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Updated: June 6, 2025
Trevalyon told him faithfully, and the priest's answer was to, write on a slip of paper as follows: "To the Mother Superior of the Convent of St. Mary," London, England. "LEFROY, "Priest of St. John's Chapel, Paris."
"Trevalyon looks as he did in the east," said Chancer to Vaura, "when one of the blacks cut poor Cecil Vaughn's throat when he lay dying, then robbed him; Trevalyon caught him in the act as he rode up, Cecil haying asked his orderly to bring him to receive his dying messages." "No need to tell me the result Capt. Chancer. I read Sir Lionel's expression as you do, treachery lived and was extinct."
He longed to take her to his heart, and tell her of his great love for her, which had grown so strong as to completely master him, he could scarcely refrain from crushing her in his arms and telling her she must be his; he had suffered much this evening in seeing her, even in the dance, in the arms of other men; ever since he had left Lady Esmondet's side, an hour ago, he had done nothing but pace through lonely corridors thinking of the letter from Eric Haughton, which ran thus: "Trevalyon, cher ami,
"I am more than glad, Vaura, ma chere, that Dame Fortune is playing so smilingly into dear Lionel's hands," said Lady Esmondet, as she read aloud the letter she had received from Trevalyon on the morning of the 30th.
"What a kind little wife I am winning; Trevalyon deserves that I should deny myself by leaving you too soon, for the content he brought me in your message, especially as he is feeling cut up about having missed seeing Lady Esmondet and my niece yesterday afternoon and evening."
There being a sort of free-masonry between Madame and Delrose, the movements of each being rarely unobserved by the other, she was about to play into his hands by signalling her sisterhood to rise from the table, when Sir Lionel Trevalyon was announced, who, hastily coming to her side, taking her hand in salutation, said: "You will kindly give me a few moments, Mrs.
You observed, I suppose, how, much flesh she had; well, she loses weight every month; secret pining I expect for that naughty" and Vaura stopped short as she saw the name, a curl of contempt coming to her lip as she read silently "Trevalyon.
And so putting spurs to his horse he is nearer the pure lofty mountains on whose breast he hopes to find peace. While at the villa, the woman he loves, after a somewhat sleepless night in which she is haunted by the faces of her Spanish admirer and the hero of her early girlhood, descends from her room to find Lady Esmondet not yet up, though it is luncheon hour, and Trevalyon away for the day.
"I hate a thin woman," was the whispered criticism of Sir Dennis to Trevalyon, with a suppressed emphasis on the word "hate." Trevalyon smiled, giving a side glance at Vaura's rounded form, as she bent gracefully with extended hand in welcome. "Faith, you may well look in that direction," remarked the Irishman, detecting him. "She's fair enough to seduce a look from His Holiness himself."
"Spare me the mysteries of the toilette, Saunders, and do my bidding; mysteries indeed," thought she, half-laughing, "what would the poor men say could they see the war-paint putting on for their slaughter," and picking up one of W. H. Mallock's novels she sank into a cosy corner. In half an hour Saunders returned, saying that Lady Esmondet with Capt. Trevalyon were waiting in the salon.
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