It was a Lover and his Lass

"Katie?" said Mrs. Seton. "Oh, don't ask me anything about Katie! She has never once sat down all the night. No, no, not a sight of her have I had, the little monkey. She would just dance, dance till the day after to-morrow, if there was no stop put to her. I am just obliged to submit, for I cannot go running after her all down this long gallery, and she knows where to find me, if such a thing happened as that she had no partner, which is but little likely," Mrs. Seton said.

"I was coming to see if I could get her partners," said Mrs. Stormont. "For not being out, or in society, as I understood – "

"I am sure you are very kind: but nobody need give themselves any trouble about Katie," said Mrs. Seton.

It was "not very nice" of Philip's mother to be displeased and angry when she heard this; for as she took the trouble to separate Philip from her, she ought to have been glad that the girl, even if she was a "little cutty," should have others to amuse her: but Mrs. Stormont was not pleased. She felt injured by the popularity of the foolish little thing who had come between her son and herself.

Lilias enjoyed her first ball in a much more modest and subdued way. She stood by the side of her sisters, whose anxiety about the perfect success of her début was great, surveying the scene around her with a smile. She made the old-fashioned curtsey which they had taught her to the young men, who came round with eagerness, not only to do their duty to the old family tree, but to secure the hand of the heroine of the evening, the girl who had piqued the curiosity of the county more than anyone had done before for generations, and who was at the same time the prettiest creature, the beauty of the assemblage. Lilias made her pretty curtsey to them, and gave each a smile, but she said,

"I do not mean to dance very much. I am not used to it. You must not think me uncivil. Thank you very kindly. No, I wish to look on, and see the others. It is so pretty. If I were to dance, I should not see it."

Some of the suppliants were entirely discomfited by this novel reception; they retired in offence or in dismay; but those who were more discerning exercised a little diplomacy, and from time to time, "the Lily of Murkley," as Mrs. Stormont, for the greater glory of her entertainment, had called the girl, was led forth by a gratified partner, to the envy of the others. Her success in the obstinacy of her determination not to accept everybody, gave a little excitement of triumph to Lilias. She was pleased with herself and with everybody. As for the sisters, there can be no doubt that this singular behaviour brought on them a momentary cloud.

"I see Katie Seton dancing every dance," Miss Jean said, with an air of trouble.

She looked wistfully at the partners whom Lilias sent away. And even Miss Margaret for the first moment was disappointed. The idea that anyone could imagine her child, her little princess, to be neglected, fired her soul, and it was all she could do to restrain herself when Mrs. Seton came bustling up to interfere.

"Dear me! dear me!" cried that energetic woman, "do I see Lilias without a partner? I could not believe my eyes. No, no, you'll not tell me that the young men are so doited; there must just be some mistake. No doubt there is some mistake. They are frightened for you two ladies just like two duennas. A girl should be left to herself for a little. But just let me – "

"You'll observe, if you will wait for a moment," said Miss Margaret, with dignity, "that Lilias does not just dance with everybody. It is not my pleasure that she should. I am not one that would have a girl make herself cheap."

"But not because she looks down upon any person," cried Miss Jean, eagerly, "because she is not just very strong, and we insist she should not weary herself, as it is her first ball, and she is not used to it."

Thus they took upon themselves the blame: while Lilias stood smiling by, and from time to time accepted the arm of a partner more fortunate than the rest, leaving her sisters in a flutter which it was difficult to conceal.

"Now what could be the reason of her choosing him?" Miss Jean whispered, in a faltering voice.

"Oh, just her ain deevil," cried Miss Margaret, moved out of all decorum. "I think the creature will just drive me out of my senses."

"But she has good taste," said Miss Jean, wistfully, "on the whole."

This action upon the part of Lilias changed to them the whole character of the evening. They would have liked that she should have been like Katie, besieged by partners. The partners, indeed, had besieged her, but the company was not aware of it, and it was possible that other people besides Mrs. Seton might suppose it to be neglect.

This was not the only way in which Lilias signalized herself, though fortunately it was only a few who were conscious of what she did. She was dancing with Philip Stormont, whom, with a sense of the obligations of a guest, she did not refuse, at the lower end of the gallery, far away from the inspection of the greater ladies of the party. Poor Philip looked very glum indeed, especially when Katie, at a height of gaiety and excitement, which betrayed some sentiment less happy below, came across him. He had never danced with Katie the whole evening through, and as her enjoyment grew, his countenance became heavier and heavier. Poor Philip was too far gone to attempt any semblance of happiness; he turned round and round mechanically, feeling, perhaps, a little freedom with Lilias, an emancipation from all necessity to talk and look pleasant.

"Look at Philip Stormont revolving," Katie said to Lewis, with whom she was dancing; "he is like a figure on a barrel organ. I suppose he is tired, poor fellow. Perhaps he has been fishing all day, Mr. Murray. You admire him for fishing all day: and you have been doing nothing but playing the piano. I am sorry for Lilias; he is dragging her about as if she were a pedlar's pack. Let us go round and round them," cried that spiteful little person, pressing her partner into a wilder pace.

"You must not be cruel," said Lewis; "you will be sorry to-morrow if you are cruel."

"Cruel!" cried Katie – "he never asked me till it was far too late. Was I going to wait for him – he that has always come to us as long as I can recollect? – and he never asked me. I want to show him the difference," Katie cried.

Next moment she begged her partner to stop, that she was out of breath. The poor little girl was too young to be able to keep the mastery over herself all the evening. The tears were very near her eyes as she laughed in Philip's face, who had come ponderously to a stop also close to her.

"I hope you are enjoying your ball," she said, maliciously. "It is a beautiful ball, and you have danced with all the best people, – you would, of course, in your own house," Katie cried.

Philip was beyond speech; he heaved a sigh, which nearly blew out the nearest lights, and cast a pathetic look at her.

"Oh, yes, I have seen you; you have been enjoying yourself," Katie cried, and laughed. "I am quite ready, Mr. Murray."

Upon this Lilias darted in, clapping her hands softly together as they do in childish games.

"We will change partners," she cried. It seemed to Lewis that he had bounded suddenly into the skies when she laid her hand on his shoulder. "Quick, quick, that they may not stop us," Lilias said.

And Lewis was not reluctant. They flew off together, leaving the other two astonished, confused, looking at each other.

"I suppose we may as well dance," said Philip, and then he poured forth his heart. His little tormentor was taken by surprise. "Oh, what a wretched night!" said poor Philip. "I have been wondering whether it would ever be over, and, now that I have got you, it is against your will. I will never forget Lilias Murray for it all the same. That's what a good girl will do for you – a real true, good girl, by Jove, that does not mind what anybody thinks."

"And I am a bad girl, I suppose?" said Katie, held fast in his arm, and carried along against her will, yet with a thrill of pleasure which had been absent from all her previous merry-making.

"Oh! I don't know what you are," cried the angry lover. "You are just you; there is nobody else. Oh! Katie, how are we to get out of this? I cannot go through such another night. If I had not got you, what would have happened to me?"

"Nothing," cried Katie, almost sobbing, determined to laugh still at all costs; "you would just have gone to your bed and had a good night's rest."

"I think I would have gone to the bed of Tay," cried poor Philip.

She laughed upon his shoulder till he could have beaten Katie, until he suddenly found the sound turn to crying, when Philip grew frightened and abject. He took her downstairs, as soon as she had recovered a little, to have some tea, and caught up the first shawl he could find and wrapped it round her, and led her out into the flower-garden, where the night odours were sweet from the invisible flowers, and the tower threw a deep black shadow, topped by the glare of the light which rose red and smoky against the shining of the moon. There were various other pairs about, but they kept in the moonlight. Philip and Katie felt themselves safer in the dark, and there lingered, it is needless to say, much longer than they ought.

"Are you shocked at my behaviour, Mr. Murray?" said Lilias. "Should I not have done it? Perhaps I should not; but they were so unhappy. And I thought you would never mind. I do not think I would have done it if it had not been you."

"That is the best of all," said Lewis.

"What is the best of all? It was taking a liberty – I am very conscious of that; but Jean says you are full of understanding. And you saw, didn't you, as well as me? Why should people come between other people, Mr. Murray? If I were Philip's mother – you need not laugh – "

"What should you do if you were Philip's mother?" he said.

"I would never, never stand between them. How can she tell she might not be spoiling his life? You read that in books often. Philip is not the grand kind of man who would die for love – "

"Do you think that would be a grand kind of man?"

"Oh, don't you? I would like to live among that kind of people. It would be far finer, far simpler, than the common kind that die just of illnesses and accidents like beasts. I would like to die by my heart."

"I don't think Mr. Stormont will die."

"No, he is not good enough," said Lilias, "he is afraid of his mother. I am a little afraid of Margaret, too; but I would not do an ill thing, I think, even if she wanted me. To be sure, she never would want me. Do you know, I have had my way to-night; I have just refused the people I did not like. Katie dared me to do it, and Jean said I must not do it; but I did it – I was determined I would: and Margaret knew nothing about it, so she could not forbid me," said Lilias, with a laugh.

"That was very prudent, when there is only one you are afraid of, not to let her know."

"I did not keep it from her on purpose," said Lilias, half-offended. "Mr. Murray, do you see that they have gone away downstairs? I am afraid they may be silly now they are together. Don't you think we should go too?"

"I will do whatever Miss Lilias pleases," said Lewis, "and go where you like best. After this you will give me one other little dance – just one; that was like heaven."

"Heaven!" cried Lilias, scandalized. It seemed profanity to her innocent ears. "That will be the way," she said, somewhat severely, "that people permit themselves to speak abroad? I have always heard – But I am sure you did not mean it. It was very nice. I suppose, Mr. Murray, you dance very well?"

"I am not the judge," said Lewis laughing, but confused in spite of himself.

"Neither am I," said Lilias, calmly, "for I have never danced much with gentlemen. But you do not bump like most; you go so smoothly, it was a pleasure. But I wonder where Katie is? Doesn't it seem to you a long time?"

"It is only a moment since we have been together," Lewis said.

"Do you think so? Oh! I am afraid a great many moments – even minutes. Look! Mrs. Stormont is beginning to be uneasy – she is looking for Philip. Oh! come before she sees – "

They hurried downstairs, Lilias leading the young man after her, with a guiding hand upon his arm. The great hall door was standing open, the freshness of the summer night coming in, close to the house a dark belt of shadow, and beyond the shadow, and beyond the shrubberies and garden paths clear in the moonlight. It could only have been by instinct that Lilias penetrated round the corner to the lonely spot in the darkness where the two lovers had betaken themselves, and where Katie, after her hysterical outburst, had become calm again and recovered command of herself. The darkness, and the moonlight, and the soft noises and breathings of the night, and the neighbourhood of the other pair, mounted into the head of Lewis. He scarcely knew what he was doing. He said in a whisper, "Do not interrupt them. Wait here a little," not knowing what he said.

Lilias did not object, or say a word. She took the rôle of sentinel quite calmly, while he stood by her, throbbing with a thousand motives and temptations. His own conscious being seemed arrested, his reason and intelligence; bold words came into his mind which he wanted to whisper to her – he bent towards her, in spite of himself approaching her ear. How was it that he said nothing? He could not tell. His heart beat so fast that it took away his breath. Had he not been so entirely transported out of himself he must have spoken, he must have betrayed himself. He felt afterwards, with a shudder, as if he had been on the edge of a bottomless pit, and had been kept on firm standing-ground not by any wisdom of his, but by the rapture of feeling which possessed him. He had kissed her hand in her own house without any hesitation or sense of timidity, but he did not do it now. He did not even touch with his own the hand that lay on his arm. He was in a sort of agony, yet ecstasy. "Wait a little, wait a little," was all he said. And Lilias took no fright from the words. She did not know how near she was to some confession, some appeal, that would have startled her at once out of her usual freshness and serenity. They stood close together, like two different worlds, the one all passion and longing, the other all innocent composure and calm. But by degrees Lilias became impatient of waiting.

"You are kinder than I am," she whispered, "Mr. Murray. It is a little cold, and Mrs. Stormont will be looking everywhere for Philip. We must not stand any longer, we must try to find them. Do you see nothing?"

"Nothing," said Lewis, with a gasp of self-restraint. His face seemed nearer to her than she expected, and perhaps this startled Lilias. She gave a sudden low cry through the stillness.

"Katie! are you there? Katie! are you there?"

CHAPTER XXVII

Mrs. Stormont felt that all was going well. Philip had not shown any great degree of gaiety, but he had done his duty like a man. The countess, after that duty-quadrille, had come and sat down beside her, and praised her son in words ever pleasant to a mother's ear.

"He did not pretend to like it," she said; "but he did his duty nobly. Now I hope he will enjoy himself: I have no objection to stand up with such a nice young fellow, but I think, dear Mrs. Stormont, that in the country we might dispense with these formal quadrilles that all the young people hate."

"Perhaps I am an old-fashioned person," said Mrs. Stormont; "but it could be nothing but a pleasure to Philip."

The countess shook her head, and said he was a fine young fellow that a mother might well be proud of.

"He is dancing with Ida now, which is more to the purpose," she said.

Now Ida was her ladyship's niece, and for a moment it occurred to Philip's mother that perhaps she had come to a conclusion too quickly in respect to Lilias, and that her son, with all his attractions, might have done better. She had the good sense, however, to perceive that Lady Ida was altogether too great a personage for the Tower of Stormont: but this did not lessen her satisfaction in the good impression produced by her boy. And her confidence increased as the evening went on. She saw him taking out Lilias, dazzling in her fair beauty and white robes, and thought with natural pride that they made a lovely couple: he so dark-haired, brown, and manly, and she so fair. In all her progresses among her guests, her intimate conversations with one and another, Mrs. Stormont had always one eye directed towards Philip. He was very dutiful, and did all that she had pointed out to him as right and proper to do. And he kept away from the Setons. Her heart rose. Here it was evident she had succeeded in doing the right thing at the right time. She had separated him from the manse people, and that little cutty, and she had put him in the way of better things. Naturally he would contrast little Katie with Lady Ida, or even with Lilias, and he would see how he had been taken in. All this went on to perfection till after supper, when, dancing having begun again with double energy, the evils above recounted took place quite out of sight of the anxious mother. Her vigilance had slackened. She had scorned to fix upon her son that all-seeing regard. She had even begun a little to enjoy herself among her old friends independent of him, with old recollections and many a scrap of individual biography. She had seated herself between Miss Margaret and Miss Jean, and, well-pleased, was receiving their congratulations upon the success of everything, when it suddenly occurred to her that amid all the mazes of the dancers Philip was not anywhere visible. She watched with increased anxiety for a time: but after all he might have taken down some lady for refreshments, or to get a breath of fresh air after the dance.

"They will catch their death of cold," she said, "those thoughtless things! I have little doubt my Philip is away into the moonlight with some of them, for I cannot see him."

"Bless me! it will be our Lilias," said Miss Margaret.

"Oh, I'll run and see that she has her cloak," cried Miss Jean, starting to her feet, but both the elder sister and the mother protested against this extreme care.

"They must just take their chance," said Miss Margaret. "We cannot be always after her."

"And my Philip will take care of that," said Mrs. Stormont.

But after this alarm, the eyes of all were busy, watching for the truants. A vague uneasiness was in Mrs. Stormont's mind. If it was Lilias, as the other ladies said, then all was well: but the mother of a man recognizes a perversity in that article which is never to be calculated upon. It was possible they might be mistaken. It was possible – who can tell what a young lad is not capable of? It was very consoling, very re-assuring, that Lilias was invisible as well as Philip, but a hundred terrors shook the anxious mother's bosom whenever, through the circles of the dancers, she saw a dress more white than usual, a blonde head, like that of Lilias, reveal itself; and there were of course many fair-haired girls. At last her suspense got too much for her. She left the sisters, under pretence of speaking to another old friend, but once free stole towards the door, and out upon the wide old staircase, which was full of sitters out. Mrs. Stormont escaped with difficulty from the too-zealous cavaliers, who were anxious to take her down for the cup of tea she professed to be in search of. She could hardly get free from their importunities. The door was wide open; the chill that comes before dawn was stealing in, but even when she looked out, shivering, from the threshold some officious person insisted on talking to her.

"Yes, yes, it is a fine night, and the moon is just beautiful – but, for my part, I think it's very cold, and I wish those incautious young creatures would not wander about like that, with nothing on them. If I could see Philip, I would send him out to beg them to come in."

She stood on the step, drawing her shawl round her, looking out with great anxiety into the gloom. It was just trembling on the turn between darkness and light: ten minutes more would have betrayed to her what was taking place under the shadow of the bushes – the change of partners once more in the little group at the corner of the house. But it is impossible to tell what a bound of relief Mrs. Stormont's sober heart gave when suddenly, coming forward into the light, she beheld the welcome figure of Lilias, all white and fair, leading rather than being led by Philip. There was a look which was half-shame and half-mischief in Lilias' eyes. She was a conscious deceiver, yet enjoyed the rôle. Her eyes were shining, dazzled with the light, as she came out of the darkness, a blush upon her face, a little shrinking from the gaze of the happy mother, who was so thankful to make sure that it was Lilias.

"Oh, my dear child," she cried, "is that you? and what do you mean, you selfish loon, by keeping her out in the cold?"

As she addressed him with this abusive expression, Mrs. Stormont laid her hand caressingly upon Philip's other arm. He had not looked so happy all the evening. She turned and went in with him, ordering her son to get his bonnie lady something to warm her after stravaighing like that in the dark. Poor lady! she did not see little Katie, her heart fluttering in her throat, who stole in after, and hurried off to her mother, while the mistress of the feast had her back turned. Lewis took her back to Mrs. Seton very gravely, and Katie was frightened for once in her life, but presently, finding no harm come of it, shook herself free of all unnecessary tremors, and was flying over the floor with Alec Bannerman, who had been looking for her everywhere, as he was telling her when Mrs. Stormont came into the room radiant. That lady went back to the sisters, nodding her head with satisfaction.

"It was just as we thought," she said. "They were out for some fresh air, the monkeys! Fresh air! – it was like December! But I'm glad to tell you my boy had the sense to put a shawl upon her, and they're safe now in the tea-room, where I bade him give her some wine or something to warm her. So now your minds can be at ease."

How much at ease her own was! She left them to seat herself beside another county lady, whose sons, poor soul, were wild, and gave her a great deal of trouble: and there discoursed, as women sometimes will, upon the perfections of her Philip, not without a gratified sense that the other sighed over the contrast. But Margaret and Jean were not so much relieved as Mrs. Stormont.

"It is not like our Lilias," Margaret said. "I hope she will not learn these unwomanly ways. Out in the dark with a long-leggit lad like yon Philip, that his mother thinks perfection – I am disappointed in her, Jean."

"It will have been some accident," said Jean, cast down, yet faithful.

"Accident! – how could it be an accident? I hope it is not the appearance in her of any light-headedness. I would shut her up for the rest of her life if I thought that."

"How can you think so, Margaret?" cried Jean, indignantly. "There are no light-headed persons in our family."

"But she is of her mother's family as well as ours," said the elder sister, seriously. "You can answer for your own blood, but never for another. Have you been out too, Mr. Murray? There is a breath about you of the caller air."

"That is a pretty word, the caller air," said Lewis. "It is just upon dawn, and the birds will soon be singing; but I think it is too cold for the ladies to go out. They are very brave not to mind."

"Brave! – I call it foolhardy; and, indeed, if it's on the turn of the dawning, as Mr. Murray says, I think, Jean, we should be making our way – "

"Margaret," cried Lilias in her ear, "I have got it upon me! Now I am going to dance every dance. It is just a sort of a fever, and, when you take it, it must run its course. Was this the dance you asked me for?" the girl said, turning and holding out her hand to Lewis. Her eyes were shining, her face full of animation, the thrill of the music in her frame.

Lewis was so much entranced gazing at her that he scarcely realized the boon she was offering him. Did she mean to turn his head? She who had refused half the people in the room, and now gave herself to him with this sweet cordiality. The sisters sat and looked at each other when the pair floated away.