Prince Fortunatus | Page 7

taking the night with
it, and leaving these faintly lilac skies to welcome the uprising of the
new day.
At first, indeed, there was something curiously uncanny--something
unearthly and phantasmal almost--in the spectacle of these figures, the
women in white, the men in black, moving through this wan light; and
their voices sounded strangely in the dead silence; but ere long a soft
saffron tinge began to show itself in the east; one or two scraps of cloud
in the violet skies caught a faint touch of the coming dawn; there was a
more generous tone on the masses of foliage, on the flower-beds, and
on the grass; and now the cheerful chirping of the birds had begun
among the leaves. And what more beautiful surroundings could have
been imagined for the production of any pastoral entertainment? The
wide lawn was bounded on one side by a dense thicket of elms and
limes and chestnuts, and on the other by a tall, dark hedge of holly;
while here and there was a weeping-willow, round the stem of which a
circular seat had been constructed, the pendulous branches enclosing a
sort of rustic bower. As this fantastic performance went forward, the
skies overhead slowly became more luminous; there was a sense of
warmth and clear daylight beginning to tell; the birds were singing and
chattering and calling everywhere; and the sweet, pure air of the
morning, as it stirred, and no more than stirred, the trembling leaves,
brought with it a scent of mignonette that seemed to speak of the
coming of June.
Laura, in the person of Lady Adela Cunyngham, had reproached the
faithless Damon (who was no other than Mr. Lionel Moore)--
"Ungrateful Damon, is it come to this? Are these the happy scenes of
promis'd bliss? Ne'er hope, vain Laura, future peace to prove; Content
ne'er harbors with neglected love."
--and Damon had replied (not mumbling his lines, as a privileged actor
sometimes does at rehearsal, but addressing them properly to the
hapless Laura)--

"Consider, fair, the ever-restless pow'r, Shifts with the breeze, and
changes with the hour: Above restraint, he scorns a fixt abode, And on
his silken plumes flies forth the rambling god."
Then Lady Sybil took out her violin from its case and drew the bow
across the strings.
"We'll let you off the song, if you like, Mr. Moore," Lady Adela said to
the young baritone, but in a very half-hearted kind of way.
"Oh, no," said he, pleasantly, "perhaps this may be my only rehearsal."
"The audience," observed Lord Rockminster, who, at a little distance,
was lying back in a garden-chair, smoking a cigarette--"the audience
would distinctly prefer to have the song sung."
Lady Sybil again gave him the key-note from the violin; and, without
further accompaniment, he thus addressed his forsaken sweetheart:
"You say at your feet that I wept in despair, And vow'd that no angel
was ever so fair? How could you believe all the nonsense I spoke?
What know we of angels? I meant it in joke, I meant it in joke; What
know we of angels? I meant it in joke."
When, in his rich, vibrating notes, he had sung the two verses, all the
ladies rewarded him by clapping their hands, which was an exceedingly
wrong thing to do, considering that they formed no part of the audience.
Then Damon says,
"To-day Demætus gives a rural treat, And I once more my chosen
friends must meet: Farewell, sweet damsel, and remember this, Dull
repetition deadens all our bliss."
And Laura sadly answers,
"Where baleful cypress forms a gloomy shade, And yelling spectres
haunt the dreary glade, Unknown to all, my lonesome steps I'll bend,
There weep my suff'rings, and my fate attend."

Here Laura ought to sing the song "Vain is every fond endeavor;" but
Lady Adela said to the violinist,
"No, never mind, Syb; no one wants to hear me sing, until the necessity
of the case arises. Let's get on to the feast; I think that will be very
popular; for we must have lots of shepherds and shepherdesses; and the
people will be delighted to recognize their friends. Where's your sketch,
Rose? I would have groups round each of the willows, and occasional
figures coming backwards and forwards through those rhododendrons."
"You must leave the principal performers plenty of stage," Lionel
Moore interposed, laughing. "You mustn't hem us in with supers,
however picturesque their dress may be."
And so they went on discussing their arrangements, while the refulgent
day was everywhere declaring itself, though as yet no sound of the
far-off world could reach this isolated garden. Nor was there any direct
sunshine falling into it; but a beautiful warmth of color now shone on
the young green of the elms and chestnuts and hawthorns, and