Part 26 (1/2)
The face of the Marquess, who was treacherous as the wind, seemed already to indicate ”Adieu! Mr. Vivian Grey!” but that countenance exhibited some very different pa.s.sions when it glanced over the contents of the next epistle. There was a tremendous oath and a dead silence. His Lords.h.i.+p's florid countenance turned as pale as that of his companion.
The perspiration stole down in heavy drops. He gasped for breath!
”Good G.o.d! my Lord, what is the matter?”
”The matter!” howled the Marquess, ”the matter! That I have been a vain, weak, miserable fool!” and then there was another oath, and he flung the letter to the other side of the table.
It was the official conge of the Most n.o.ble Sydney Marquess of Carabas.
His Majesty had no longer any occasion for his services. His successor was Lord Courtown!
We will not affect to give any description of the conduct of the Marquess of Carabas at this moment. He raved, he stamped, he blasphemed! but the whole of his abuse was levelled against his former ”monstrous clever” young friend; of whose character he had so often boasted that his own was she prototype, but who was now an adventurer, a swindler, a scoundrel, a liar, a base, deluding, flattering, fawning villain, &c. &c. &c. &c,
”My Lord,” said Vivian.
”I will not hear you; out on your fair words! They have duped me enough already. That I, with my high character and connections! that I, the Marquess of Carabas, should have been the victim of the arts of a young scoundrel!”
Vivian's fist was once clenched, but it was only for a moment. The Marquess leant back in his chair with his eyes shut. In the agony of the moment a projecting tooth of his upper jaw had forced itself through his under lip, and from the wound the blood was flowing freely over his dead white countenance. Vivian left the room.
CHAPTER IV
He stopped one moment on the landing-place, ere he was about to leave the house for ever.
”'Tis all over! and so, Vivian Grey, your game is up! and to die, too, like a dog! a woman's dupe! Were I a despot, I should perhaps satiate my vengeance upon this female fiend with the a.s.sistance of the rack, but that cannot be; and, after all, it would be but a poor revenge in one who has wors.h.i.+pped the Empire of the Intellect to vindicate the agony I am now enduring upon the base body of a woman. No! 'tis not all over.
There is yet an intellectual rack of which few dream: far, far more terrific than the most exquisite contrivances of Parysatis. Jacinte,”
said he to a female attendant that pa.s.sed, ”is your mistress at home?”
”She is, sir.”
”'Tis well,” said Vivian, and he sprang upstairs.
”Health to the lady of our love!” said Vivian Grey, as he entered the elegant boudoir of Mrs. Felix Lorraine. ”In spite of the easterly wind, which has spoiled my beauty for the season, I could not refrain from inquiring after your prosperity before I went to the Marquess. Have you heard the news?”
”News! no; what news?”
”'Tis a sad tale,” said Vivian, with a melancholy voice.
”Oh! then, pray do not tell it me. I am in no humour for sorrow to-day.
Come! a bon-mot, or a calembourg, or exit Mr. Vivian Grey.”
”Well, then, good morning! I am off for a black c.r.a.pe, or a Barcelona kerchief. Mrs. Cleveland is dead.”
”Dead!” exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine.
”Dead! She died last night, suddenly. Is it not horrible?”
”Shocking!” exclaimed Mrs. Lorraine, with a mournful voice and an eye dancing with joy. ”Why, Mr. Grey, I do declare you are weeping.”
”It is not for the departed!”