The Prince of the Captivity: The Epilogue to a Romance

There were only a few passengers by the South Wales Express, and to one young man in a first-class carriage the fact was very welcome. He had bought a paper almost unconsciously from the boy who came to the window, but it did him good service as a shield, from behind which he could cast suspicious and hostile glances, after the manner of the travelling Briton, at any one who seemed inclined to disturb his solitude, as long as the train was in the station. But when once the dreary and dirty buff brick surroundings of the terminus had been left behind, the paper fell to the floor, and Lord Usk gazed out of the window with an expression which seemed too ecstatic to be evoked even by the busy harvest-fields and the nursery-gardens full of asters and late roses on which his bodily eyes were resting. And indeed the scene before him might still have been a brick-and-mortar desert for all that he saw of it. His mental gaze was fixed upon the face of Miss Félicia J. Steinherz, the sight of which had changed the whole course of his life.

Could it really be the case, he was wondering, that a month ago he had never seen Félicia Steinherz? Yes, it was perfectly true, and the curious thing was that though he now saw clearly that life must have been a howling wilderness in those days, it had not seemed so at the time. He had been fairly satisfied with himself and his prospects, and quite unconscious that the world was in reality empty and out of joint. It was with a scornful pity that he looked back from his vantage-point of to-day upon the Usk of a month ago. She was breathing the same air with him then, and yet he had not so much as guessed at her existence, nor even been conscious of a blank without her! Ah, but he had; for was she not the fulfilment of all his dreams, the realisation of the ideal of womanhood which had haunted him from his boyish days? Here and there, in one woman or another, he had caught, as it seemed, glimpses of this ideal, but closer acquaintance dispelled the illusion. The woman of his dreams still eluded him tantalisingly--until he met Félicia. He did not ask himself whether she corresponded in all respects with his mental picture; it was enough that she was herself.

He could recall at this moment the rapture which had thrilled him when she first flashed upon his sight. It was the most ordinary and prosaic of introductions. He had met Hicks, the American newspaper-man, unexpectedly in Fleet Street, and had accepted without much enthusiasm his invitation to come and call with him upon J. Bertram Steinherz, the great Rhode Island shipbuilder, and his daughter, familiarly known in the States as the Plate Princess. Usk was not keen on meeting Americans, especially American heiresses who were presumably visiting England in search of titled bridegrooms, but Hicks was a family friend, and he accompanied him meekly to the Hotel Bloomsbury, with a passing wonder at the millionaire’s choosing such a locality. There was some excuse for the introduction, naturally; what was it? Oh, of course; Mr Steinherz was interested in a contract for the navigation of the Euphrates, and Usk had lately voyaged down that river, and could give him some tips. Blessed Euphrates! had it not floated him into paradise? He remembered Mr Hicks’s caustic strictures on the decoration of the hotel as compared with that of similar buildings in America, and his own shrug of amusement as he wondered what degree of obtrusive magnificence would be required to satisfy the æsthetic sense of the representative of the ‘Empire City Crier.’ He had entered the over-decorated room without receiving the slightest warning that it contained the one woman in the world, and his recollections came to a sudden stop at the point when the great discovery burst upon him. Mr Steinherz was there, of course, gentlemanly and well set-up, with a pointed grey beard and drooping moustache, which gave him the look of a retired naval officer; and there was a Miss Logan, who was introduced by Mr Steinherz as “my adopted daughter,” a thin, eager-looking girl, smartly dressed, and noticeable for a high, penetrating voice. Lastly, there was Miss Steinherz. She sat in her great carved oak chair like a princess receiving her court,--if ever a princess had such tiny hands and feet and such wonderful eyes,--and the draperies which floated round her were like nothing in heaven or earth but clouds. In cold blood Usk would probably have surmised that Miss Steinherz was wearing a tea-gown, although her dress had little in common with the loose and comfortable garment which his sister Philippa had been wont to don after a hard day’s hunting. There was lace about it that a queen might have worn--indeed Usk gathered later that the precious fabric, only half revealed, had been forced by the pinch of poverty from the hoarded stores of a queen in exile--there was the gleam of tiny diamond buckles, but the effect of the whole was that of clouds, clouds which were neither pink nor lavender nor grey nor blue, but which in some mysterious manner were all these at once. A woman would have hinted at the dexterous mingling and superimposition of chiffon of various tints, but to Usk all was mystic, wonderful. He was not even aware that his eyes and thoughts were alike fixed upon Miss Steinherz until he found himself assuring her father that at certain points in the voyage down the Euphrates it was usual to drag the steamer a mile or two overland.

After all, no harm was done--or at least Mr Steinherz did not appear to be astonished by this remarkable piece of information. Miss Steinherz it was who pounced upon the slip like a cat upon a mouse, and made merry at Usk’s expense for the rest of the visit. He could not have imagined an English girl’s engrossing the conversation as she did, and few Englishmen would have followed her lead as meekly as did her father and Mr Hicks; but how delightful it was to hear her talk, even when he himself was her butt! Now she was leaning back languidly in her chair, playing with a peacock-feather fan, while the words flowed forth slowly in a delicious lingering drawl; anon she was sitting erect, with every faculty on the alert, and rattling forth in quick succession the raciest, the most daring remarks. Not for one moment was Usk allowed to forget the foolish thing he had said, and yet while he was half-wounded, he was also half-pleased, and wholly fascinated. Miss Steinherz might say what she liked, if only she would say it in such an original and delightful way, and exhibit a new and more exquisite expression of face or pose of head with each sentence.

That night Usk paced his rooms until dawn. New impressions and sensations had so thronged upon him in the hour spent at the Hotel Bloomsbury that to be still was impossible, far more so to sleep. Now that he was removed from the witchery of her presence, it was borne in upon him what a pitiful figure he must have cut in her eyes. What could he do to convince her that he was not such a fool as he had appeared? To remain under such a stigma, to feel that he had deserved, not merely incurred, her contempt, was unbearable. An inspiration came to him, and day found him rummaging among the relics of his Eastern journey. Maps, photographs, scraps of his journals, geological specimens--everything that bore even remotely on the subject in which Mr Steinherz was interested--all these were looked out with the object of turning them to account. Usk was gazing at a most promising heap, when another inspiration came to him. He had made himself look a fool, there was no getting over the fact, and had deserved the raillery Miss Steinherz had poured upon him, but he would turn this defeat into a victory. These relics of travel, judiciously produced one by one, should procure him admission to the Hotel Bloomsbury not for one brief visit, but on many successive days. Perhaps he might succeed in rehabilitating himself in Miss Steinherz’s eyes by his eagerness to help her father, perhaps not; at any rate he would see her.

There was no shooting for Usk that August, and the man whose party he was to have joined on the moors found himself thrown over. September came, but the Marquis of Caerleon tramped the Llandiarmid stubble-fields alone, for Usk was still, as his father remarked ruefully, glued to London. Miss Steinherz was more beautiful and adorable and generally goddess-like than ever. Her turns of speech were nothing less than exquisite; even the way that she said “Pap-pa” and “Eu-rope” had a subtle charm of its own, and the little affectation of the accent on the first syllable raised her somewhat colourless Christian name into something unutterably sweet and strange. Her tongue was as ready as ever, but Usk had begun to fancy that she was not quite so inexorable in making fun of him as she had been. She had actually allowed him once or twice to finish a sentence without instantly turning it into ridicule, and on this slight foundation Usk was joyfully ready to erect a hopeful superstructure. He knew her outward appearance so well--the perfect figure, the small head poised on the slender neck, the delicate nose, the little mouth, the masses of dark hair which curled in rings on the white forehead and were piled above it in the most marvellous waves and twists; could it be possible that he was beginning to know Félicia herself--the mind, heart, soul, which must naturally be equally faultless? Those wonderful eyes, so large and dark and clear,--not the eyes of a girl, looking out wistfully on life half in hope and half in fear, but of a woman who feels that happiness is her right and intends to have it,--were they beginning to soften for him--for him? Oh, the bliss of the thought, that those frank eyes might one day fall before his, that Félicia might own that she loved him!

There was the sound of a footstep in the corridor of the railway carriage, and Usk snatched at his paper hurriedly, and began to study it with all his might, holding it up so as to hide his face. When he thought the intruder had passed on, he ventured to lower his screen, only to meet the mocking, not unkindly gaze of a tall lank man who was leaning against the inner doorway, evidently waiting for him to look up.

“I would bet my bottom dollar that I could state right now what you are thinking of,” said the newcomer slowly.

“Oh, it’s you, Hicks! Didn’t know you were a thought-reader.”

“I don’t begin to be one, sir. You gave yourself away, you see.” Mr Hicks’s gaze rested on the paper, and Usk flushed quickly as he perceived that it was upside-down. But there was no use in being dignified with Hicks, and he yielded the position with a laugh.

“I suppose you’re on your way home by the new route?” he said lightly, seeking safety in flight from the original subject. “I’m just running down to Llandiarmid for a day or two to see my people.”

“Is that so?” drawled Mr Hicks. “A rare and beautiful thing is family affection, any way! But I guess London licks the country this fall, doesn’t it?”