"To bed? so soon?" said Julia, dreamily.

"Soon! It is past eleven. Will you come and sit with me in my room, or shall I come to you?"

Julia shook her head.

"Not to-night--not to-night," she said softly; and she clasped her sister in her arms. "Good night, Cynthia dear. Think lovingly of me always when I am gone."

"Lovingly, Julie, always," whispered Cynthia; "always, dear sister."

"Always--whatever comes?" whispered Julia.

"Always, whatever comes. Shall I come and sit with you, Julie; only for an hour?"

"No," said Julia, firmly, "not to-night. Let us go to our rooms."

They went out of the drawing-room with their arms round each other's waists, till they were about to part at Julia's door, when the final words and appeals that Cynthia was about to speak died away upon her lips, and she ran to her own chamber, sobbing bitterly, while, white as ashes, and trembling in every limb, Julia entered hers.

"Poor, poor Julie!" sobbed Cynthia; and for a good ten minutes she wept, her maid sniffing softly in sympathy till she was dismissed.

"Go away, Minson," cried Cynthia; "I don't want you any more."

"But won't you try on your dress again, miss?" said the maid in expostulation.

"No, Minson, I only wish it was fresh mourning, I do," cried the girl, pa.s.sionately; and the maid withdrew, to meet Julia's maid on the stairs, and learn that she never knew such a thing before in her life--a young bride, and wouldn't try on her things.

Cynthia sat thinking for a few minutes, and then a bright look came into her eyes.

"He didn't come to-night," she said. "He was cross about Julie. I wonder whether I could see the bright end of a cigar if I looked out over the gardens. Oh, the cunning of some people, to give policemen half-sovereigns not to take them for burglars, and lock them up."

As she spoke, Cynthia drew up her blind softly, and holding back the curtain, ensconced herself in the corner, so that she could look down into the gardens, her window being towards the park.

It was a soft, dark night, but the light of a lamp made the objects below dimly distinct, and she rubbed the window-pane to gaze out more clearly, saying laughingly to herself--

"I wonder whether Romeo will come!"

Directly after she pressed her face closer to the gla.s.s.

"There he is," she said, with a gleeful little laugh. "No it isn't, I'm sure. What does it mean? What is he doing there?"

PART TWO, CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

AN EVENTFUL NIGHT.

"I can't go, and I won't go," said Artingale. "It's bad enough to have to be at the church to-morrow and see that poor little la.s.s sacrificed, with everybody looking on smiling and simpering except, the bridesmaids, who are all expected to shed six tears.

"Six tears each, and six bridesmaids; that's thirty-six tears. I'd almost bet a fiver that those two pre-Raphaelite angels will each be provided with an antique lachrymatory designed by their dear brother, and they'll drop their tears therein and stopper them up.

"Oh, dear! This is a funny world, and I'm very fond of my pretty Cynthy, who's a regular little trump; but I'm getting deuced hungry.

I'll go and hunt up old Mag, and we'll have a bit of dinner together, and then go to the play. Liven him up a bit, poor old man. Hansom!"

A two-wheeled hawk swooped down, and carried him off to the studio of James Magnus, where that gentleman was busy with a piece of crayon making a design for a large cartoonlike picture, and after a good deal of pressing he consented to go to the club and dine with his friend.

"I'm afraid you'll find me very dull company," said Magnus, sadly.

"Then I'll make you lively, my boy. I'm off duty to-night, and I feel like a jolly bachelor. Champagne; coffee afterwards, and unlimited cigars."

"What a boy you are, Harry!" said the artist, quietly. "How you do seem to enjoy life!"

"Well, why shouldn't I? Plenty of troubles come that one must face; why make others?"

"Is--is she to be married to-morrow, Harry?" said Magnus, quietly.

"I say, hadn't we better taboo that subject, old fellow?" said Artingale, quickly.

"No. Why should we? Do you think I am not man enough to hear it calmly?" Artingale looked at him searchingly. "Well, yes, I hope so; and since you have routed out the subject, I suppose I must answer your question. Yes, she is, and more blame to you."

"We will not discuss that, Harry," said the other, sadly. "I know well enough that it was not in me to stir a single pulse in Julia Mallow's veins, and I have accepted my fate. Are you going to the wedding?"

"Yes: I feel that I must. But I hate the whole affair. I wish the brute would break his neck. Ready?"

"Yes," was the reply; and going out to the waiting hansom, they were soon run down to the club, where the choicest little dinner Artingale could select was duly placed before them.

But somehow, nothing was nice. Artingale's hunger seemed to have departed, and he followed his friend's example, and ate mechanically.

The dry sherry was declared to be watery, and the promised champagne, though a choice brand and from a selected _cuvee_, was not able to transmit its sparkle to the brains of those who partook.

Artingale talked hard and talked his best. He introduced every subject he could, but in vain, and at last, when the time had come for the claret, he altered his mind.

"No, Mag," he exclaimed, "no claret to-night. We want nothing calm and cool, old fellow. I feel as if I had not tasted a single gla.s.s of wine, but as if you, you miserable old wet blanket, had been squeezing out your drops into a tumbler and I had been drinking them. What do you say to a foaming beaker of the best black draught?"

"My dear Harry, I'm very sorry," said Magnus, laughing. "There, I'll try and be a little more lively."

"We will," exclaimed Artingale, "and another bottle of champagne will do it."

Magnus smiled.

"Ah, smile away, my boy, but I'm going to give you a new sensation.

I've made a discovery of a new wine. No well-known, highly-praised brand made famous by advertis.e.m.e.nts, but a rich, pungent, powerful, sparkling champagne, from a vineyard hardly known. Here, waiter, bring me a bottle of number fifty-three."

The wine was brought, and whether its virtues were exaggerated or no, its effects were that for the next two hours life seemed far more bearable to James Magnus, who afterwards enjoyed his coffee and cigar.

Then another cigar was partaken of, and another, after which it was found to be too late for the projected visit to one of the theatres, and Magnus proposed an adjournment to his own room.

To this, however, Artingale would not consent, and in consequence they sat till long after ten, and then parted, each to his own chambers.

Artingale's way of going to his own chambers was to take a hansom, and tell the man to drive him to the Marble Arch, and then along the Bayswater-road until told to stop.

This last order came before Kensington Gardens were reached, when the man was dismissed, and the fare wandered down the nearest turning, and along slowly by the backs of the Parkleigh Gardens houses--or their fronts, whichever the part was termed that faced north.