sat down to the rich-toned piano and drew from its vibrating strings such sounds as only a singer, Avho plays well, can ever call forth. Rich fragments from the storehouse of memory, rare touches of cantabile whose melody had soothed the soul of a dying Bellini, or warmed the garret of a starving- Donizetti ; quaint rhythms from the sarabands of Lulli or Scarlatti, those gracious measures, but one sound of whose thrilling tones bring forth from the dim past a wiiole world of breathing images. Gartered knights and stately dames, fair maidens and loving youths tripping together, the accents of enjoyment and delight : living and being, and dancing and loving, dreaming the old, old story and setting their dreams to the time of the minuet's fairy round.

Hazel played on and on ; shadows crept from the firelight over the floor, and from the lamplight over the wall. Lady St. Ermine was sitting back in a chair of embossed velvet, her ruby robes swept around her, her white ringed hands half unconsciously beat the ancient measure on the arms of the fauteuil. Her arched feet reposed on a ruby cushion, and her deep violet eyes sent a stream of violet fire straight out before her into the glowing embers. " I am sure," she murmured, "there are no such people living now-a-days as lived in olden time. There are no more such dances, no more such graces, no more such elegance, and alas no more such music." Then she sighed, and Hazel looked smilingly up, without however stopping her saraband. " On such a night, too, it comes like a breath of spring ; listening to such melody one can see Endymion and his fairy revellers whirling VOL. III. c madly over the enchanted grass ; hear the clash of fairy timbrels, from the pipes of Pan's reeds, and the tinkle of merry waters leaping over bank, and gorge, and cover ; smell the sweetness of all the air, and the perfume of those flowers whose faintest odour was a deepest intoxication."

Jackson came with the tea, and Lady St. Ermine looked up with a fretful little exclama tion. "That?" she exclaimed; " tea, when they — those others, drank nectar. Tea in an ordinary joot, when they drank nectar from Grecian amphoræ." Hazel arose, went to the fire and sank before it on a low stool ; she deliberately lifted her skirts an inch from her ankles and stretched her hands out Avhite to the whitening blaze. They were so transparent the firelight showed through them. She seemed to be reasoning the why and wherefore of Greek pots and ancient amphoræ, but at the same time turn ing Lady St. Ermine's remarks in her mind. It was like two shadows crossing the sun, neither of which dimmed its surface. She answ*ered half absently. "It is a very good pot, and nectar — but good tea is nectar. It must have been tea — that — that they all drank ; and as to this century and its people — why I am sure we are favoured more than those in Hellas of old — could we come back two hundred years hence, I am sure Ave would find the nineteenth century ticketed and labelled — bearing the Hall mark as being the most wonderful century the civilised world has ever known.

What are Endymions and amphoræ and enchanted grass and dancing nymphs, to railroads and electri city and ocean cables and telephones ? not to name other things — music — no, that is not the same — the cooling refreshing ' possets ' — and I once thought that the nectar Hebe offered c the gods was coffee— golden Mocha ; but now I am sure it was tea." Lady St. Ermine laughed. "It must have been tea drunk in fair Arcady. Hazel! Hazel! you practical, matter of-fact human being. Don't stir (Hazel Avas about to help her ladyship, and the warning came too late, she helped her). "I am afraid you would never make a poet." Hazel took her own cup and settled back in her own place. " A poet," she said ; " no, because there must be those who sing and those who listen. I am one who listens, and again — but tell me how you first came to write poetry ?

Do ? " " My dear, I wrote, because I Avas unhappy, too unhappy to live. My stepmother— God rest her soul, she is dead— had nothing in common with me ; I was in the world but not of it ; my life was one long wretchedness, and one day I thought that I must do something, tell my woes to no one, and yet utter them aloud ; tell them with a piercing voice and in language not of vulgar commonplace. I don't know now, but I was like a young bird." " And one day you burst into song ? " " Exactly, but I write no more. I can't write, I am too happy." Hazel felt her eyes filling. " Ah," she murmured, "if unhappiness could but make poets, I might sing with Homer of old." Elfrida saw her mistake. " Or be a philosopher, like Socrates, and — life ended — drink, instead of philosophy, the cup of poisoned hemlock."

" It's a pity the phonograph Avas not in vented," cried Hazel ; " one might have set it out under those trees in Athens— handed it down through generations." "And here to-night we would unwind those living voices, and hear them ringing as they rang so long ago." " Yet what could they tell us more than they have already told ? " Hazel added bitterly ; " as long as men and women remain but men and women, Socrates may harp and Aristotle harangue, lovers will be parted, hearts will be heavy, and hearts will be broken. What im mortal wisdom can console one for the loss of a mortal lover, any more than science can avail wiien death prevails ? " " Oh, I agree with you there ! even Aristotle died through a vulgar fit of indigestion, and Bacon through stuffing a fowl with snow ; but speaking of snow reminds me," she continued irrelevantly, "is it not strange the forest — Brentwood — has suffered much more than the rest of the county, the way from home is one field of snow, lovely to look at hut saddening to see.

It says that summer and autumn are both fled — winter has come." Hazel looked at her and smiled piteously. " To my heart at least," she murmured. The sound of a gentle breeze was heard without, and the far away* strokes of a swiss clock striking the hour within.- Her lady*ship jumped up. "Good heavens ! " she cried, " twelve o'clock. 'Tis now the witching hour of midnight, when graveyards yawn — it is impolite to say — but not so much as your humble servant. Hazel, dear, come like a good child and escort me to my room ; the room next to yours, so Morrison in forms me. We have lost two hours of beauty sleep." They were floating up the wide staircase. Ten minutes later Hazel was bidding her guest good night. " God bless you, dear," murmured Elfrida; " I feel it noAv, I realise that you have done so rioht: who knows but His hand has been through it all."

Hazel's breath came sharply— fiercely, " If I could only think so," she cried ; " but I do not yet see His hand in anything. He created love — why alas ! must love needs create misery ? My only comfort is in thinking that I shall do what is right." A last kiss and she was gone, but not to sleep. Her light burned late, and only when Venus closed her brilliant star eyes did Hazel likewise close her brilliant eyes ; fell into a heavy slumber, sank all woes in the oblivion of perfect forgetfulness and rest.

Chapter II

A aveek had gone by. The snow still lay in great white drifts in valley and dell and gulch, and the rivulets shaking off their chain of ice leapt merrily forth over dam and hollow. The roads were partially cleared. Lady Elfrida was back at Valmont, and Roma, like Mary Edson, still stretched upon a bed of sickness. For three days the faithful creature had gone without food or drink, but on the morning of the fourth she roused, and took some milk from Hazel's hand. She seemed a little more cheerful, but her physical condition showed little change for the better ; if anything she was worse, and the first Vet. Simpson declared that she was partially paralysed, either from the cold having attacked her joints, or some strain she had received through a bad hurt the night of the storm ; with careful nursing she might pull through.

So Hazel had her bed made in a corner of the master's study, the only room by the way where she would remain Avithout sIioav ing signs of anger or illness. Hazel got to take the room almost for her OAvn sitting room. It commanded a lovely view of the park and surrounding country. The rich hangings and cedar mouldings made the interior charming in itself, and when a huge fire roared in the ancient chimney its cheerfulness w*as incontestable. And y*et, could the chimney and moulding and tapestries have spoken, what a tale would have changed all this brightness. Could the green carpet with its banked flowers have told of the last footsteps which had pressed its velvet on that fatal night, more than Roma Avould have sorrowed, and the halls of Brent- Avood for many sad days would have been closed to all but horror and grief and mourn ings. o Walls may have ears, but happily they have not lips.

So the day passed, and nothing within told Hazel or Roma of the real tragedy without. The latter did not suspect, she knew, hut she bided her time, and seeming to under stand that, although ill, her life was not finished, that she had yet a role to perform, took her food with docility, alloAved herself to be carried to and from the chamber, and Avhen it Avas fine, sit out on the terrace, well-wrapped, and in the sun. Her humbleness seemed to strike every one. Not only was her spirit broken, but all her fine pride seemed a thing of the past. Her patience however was remarkable. After those first days of moaning, no plaint ever left her lips. Her despair seemed to have been in the thought that not alone was her master gone, but that she was helpless, helpless for herself, and helpless to avenge his loss , for to hor he was lost, as much if but out of sight — around the corner — as if in America or dead.

How can they tell, poor patient beasts, when the master leaves them, that they will ever see him again in the flesh? One may say, "I shall come back soon ; " but to the heart of the dog, who knows but that soon, even soonest, be not an eternity, and when one is gone without having murmured a word of farewell, absence seems a thousandfold more terrible to bear. When Hazel would say: " Now, Roma, you must not be down-hearted ; you must cheer up, or when the master comes he will find a sick, saddened dog, and you know that would never do. Eat and get strong, and soon we shall run about in the good old ways and play — if that Avould please you — at building houses in the snow, or anything else you like." Roma had looked and listened and her patient eyes said that she had understood ; had she spoken aloud, however, she would have said that she preferred tearing down snow-houses to building them, but she did not make this clear to Hazel ; the only thing which she did make clear however, and in which she shortly displayed a fine energy, was in getting Avell.

One day she attempted to raise herself briskly as of old, but her poor legs refused to execute the bidding of her will. She gave Hazel a glance, as much as to say : "It is too soon yet — patience," and Avithout a murmur stretched herself out again on her cot. One morning — the 29th of November— the mail came in with no news from Jake Brent, but a long cable, almost a letter, from Uncle John (Hazel had telegraphed that Roma was safe, but not that she was ill), and an invita tion from Mrs. Sellars to pass Christmas at Sellars' Hall. There were several letters for the master, and the village postmaster, Mr. Brooks, had brought them himself, wondering that, as Mr. Brent had left home, he had not ordered his letters to be sent on to his new address. He said as much to Hazel, who ex plained the suddenness of the master's de parture and offered to fonvard the letters at once.

She made them into a packet, and, adding a line of greeting, there and then gave them to Mr. Brooks to be sent to America by the first steamer. Hazel's life was, to say the least, mono tonous. She took exercise of the usual kind, but had no spirit for any kind. Her father's absence weighed upon her, and do what she Avould she could not shake from herself the conviction that his brother meant him some harm. Waking she thought about it, and sleeping she dreamed of it. As the days passed and no news came of Jake Brent, she began to worry, and almost determined to confide her fears to some one, but to whom ? Family affairs cannot, or should not be screamed from the house-tops. She could not go to her neighbours and say : " The man I have promised to marry is a rogue," and what to do she did not know.

A second cable from Uncle John had announced that he Avould write soon, but that he hated Avriting and kneAV of no better use to put the cable to than to make it save trouble to individuals like himself, and so on and so forth. Three weeks and more had elapsed since she had been, so to speak, alone ; she could stand it no longer, and decided to go up to London. Why* she was going to London she did not know precisely, but after seeing that everything was right with Edson — still ill, and Roma still suffering — she ordered Morrison to make herself ready and they started for the great metropolis. The day Avas fine, and, although snow lay here and there in ravine or IioHoav, the road was macadamised by a fine cover of frosted earth, and almost as smooth as a racecourse. They reached Merrywing without accident or incident, and two hours later were installed in a comfortable suit of rooms at Hotel, Albemarle Street.