CHAPTER XVI.
SIGNING AN AGREEMENT.
Madame Alroyd and her niece were sitting quietly in their room, the morning after the reception of that fatal note.
Both were trying to busy themselves about some light fancy work, to drive away the agony that was tugging so fiercely at their heart-strings, and failing most miserably, as their white, wan faces plainly showed.
Not a word was spoken about Robert’s faithlessness; only when they met that morning, madam had taken Dora tenderly in her arms, kissed her, and murmured some loving and soothing words of fondness, and calling her by all the pet names she had at her command. But Dora gently withdrew from her aunt’s fond embrace, with a low, “Please don’t, auntie!” while her face grew a shade paler, and she caught her breath convulsively.
So the subject was dropped, for madam knew she could bear it better if let alone, and so she said no more, and Dora subsided into her icy calmness again.
All through that day her aunt kept regarding her with wonder, for Dora had always been a creature of impulse, and now she was like a block of marble, so hard and cold; and she more than once found herself repeating these words of Thomas Hood:
A slight commotion in the hall attracted their attention, toward the middle of the forenoon.
There were steps going back and forth, and anxious, troubled whispers; then the voices grew to muttering, and then louder, till the ladies sitting so quietly in their room could hear quite plainly what was said, and Dora instantly recognized the voice of Mr. Ellerton; the other one she did not know.
“It is the strangest thing,” she heard Robert’s father say, “I ever knew the boy to do! It doesn’t seem like Robert at all! He never was a coward about anything when he was at home, and I can’t understand his showing the white feather now. Besides, the letter doesn’t read like him; it is too precise and constrained.”
“But you say the writing is his?” asked the other voice.
“Yes, as near as I can tell. You know I have not seen much of it for the last six years. I will show it to you; you can judge better than I, as you have probably seen more of it.”
There was a rustling, as if some one was unfolding a letter, then a moment of quiet, and the strange voice again said:
“It certainly looks like his hand, though perhaps a little straggling, as if written in a hurry. But I cannot understand why he should do such a dishonorable thing. As you say, it is not in the least like him. I have always had the greatest respect for him, thinking him one of the most noble and manly young men I ever met with.”
“Did you have any idea of his having formed another attachment in this place?” asked Mr. Ellerton, with a deep sigh.
“No; and that is what puzzles me. But there is his own word for it in black and white; and can we doubt it? I am deeply disappointed—deeply!” and the unhappy father’s sigh was echoed from the breast of the other.
“It is very strange; for when he left home neither coaxing nor threats would move him an inch. He was thoroughly bewitched; and I did not think he was one that would change.”
“Did I understand you to say that this same young lady was present yesterday to witness his honors?”
“Yes; and I must say I as deeply regret the termination of this affair as I was opposed to it in the beginning.”
“May I ask the young lady’s name?”
“Miss Dora Dupont——”
Dora waited to hear no more, but, with flashing eyes and form drawn haughtily erect, she walked proudly to the door and threw it open, and stood confronting the astonished gentlemen.
Mr. Ellerton started violently, and the hot blood rushed to his very brow as he realized how inconsiderate he had been in choosing the corridor in which to reveal his troubles to the professor. But he had met him at the head of the stairs as he was about descending, and almost unconsciously they had turned back into the hall to converse.
The little German professor gazed upon our enraged but beautiful heroine with eyes and mouth gaping wide with amazement and admiration.
“I beg pardon,” she said, icily, and bowing low, “but will the gentlemen have the kindness to walk in here and finish their conversation? Being an interested party, I feel somewhat sensitive about having my name made public in the affair. Besides, sir,” she added, turning to Mr. Ellerton, “I believe there is a little matter of business to be settled between us.”
She stepped one side, and made a graceful motion with her hand for them to enter.
Being thus taken entirely at a disadvantage, they knew not what else to do than obey her, and entered the presence of Madame Alroyd with rather a crest-fallen air.
With queenly stateliness Dora introduced her aunt to Mr. Ellerton, and he in his turn introduced Professor Ursengen of the —— Institute to both the ladies.
Mr. Ellerton gazed upon Dora with wonder.
He knew by her words that she had received some communication akin to his own; and he had not expected to see her bear herself so proudly. He remembered her only as a little girl whom he had seen in tears, and he had anticipated a reception of the same kind when he should make known his son’s desire. But the tables were turned; she was the one who was self-possessed, and he confused and abashed before a slender girl.
The little professor’s eyes wandered admiringly over her, from the top of her queenly head to the tip of her dainty feet, while he quoted to himself:
Then suddenly feeling that he had no part nor lot in her affairs, asked to be excused and bowed himself out.
Mr. Ellerton immediately recovered himself, and said, in a voice of regret:
“I beg, Miss Dupont, you will pardon me for being so inconsiderate as to mention this subject in so public a place. My intense anxiety and disappointment at the absence of my son must be my apology for my forgetfulness.”
Dora bowed coldly, then arose, and taking Robert’s letter from the table, handed it to him, saying:
“It is but right, sir, that you should know the contents of the communication I have received from your son. I understood from your conversation with Professor Ursengen that you had been the recipient of one something like it.
Mr. Ellerton read that cruel letter through, and then exclaimed, with perplexity:
“Zounds!” He immediately recovered himself, and added, “I beg pardon, ladies, but I don’t understand this business—it is so unlike Robert of old.”
“I agree with you there, sir,” replied Dora, a scornful smile wreathing her white lips, which had again grown pale as her marble cheek.
“I never knew Robert to do a mean thing in his life before. Why on earth could he not have informed us of the change in his feelings sooner? I never thought they would change when he left home.”
“But you see that he acknowledges life to be very changeable. But, if you please, we will not discuss this matter further. He spoke of a paper for me to sign, which I presume you have with you. I would like to have this matter settled at once.”
Oh, how proud and cold was that voice!
But he could not see those tiny hands, so fiercely clasped among the folds of her dress that the blood started beneath the pressure of the delicate nails.
“My dear young lady,” responded Mr. Ellerton, in deep distress, “I wish—shall we not wait awhile, until I can see my son, and obtain a more definite explanation?”
“Sir,” she retorted, pointing to the note he held in his hand, while her eyes flashed fire, and the blood mounted in an angry torrent to her pale brow, “sir, I have no desire to humiliate myself enough to await anything more definite than that.”
He regarded her with a look of admiration while he replied:
“Believe me, Miss Dupont, I suffer more than I can express, that anything so unfortunate as this should have occurred. Nay,” he entreated, as he saw the scornful curve of her lip, and knew that she was thinking of her former opposition, “I also sincerely regret the past; so sincerely that I had come to receive my boy with open arms, and allow him to follow his own inclinations, if he still chose to claim you as his bride. I beg you will believe me. All opposition has long since died out of my heart.”
Again Dora bowed coldly, and then said, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice:
“You perceive that your son has followed his own inclinations in renouncing me. And I pray you will believe me when I say that I, too, regret the past; bitterly regret that I was ever the cause of discord in your family. If you will now give me the paper, I will prove my sincerity by at once sundering the relations which bind me to your son, Robert Ellerton!”
With tears in his eyes, the unhappy father took a folded paper from his bosom and handed it to our heroine. He knew the beautiful young creature was suffering, despite her cold and haughty manner, and his heart melted at the sight of her pure, waxen face and pale, sternly compressed lips. Had he dared he would gladly have taken her in his arms and comforted her.
But she was unapproachable.
She hid her fearfully lacerated heart beneath a barrier of chilling scorn and contempt.
Dora ran her eyes swiftly over the paper.
It was in the form of an agreement between both parties, to annul the marriage ceremony which had been performed over six years before.
Robert Ellerton’s name was signed beneath!
With a dash of her pen Dora affixed her own name underneath, and then returned the document to Mr. Ellerton.
He placed it carefully in his pocket, and then rising, bade the ladies a polite “good-morning” and retired, sad and disappointed, from the room.
Our poor stricken lamb, utterly overcome by the restraint she had imposed upon herself, again fell lifeless to the floor.
She soon revived, however, and resumed her cold, calm exterior; refusing all sympathy, and forbidding the subject to be mentioned.